Random Expressions

This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 
This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 
This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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This place seriously needs an update!

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Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!
This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 
This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 

These are movies that either promised more, case or had huge budgets and big star-casts. I have purposely left out films like ‘Ek Se Mera Kya Hogaa’ that were doomed to bite the dust!

Rang De Basanti – The biggest disappointment. A patchy, uneven, disjointed, noisy, pretentious and juvenile film. It offered no tangible solution either for humanity (in general) or for India (in particular). In fact, it catered to the base and perverse human urge to kill someone who has wronged you. It’s ok to violently proclaim that ‘i will kill the person’ in a fit of anger, but that doesnt mean one executes the threat. This is not the behaviour what mature human civilized exhibit. The parallel to Indian freedom movement was ill-placed and utter nonsense. Anyways, I will refrain to say anything more here. Enough has been said, argued and counter-argued when I first wrote its review. Read it here. Sigh, another bad entry at the Oscars!

Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna – Karan Johar’s first self confessed attempt at ‘maturity’ was a dull, despondent and disastrous film, which dragged on and on endlessly. It resembled the serials prolifilating on television – bored housewives lusting after other’s husbands under the grand chhatrachhaya of Indian marriage and mangalsutra; wimpish men, who are either too bitter or too sweet;and, bucket ful of copious tears that drown the flimsy script; even the gawdy gloss matched. The music was boring. SRK lent some cheer as a character that could have been real, but was shunted irresponsibly by Karan to the other extreme from SRK’s otherwise screen-persona. The only bright sunshine remained Amitabh Bachhan, who lent grace and fun to this tedious affair.

Aap Ki Khatir – It’s like the rag the dog pulled out from a god-forsaken attic. Stale and tattered, the film was a big yawn evoking fare.

Ankahee – Enough of Bhatt-styled mentally disturbed and manic-depressed characters. Morose and melancholic, it lacks any escape for respite. For the same reason, I avoided Woh Lamhe! Both films have good music, though.

Utthaan – Another example of how to spoil a good story with indifferent direction. The twist could have been earth shattering bang, but is in reality a whimper not even loud enough to wake you up from the nap that you take during the film. Surprise factor? Neha Dhupia doesn’t bare at all, which makes you feel sad since it was better when she bared all!

Apna Sapna Money Money – I missed this on theatres; but didnt want to spoil it by watching only on small screen. So, with help of borrowed projector, I saw it at home deriving full theater benefits. I was expecting another Kya Kool Hai Hum; alas, the film is a gigantic bore – and only Riteish Deshmukh is the bright star that saves the film from total darkness. But still, the disappointment didnt fully dissipate, hence placed in this list.

Bas Ek Pal – I was in two minds about this film. It could have been placed in the ‘theek thaak’ list. But on second view I saw the glaring errors in its script – a loose and haphazard one, that moves from a compelling jail account to a wishy washy tale of love and betrayal, interspersed with notions of wife-bashing. The movie has a rivetting first half. But the second one wastes away the grand build-up. Director Onir (who made the sensitive My Brother Nikhil) doesnt live up to the expectations. As ever, Juhi Chawla and Sanjay Suri delight. Jimmy Shergill is good too. Urmila disappoints.

Chingaari – Umm, err… was this really a film? Crass, coarse and chaotic, the film was a long string of dreadful scenes put together. Sadly, it didnt nothing to alleviate the pain or elevate the stature of prostitutes.

Teesri Aankh – If you can take it as a laughter inducing exercise, enjoy the film. Per se, the movie had nothing going for it. Sunny Deol shouted his lungs hoarse, and only added to the pain. Full review here

Naksha – Another Sunny Deol flick that was outlandishly bizarre and bakwaas! As an actor, he needs to seriously re-think where he is headed.

Chup Chup Ke – Priyadarshan severely lost his touch with this one. The color coordinated costumes were eye pleasing; wish they had coordinated the script as well!

Jaane Hoga Kya – Even Bipasha Basu would burn this off with the next available beedi from her resume. The clone-saga provided inadvertant humor, but that’s about it. Original review available here.

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This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 

These are movies that either promised more, case or had huge budgets and big star-casts. I have purposely left out films like ‘Ek Se Mera Kya Hogaa’ that were doomed to bite the dust!

Rang De Basanti – The biggest disappointment. A patchy, uneven, disjointed, noisy, pretentious and juvenile film. It offered no tangible solution either for humanity (in general) or for India (in particular). In fact, it catered to the base and perverse human urge to kill someone who has wronged you. It’s ok to violently proclaim that ‘i will kill the person’ in a fit of anger, but that doesnt mean one executes the threat. This is not the behaviour what mature human civilized exhibit. The parallel to Indian freedom movement was ill-placed and utter nonsense. Anyways, I will refrain to say anything more here. Enough has been said, argued and counter-argued when I first wrote its review. Read it here. Sigh, another bad entry at the Oscars!

Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna – Karan Johar’s first self confessed attempt at ‘maturity’ was a dull, despondent and disastrous film, which dragged on and on endlessly. It resembled the serials prolifilating on television – bored housewives lusting after other’s husbands under the grand chhatrachhaya of Indian marriage and mangalsutra; wimpish men, who are either too bitter or too sweet;and, bucket ful of copious tears that drown the flimsy script; even the gawdy gloss matched. The music was boring. SRK lent some cheer as a character that could have been real, but was shunted irresponsibly by Karan to the other extreme from SRK’s otherwise screen-persona. The only bright sunshine remained Amitabh Bachhan, who lent grace and fun to this tedious affair.

Aap Ki Khatir – It’s like the rag the dog pulled out from a god-forsaken attic. Stale and tattered, the film was a big yawn evoking fare.

Ankahee – Enough of Bhatt-styled mentally disturbed and manic-depressed characters. Morose and melancholic, it lacks any escape for respite. For the same reason, I avoided Woh Lamhe! Both films have good music, though.

Utthaan – Another example of how to spoil a good story with indifferent direction. The twist could have been earth shattering bang, but is in reality a whimper not even loud enough to wake you up from the nap that you take during the film. Surprise factor? Neha Dhupia doesn’t bare at all, which makes you feel sad since it was better when she bared all!

Apna Sapna Money Money – I missed this on theatres; but didnt want to spoil it by watching only on small screen. So, with help of borrowed projector, I saw it at home deriving full theater benefits. I was expecting another Kya Kool Hai Hum; alas, the film is a gigantic bore – and only Riteish Deshmukh is the bright star that saves the film from total darkness. But still, the disappointment didnt fully dissipate, hence placed in this list.

Bas Ek Pal – I was in two minds about this film. It could have been placed in the ‘theek thaak’ list. But on second view I saw the glaring errors in its script – a loose and haphazard one, that moves from a compelling jail account to a wishy washy tale of love and betrayal, interspersed with notions of wife-bashing. The movie has a rivetting first half. But the second one wastes away the grand build-up. Director Onir (who made the sensitive My Brother Nikhil) doesnt live up to the expectations. As ever, Juhi Chawla and Sanjay Suri delight. Jimmy Shergill is good too. Urmila disappoints.

Chingaari – Umm, err… was this really a film? Crass, coarse and chaotic, the film was a long string of dreadful scenes put together. Sadly, it didnt nothing to alleviate the pain or elevate the stature of prostitutes.

Teesri Aankh – If you can take it as a laughter inducing exercise, enjoy the film. Per se, the movie had nothing going for it. Sunny Deol shouted his lungs hoarse, and only added to the pain. Full review here

Naksha – Another Sunny Deol flick that was outlandishly bizarre and bakwaas! As an actor, he needs to seriously re-think where he is headed.

Chup Chup Ke – Priyadarshan severely lost his touch with this one. The color coordinated costumes were eye pleasing; wish they had coordinated the script as well!

Jaane Hoga Kya – Even Bipasha Basu would burn this off with the next available beedi from her resume. The clone-saga provided inadvertant humor, but that’s about it. Original review available here.

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It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, and but some days back I was again on the drive. This time, prostate we were on the stretch between Agra and Firozabad, which falls within Agra District – or so we thought.

Just for formalities sake, allow me to list out the towns/villages we crossed; of course, interspersed with a few incidents that made it possible for this post to be written.

Kuberpur – Wherever the goddamn village is, the office we wanted to visit was thankfully on NH2, leading to Firozabad (yeah, the same place famous for its bangles and glass works). The cold cemented floor, and cobweb laden dirty walls inside the office werent much of a welcome anyways. But we panicked full time when we saw a thousand people (ok, I exaggerate – discount ten percent here or there) clamouring over one hapless employee, who was trying to do ten thousand things (I exaggerate again, but discount ten percent here or there) at the same time. Despite winters, the smell of sweat and human skin was overwhelming, but we managed a feeble smile towards the official, who tried to shake hands with us over the crowd and babel of voices; the official murmured a hundred thousand apologies (I exaggerate…but you get the point by now). We genuinely understood!

Etmadpur – This was just a few kilometers ahead on the highway. However, to enter the village, we had to get off it, on to a now-familiar dusty and narrow road. Our destination was bang in the middle of a crowded street, that lined odd shops, with cyclists covering the entire stretch. We parked my car, and got off.

Curious faces stared back at us, and I felt oddly uncomfortable to be looked at like this. “Why are they staring as if we had just escaped a zoo?” I murmured to my colleague. “Well, tie waale, patte-waale jaanwar kam hi dekhne ko milte honge yahan” he retorted wryly. I didn’t take off the tie, but discreetly placed the ‘patta‘ (our company’s ID-card) inside the pocket.

From this stretch began the real adventure. And thanx to Idea Mobile. Well, almost. It was Idea’s locator that flashed ‘Barhan Crssng’ on my cell-phone, which made me curious to ask about its distance from Etmadpur.

Barhan – To me now any road in U.P. interior is the same. The stretch to Barhan was no different, either in its ‘comfort’ or topography, to the ones that I had traveled earlier while going to Achnera, Kagarole or Kirawali. Barhan is a sandy village, with brown mud buildings – a small, rain-water-filled, by-default formed pond ran alongside the railway track, which pointed to something as high-sounding as ‘Barhan Junction’.

Khaanda – At Barhan, we had enquired on the few other places that we could visit on this route. Khanda was a bit further on and then there was Jalesar, our aquaintance informed. So off we were to Khaanda. The road was a bit better, but as often with these villages, they are never on the good roads. So, soon we had to depart the ‘highway’ and get onto a small road that led to this village.

“Err…I hope we are on track” I remarked, when we had been shaken enough. My colleague (let’s call him Ajeet, for nomenclature ease) tried to read some illegible address on a tin shanty.

“Why dont you ask her?” I teased, as a lady passed by.

“You want me to get killed! Dont you see the foot long ghoonghat she is in” Ajeet replied, visibly horrified at my suggestion.  

A few meters later, it was confirmed we were in Khanda – but whosoever we asked, gave a vague direction towards the office we had to visit. So as vaguely we got the instructions, so did we go. And ended up in a huge courtyard full of goats, and lazing elderly gentlemen, who viewed my dust-laden once-upon-a-white Santro disinterestingly.

“I am sure we are on the wrong way” I hissed beneath my breath, as the royal animals grazed the sides of my car and leisurely passed around it.

With difficulty, I managed to maneuver the car out from that sandy courtyard, and finally stopped a sensible-looking gentleman, and firmly asked for the directions.

“Galat ho” he said. “Main road se, bamba kinaare jaana tha.”

The man was gesturing back towards the highway again. Since Ajeet is from Agra, I thought he would have understood the local dialect, but after a few seconds to my dismay, I found him stammering, “B..bamba kinaare?”

“Jee, bamba kinaare!” The man asserted again.

“Ummm…err…yeh bamba kya hota hai?”

Now, the man was clearly lost. With his hands straight and moving in parallel motion, he said, “Bamba…yaani, paani…naala…naala kinare”

How simple! And we tucked away between us one new word in our vocabulary.

Jalesar – “It’s just 21 kilometers” I remarked, when we had finished off with Khaanda. Ajeet was apprehensive in going towards Jalesar. But I argued that we still had some time in hand, plus (as the official earlier had pointed out) there was a direct route back to Agra, and of course 21 kilometers is never ‘far away’ for us Delhiites. I shouldnt have spoken. Because, barely five kilometers on, the road vanished and all we had were potholes, and stones, and sand, and grime, as my poor Santro wove its way towards Jalesar – which wasnt (to our horrific discovery) in Agra even. It fell within Etah District.

At a particulary bad stretch, the car shook so hard that suddenly out from nowhere, Asha Bhonsle started to assert ‘Aaj main khush hoon’*.

Terrified, we both jumped out our skin! For that split second, when the silence was rudely cut by her voice, we were frightened.

Now, I admit I am a bigger fan of her sister’s but that didn’t give Ashaji the right to laugh at my plight, and get happy about it too.

Since Ajeet was shaken too, surely this wasn’t just my imagination. I eyed the culprit – the car stereo had switched on, on its own.

“Tera haath laga hoga,” I told Ajeet.

“Arre nahi baba. My hand was far off,” he defended himself.

The Mystery of Automatic Stereo Power On would have lingered on for sometime, but the road gave us ample opportunity to solve it. The bumps were so hard that they somehow started the power of the system!

We reached Jalesar in one piece, and almost at our wit’s end, and the day’s too.

Jalesar is a town, and a pretty large one, since we got quite lost in its maze of streets and alleyways, and an array of markets. If you care to ever go there, make sure you make the roundabout with a statue as your fulcrum point – everything seems to originate or end there.

(We were shattered to learn there was after all no direct route to Agra, and if we had to reach back home, there were only two alternatives available – either take the same road that we had come through, which wasn’t advisable from security point of view. Or, go through Sadabad – which is some 28 kms from Jalesar – and then move on to Agra. Anyone who has read these pieces earlier would know that Sadabad (in Hathras distt.) falls on the same ‘road-less’ Aligarh route, and is the biggest bane of my current travelling!)

*Aaj mai khush hoon lo tum hi bolo kyun, from Grahan; Music- Karthik Raja; Singers – Asha Bhonsle, Jolly Mukherjee
This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 

These are movies that either promised more, case or had huge budgets and big star-casts. I have purposely left out films like ‘Ek Se Mera Kya Hogaa’ that were doomed to bite the dust!

Rang De Basanti – The biggest disappointment. A patchy, uneven, disjointed, noisy, pretentious and juvenile film. It offered no tangible solution either for humanity (in general) or for India (in particular). In fact, it catered to the base and perverse human urge to kill someone who has wronged you. It’s ok to violently proclaim that ‘i will kill the person’ in a fit of anger, but that doesnt mean one executes the threat. This is not the behaviour what mature human civilized exhibit. The parallel to Indian freedom movement was ill-placed and utter nonsense. Anyways, I will refrain to say anything more here. Enough has been said, argued and counter-argued when I first wrote its review. Read it here. Sigh, another bad entry at the Oscars!

Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna – Karan Johar’s first self confessed attempt at ‘maturity’ was a dull, despondent and disastrous film, which dragged on and on endlessly. It resembled the serials prolifilating on television – bored housewives lusting after other’s husbands under the grand chhatrachhaya of Indian marriage and mangalsutra; wimpish men, who are either too bitter or too sweet;and, bucket ful of copious tears that drown the flimsy script; even the gawdy gloss matched. The music was boring. SRK lent some cheer as a character that could have been real, but was shunted irresponsibly by Karan to the other extreme from SRK’s otherwise screen-persona. The only bright sunshine remained Amitabh Bachhan, who lent grace and fun to this tedious affair.

Aap Ki Khatir – It’s like the rag the dog pulled out from a god-forsaken attic. Stale and tattered, the film was a big yawn evoking fare.

Ankahee – Enough of Bhatt-styled mentally disturbed and manic-depressed characters. Morose and melancholic, it lacks any escape for respite. For the same reason, I avoided Woh Lamhe! Both films have good music, though.

Utthaan – Another example of how to spoil a good story with indifferent direction. The twist could have been earth shattering bang, but is in reality a whimper not even loud enough to wake you up from the nap that you take during the film. Surprise factor? Neha Dhupia doesn’t bare at all, which makes you feel sad since it was better when she bared all!

Apna Sapna Money Money – I missed this on theatres; but didnt want to spoil it by watching only on small screen. So, with help of borrowed projector, I saw it at home deriving full theater benefits. I was expecting another Kya Kool Hai Hum; alas, the film is a gigantic bore – and only Riteish Deshmukh is the bright star that saves the film from total darkness. But still, the disappointment didnt fully dissipate, hence placed in this list.

Bas Ek Pal – I was in two minds about this film. It could have been placed in the ‘theek thaak’ list. But on second view I saw the glaring errors in its script – a loose and haphazard one, that moves from a compelling jail account to a wishy washy tale of love and betrayal, interspersed with notions of wife-bashing. The movie has a rivetting first half. But the second one wastes away the grand build-up. Director Onir (who made the sensitive My Brother Nikhil) doesnt live up to the expectations. As ever, Juhi Chawla and Sanjay Suri delight. Jimmy Shergill is good too. Urmila disappoints.

Chingaari – Umm, err… was this really a film? Crass, coarse and chaotic, the film was a long string of dreadful scenes put together. Sadly, it didnt nothing to alleviate the pain or elevate the stature of prostitutes.

Teesri Aankh – If you can take it as a laughter inducing exercise, enjoy the film. Per se, the movie had nothing going for it. Sunny Deol shouted his lungs hoarse, and only added to the pain. Full review here

Naksha – Another Sunny Deol flick that was outlandishly bizarre and bakwaas! As an actor, he needs to seriously re-think where he is headed.

Chup Chup Ke – Priyadarshan severely lost his touch with this one. The color coordinated costumes were eye pleasing; wish they had coordinated the script as well!

Jaane Hoga Kya – Even Bipasha Basu would burn this off with the next available beedi from her resume. The clone-saga provided inadvertant humor, but that’s about it. Original review available here.

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It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, and but some days back I was again on the drive. This time, prostate we were on the stretch between Agra and Firozabad, which falls within Agra District – or so we thought.

Just for formalities sake, allow me to list out the towns/villages we crossed; of course, interspersed with a few incidents that made it possible for this post to be written.

Kuberpur – Wherever the goddamn village is, the office we wanted to visit was thankfully on NH2, leading to Firozabad (yeah, the same place famous for its bangles and glass works). The cold cemented floor, and cobweb laden dirty walls inside the office werent much of a welcome anyways. But we panicked full time when we saw a thousand people (ok, I exaggerate – discount ten percent here or there) clamouring over one hapless employee, who was trying to do ten thousand things (I exaggerate again, but discount ten percent here or there) at the same time. Despite winters, the smell of sweat and human skin was overwhelming, but we managed a feeble smile towards the official, who tried to shake hands with us over the crowd and babel of voices; the official murmured a hundred thousand apologies (I exaggerate…but you get the point by now). We genuinely understood!

Etmadpur – This was just a few kilometers ahead on the highway. However, to enter the village, we had to get off it, on to a now-familiar dusty and narrow road. Our destination was bang in the middle of a crowded street, that lined odd shops, with cyclists covering the entire stretch. We parked my car, and got off.

Curious faces stared back at us, and I felt oddly uncomfortable to be looked at like this. “Why are they staring as if we had just escaped a zoo?” I murmured to my colleague. “Well, tie waale, patte-waale jaanwar kam hi dekhne ko milte honge yahan” he retorted wryly. I didn’t take off the tie, but discreetly placed the ‘patta‘ (our company’s ID-card) inside the pocket.

From this stretch began the real adventure. And thanx to Idea Mobile. Well, almost. It was Idea’s locator that flashed ‘Barhan Crssng’ on my cell-phone, which made me curious to ask about its distance from Etmadpur.

Barhan – To me now any road in U.P. interior is the same. The stretch to Barhan was no different, either in its ‘comfort’ or topography, to the ones that I had traveled earlier while going to Achnera, Kagarole or Kirawali. Barhan is a sandy village, with brown mud buildings – a small, rain-water-filled, by-default formed pond ran alongside the railway track, which pointed to something as high-sounding as ‘Barhan Junction’.

Khaanda – At Barhan, we had enquired on the few other places that we could visit on this route. Khanda was a bit further on and then there was Jalesar, our aquaintance informed. So off we were to Khaanda. The road was a bit better, but as often with these villages, they are never on the good roads. So, soon we had to depart the ‘highway’ and get onto a small road that led to this village.

“Err…I hope we are on track” I remarked, when we had been shaken enough. My colleague (let’s call him Ajeet, for nomenclature ease) tried to read some illegible address on a tin shanty.

“Why dont you ask her?” I teased, as a lady passed by.

“You want me to get killed! Dont you see the foot long ghoonghat she is in” Ajeet replied, visibly horrified at my suggestion.  

A few meters later, it was confirmed we were in Khanda – but whosoever we asked, gave a vague direction towards the office we had to visit. So as vaguely we got the instructions, so did we go. And ended up in a huge courtyard full of goats, and lazing elderly gentlemen, who viewed my dust-laden once-upon-a-white Santro disinterestingly.

“I am sure we are on the wrong way” I hissed beneath my breath, as the royal animals grazed the sides of my car and leisurely passed around it.

With difficulty, I managed to maneuver the car out from that sandy courtyard, and finally stopped a sensible-looking gentleman, and firmly asked for the directions.

“Galat ho” he said. “Main road se, bamba kinaare jaana tha.”

The man was gesturing back towards the highway again. Since Ajeet is from Agra, I thought he would have understood the local dialect, but after a few seconds to my dismay, I found him stammering, “B..bamba kinaare?”

“Jee, bamba kinaare!” The man asserted again.

“Ummm…err…yeh bamba kya hota hai?”

Now, the man was clearly lost. With his hands straight and moving in parallel motion, he said, “Bamba…yaani, paani…naala…naala kinare”

How simple! And we tucked away between us one new word in our vocabulary.

Jalesar – “It’s just 21 kilometers” I remarked, when we had finished off with Khaanda. Ajeet was apprehensive in going towards Jalesar. But I argued that we still had some time in hand, plus (as the official earlier had pointed out) there was a direct route back to Agra, and of course 21 kilometers is never ‘far away’ for us Delhiites. I shouldnt have spoken. Because, barely five kilometers on, the road vanished and all we had were potholes, and stones, and sand, and grime, as my poor Santro wove its way towards Jalesar – which wasnt (to our horrific discovery) in Agra even. It fell within Etah District.

At a particulary bad stretch, the car shook so hard that suddenly out from nowhere, Asha Bhonsle started to assert ‘Aaj main khush hoon’*.

Terrified, we both jumped out our skin! For that split second, when the silence was rudely cut by her voice, we were frightened.

Now, I admit I am a bigger fan of her sister’s but that didn’t give Ashaji the right to laugh at my plight, and get happy about it too.

Since Ajeet was shaken too, surely this wasn’t just my imagination. I eyed the culprit – the car stereo had switched on, on its own.

“Tera haath laga hoga,” I told Ajeet.

“Arre nahi baba. My hand was far off,” he defended himself.

The Mystery of Automatic Stereo Power On would have lingered on for sometime, but the road gave us ample opportunity to solve it. The bumps were so hard that they somehow started the power of the system!

We reached Jalesar in one piece, and almost at our wit’s end, and the day’s too.

Jalesar is a town, and a pretty large one, since we got quite lost in its maze of streets and alleyways, and an array of markets. If you care to ever go there, make sure you make the roundabout with a statue as your fulcrum point – everything seems to originate or end there.

(We were shattered to learn there was after all no direct route to Agra, and if we had to reach back home, there were only two alternatives available – either take the same road that we had come through, which wasn’t advisable from security point of view. Or, go through Sadabad – which is some 28 kms from Jalesar – and then move on to Agra. Anyone who has read these pieces earlier would know that Sadabad (in Hathras distt.) falls on the same ‘road-less’ Aligarh route, and is the biggest bane of my current travelling!)

*Aaj mai khush hoon lo tum hi bolo kyun, from Grahan; Music- Karthik Raja; Singers – Asha Bhonsle, Jolly Mukherjee

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Seven

I was a bit perplexed to hear the nurse announce Vineeta’s name. I was not mentally prepared to meet her, grip mainly because I had suspected her to be the enemy whereas she had proven to be an ally. Yet, buy information pills there was a curiosity to know how she had managed it. And where had I gone wrong in my judgment?

She entered the room with a strong whiff of perfume. Perhaps, unhealthy Chanel, I thought as she would have informed, had we been in college. But today, I found her very different from the air-headed fool that I believed her to be. For one, she wore a salvar suit. Having seen her mostly in low-waist jeans, this was a marked change but for the better. The suit made her look even more attractive, and it fit wonderfully on her tall and lissome frame.

She walked across the room, hesitant and unsure, and I pointed towards the chair next to the bed, for her to sit. She sat gingerly, groping to begin the conversation. In that moment, I looked at her closely, and felt horrified at my own self for hating her so much.

“I am sorry,” she began.

“I should be sorry,” I interrupted. “And honestly, I am sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s nothing. Anyone would have thought what you did about me and Ashish,” she said, with a tinge of contempt at the name. “And that exactly was my plan!”

“But when did all this start? And why?”

“It started when Vasu spread the news about Smita’s pregnancy with obvious glee and malice,” she started.

But I stopped her mid-way. “Vasu?” I asked, shocked. So Vasu was the traitor in the class; that unknown friend of Ashish.

“Yes, Vasu,” she reiterated. “From then on, I don’t know why but I really felt bad for Smita and angry at Ashish. It wasn’t fair. So, I thought of getting back on Ashish… no clear plan to send him to jail, but at least to humiliate him enough so that he doesn’t play around again with a girl’s emotions. I knew he had flipped for me long time back. He had also sent some feelers through a common friend even as he was going around with Smita. He had been two-timing her for a long time. Anyways, I had ignored him then and had tried to drill some sense into Smita, but she took it otherwise and thought I was jealous of her. Also, just before this thing spread, and probably even before you came to know of it, one day I overheard Vasu and Ashish talking in the auditorium. They thought they were alone, but I heard them full and clear. Ashish was jittery about Smita’s pregnancy, and was asking a solution from Vasu. So, Vasu advised him to flatly deny his involvement, refuse to acknowledge Smita and devised this huge plan of spreading the rumor in the class, to humiliate Smita and drop enough hints to implicate you.”

“But why would Vasu want to humiliate Smita?”

“Remember the huge misunderstanding they had some months back. Apparently, Vasu hadn’t forgotten that and wanted to get back at her. It sounds silly alright, but that’s what he told Ashish. I think he is not the kind who can easily forgive or forget. Since, Vasu was never really pally with me, so I guess it was easy for him to pass the blame of ‘rumour-monger’ on to me.”

I was aghast and speechless.

“It was easy to make Ashish fall for me. He was already interested, plus he has an overactive libido, which I used to my full advantage. When things started getting a bit serious, I panicked. At that point, I took my mamaji, who is in police, in confidence. The day you beat Ashish up was an ideal day to execute the small plan we had made. I took him to our Mehrauli farm-house, and ensured that mamaji was fully informed. By the time we reached the place, I could see two familiar policemen, in plain-clothes near the farm. Ashish was terribly wounded you really beat him to a pulp, so he couldn’t have seen anything or anyone. There, I nursed him, and when, in the evening, he tried to be overtly romantic, I raised an alarm. The police rushed in, and nabbed him.”

There was a certain amount of maturity and intelligence on her face, which had otherwise always been quite expressionless. The softness had given way to determination, which lent an elderly hue to her face. Or perhaps, my eyes had always been curtained by silly enmity, which had blinded me to her obvious positives. I was dumbfounded at what she had done, the enormity of the act and the courage in going through with it.

“You are a genius, Vineeta!” I gushed, “you really bit him like a scorpion.”

“Don’t forget, I am a Scorpio by Zodiac,” she laughed. And I found the soft stream like naughtiness in the laughter very assuring and endearing.

“Vasu, Vasu! I can’t believe he was such a bastard! But what should he have against me?”

She shrugged. “Really can’t say. I guess he dislikes you because you are so close to Smita.”

“And the other day, I was at his place, asking for his help to sort out this mess.” I remembered what he had said that day, ‘Accept the child’ and when I had asked about Ashish, he had replied, ‘Leave him’. Of course, he wanted me not to mess with Ashish, and accept the child so that his friend could be free from blame. Damn sweet of him , indeed, I thought sarcastically! Only, I was thinking of accepting the child with another motive. He had wonderfully played on my emotion.

“Appearances can be deceptive,” remarked Vineeta.

“I wish people would show their enmity right at your face, rather than attacking from behind. It hurts.”

“I know. You were pretty open in showing your enmity towards me.”

“I am sorry,” I said, sheepishly.

“It’s ok, I know where you were coming from, and you are right it is the clarity in emotions while dealing with people that is important,” she said. She turned her attention to the flowers on the side table. “These are so awesome and wonderful!”

She raised her arm to touch them. “Yep. Smita got them,” I informed. For a sliver of a second, I thought I saw her arm hesitate, before touching them tenderly. I felt warmth exuding from her, something that I hadn’t expected to feel, at least not from her.

****************************************

I was to stay under observation for a few more days in the hospital, Dr. Chatterjee informed. I groaned. I was sick of being there, and wanted to move out. There was nothing to do, except read magazines, which dad had brought, and sleep. The routine was awfully boring. It was terrible to be fooling around in the hospital bed when the whole world was on the move. All that while, what I could really do is think, think and think more, till the time my mind was sore. I wanted to move out and do something – something that the world would be proud of, something that my parents could be proud of. Honestly, I had no idea what it would be. But I thought, let me first get out of this goddamn room!

Vishal, Sugandha, Saina and Shilpa came to meet. But the most surprising visit was of Prof. Arora. It was an awkward meeting, but this time the tables had turned. He was the one who was nervous and kept on repeating his apology. I believed him when he said that ‘family ties had blinded my eyes’. It was expected, and I held no grudge against him. “And yes, you are on for my tutorial class,” he offered, as a parting gift. I was pleased.

I had realized the hard way that all of us make mistakes, misunderstanding each other due to various circumstances and guises. Smita couldn’t see through Ashish. Hell, I couldn’t understand the people I met daily – Vasu and Vineeta!

Smita and Vineeta made a second round of visits a couple of days later together. It was odd seeing them enter like old friends. All this while, an invisible wall of rivalry had kept the two apart. Perhaps, some good had come from all the scandal in college: it broke the ice between them.

Smita looked relaxed and much better than she had been. She sat on the chair, while Vineeta moved towards the window.

“Wow, the lawn is so wonderful and awesome!” remarked Vineeta. It was. But since I had seen it enough, I was pretty bored with it.

“Tomorrow I will be free from this,” Smita said, her eyes pointing towards her abdomen.

Vineeta looked at her and then at me, and with a reassuring smile said, “Don’t worry. It will be fine. I will go with her.”

Smita smiled back. “Thanks a bunch.”

“But have you thought of what to do after that,” Vineeta asked her, and her eyes indicated me. I was very uncomfortable, and wished she hadn’t brought it up. But in a way, I was happy. Maybe Smita would have reached a positive decision.

Smita didn’t reply immediately. “Yes. I have thought a lot but couldn’t reach any decision,” she replied eventually. I saw my hopes crumble. Turning to me, she said, “Dinesh, you are a great friend. But anything more would just be a compromise.”

“At least it will be with a person who loves you,” whispered Vineeta, her eyes lowered, and she turned away to look out of the window.

Smita nodded, but didn’t say anything. Vineeta had to meet her Mamaji regarding some affidavits about the case, and she left soon. Smita stayed on.

“You know she has feelings for you,” she said. My eyes bulged out, my jaw landed on the bed and I nearly toppled from the bed.

“What?”

“Yes. She just told me while coming here.”

My mind was whirring and in a turmoil. “But… but I haven’t thought about her like that!”

“Neither have I thought about you like that,” said Smita, quietly.

I started to speak, but became conscious that I had nothing to say. In any case, I think it was best to keep quiet, for a change!

“It’s ok, Dinesh. I think Vineeta was sort of correct. I might accept the compromise. But allow me some more time, please. Maybe it will work out.”

When she had left, I was again left with my thoughts a new set of them, pouncing and prancing on my innards. This was impossible. Had Smita been mistaken? But no, she said that Vineeta had herself expressed her feelings. In all this, I finally realized how Smita must have felt when I proposed to her.

Suddenly, I was unsure. And more than Smita, I realized I had to make one firm and final decision.

****************************************

Today, fifteen years have passed since that scandal in college. In these fifteen years, I didn’t get time to think much about it. You know, how it is – college was over soon, and then MBA, then the jobs. Time became a casualty, friends drifted apart, and over the years, even that incident looked so trivial and blown out of proportion. It seemed we had nothing better to do than think about romantic liaisons and got serious about the slightest things.

However, last night I saw a new Bollywood release – very maudlin one, but there was one thought in it, which stuck on and pried open the entire can of memories. In the film, the heroine states “Mai rishton mein milawat nahi karrti” ; loosely translated it means that ‘she didn’t adulterate her relationships’- a friend and a lover are two different entities . So much like Smita, no?

Hence, all the past skeletons came crashing out. I came home from the multiplex, and immediately started to pen this story.

Like what happened to the film’s characters, sometimes circumstances and destiny force you to mix emotions. And often, the result can be extremely satisfying. That’s my personal experience. I wish I could meet Vishal again and tell him that my bookish philosophy has also worked very well.

As for me, let me sign off now – life has been great, or as my wife would say, it has been ‘wonderful and awesome’!

The End

Edited By Priyangini Mehta
Disclaimer – The story is a work of fiction; all characters and events are imaginary; any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

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This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 

These are movies that either promised more, case or had huge budgets and big star-casts. I have purposely left out films like ‘Ek Se Mera Kya Hogaa’ that were doomed to bite the dust!

Rang De Basanti – The biggest disappointment. A patchy, uneven, disjointed, noisy, pretentious and juvenile film. It offered no tangible solution either for humanity (in general) or for India (in particular). In fact, it catered to the base and perverse human urge to kill someone who has wronged you. It’s ok to violently proclaim that ‘i will kill the person’ in a fit of anger, but that doesnt mean one executes the threat. This is not the behaviour what mature human civilized exhibit. The parallel to Indian freedom movement was ill-placed and utter nonsense. Anyways, I will refrain to say anything more here. Enough has been said, argued and counter-argued when I first wrote its review. Read it here. Sigh, another bad entry at the Oscars!

Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna – Karan Johar’s first self confessed attempt at ‘maturity’ was a dull, despondent and disastrous film, which dragged on and on endlessly. It resembled the serials prolifilating on television – bored housewives lusting after other’s husbands under the grand chhatrachhaya of Indian marriage and mangalsutra; wimpish men, who are either too bitter or too sweet;and, bucket ful of copious tears that drown the flimsy script; even the gawdy gloss matched. The music was boring. SRK lent some cheer as a character that could have been real, but was shunted irresponsibly by Karan to the other extreme from SRK’s otherwise screen-persona. The only bright sunshine remained Amitabh Bachhan, who lent grace and fun to this tedious affair.

Aap Ki Khatir – It’s like the rag the dog pulled out from a god-forsaken attic. Stale and tattered, the film was a big yawn evoking fare.

Ankahee – Enough of Bhatt-styled mentally disturbed and manic-depressed characters. Morose and melancholic, it lacks any escape for respite. For the same reason, I avoided Woh Lamhe! Both films have good music, though.

Utthaan – Another example of how to spoil a good story with indifferent direction. The twist could have been earth shattering bang, but is in reality a whimper not even loud enough to wake you up from the nap that you take during the film. Surprise factor? Neha Dhupia doesn’t bare at all, which makes you feel sad since it was better when she bared all!

Apna Sapna Money Money – I missed this on theatres; but didnt want to spoil it by watching only on small screen. So, with help of borrowed projector, I saw it at home deriving full theater benefits. I was expecting another Kya Kool Hai Hum; alas, the film is a gigantic bore – and only Riteish Deshmukh is the bright star that saves the film from total darkness. But still, the disappointment didnt fully dissipate, hence placed in this list.

Bas Ek Pal – I was in two minds about this film. It could have been placed in the ‘theek thaak’ list. But on second view I saw the glaring errors in its script – a loose and haphazard one, that moves from a compelling jail account to a wishy washy tale of love and betrayal, interspersed with notions of wife-bashing. The movie has a rivetting first half. But the second one wastes away the grand build-up. Director Onir (who made the sensitive My Brother Nikhil) doesnt live up to the expectations. As ever, Juhi Chawla and Sanjay Suri delight. Jimmy Shergill is good too. Urmila disappoints.

Chingaari – Umm, err… was this really a film? Crass, coarse and chaotic, the film was a long string of dreadful scenes put together. Sadly, it didnt nothing to alleviate the pain or elevate the stature of prostitutes.

Teesri Aankh – If you can take it as a laughter inducing exercise, enjoy the film. Per se, the movie had nothing going for it. Sunny Deol shouted his lungs hoarse, and only added to the pain. Full review here

Naksha – Another Sunny Deol flick that was outlandishly bizarre and bakwaas! As an actor, he needs to seriously re-think where he is headed.

Chup Chup Ke – Priyadarshan severely lost his touch with this one. The color coordinated costumes were eye pleasing; wish they had coordinated the script as well!

Jaane Hoga Kya – Even Bipasha Basu would burn this off with the next available beedi from her resume. The clone-saga provided inadvertant humor, but that’s about it. Original review available here.

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It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, and but some days back I was again on the drive. This time, prostate we were on the stretch between Agra and Firozabad, which falls within Agra District – or so we thought.

Just for formalities sake, allow me to list out the towns/villages we crossed; of course, interspersed with a few incidents that made it possible for this post to be written.

Kuberpur – Wherever the goddamn village is, the office we wanted to visit was thankfully on NH2, leading to Firozabad (yeah, the same place famous for its bangles and glass works). The cold cemented floor, and cobweb laden dirty walls inside the office werent much of a welcome anyways. But we panicked full time when we saw a thousand people (ok, I exaggerate – discount ten percent here or there) clamouring over one hapless employee, who was trying to do ten thousand things (I exaggerate again, but discount ten percent here or there) at the same time. Despite winters, the smell of sweat and human skin was overwhelming, but we managed a feeble smile towards the official, who tried to shake hands with us over the crowd and babel of voices; the official murmured a hundred thousand apologies (I exaggerate…but you get the point by now). We genuinely understood!

Etmadpur – This was just a few kilometers ahead on the highway. However, to enter the village, we had to get off it, on to a now-familiar dusty and narrow road. Our destination was bang in the middle of a crowded street, that lined odd shops, with cyclists covering the entire stretch. We parked my car, and got off.

Curious faces stared back at us, and I felt oddly uncomfortable to be looked at like this. “Why are they staring as if we had just escaped a zoo?” I murmured to my colleague. “Well, tie waale, patte-waale jaanwar kam hi dekhne ko milte honge yahan” he retorted wryly. I didn’t take off the tie, but discreetly placed the ‘patta‘ (our company’s ID-card) inside the pocket.

From this stretch began the real adventure. And thanx to Idea Mobile. Well, almost. It was Idea’s locator that flashed ‘Barhan Crssng’ on my cell-phone, which made me curious to ask about its distance from Etmadpur.

Barhan – To me now any road in U.P. interior is the same. The stretch to Barhan was no different, either in its ‘comfort’ or topography, to the ones that I had traveled earlier while going to Achnera, Kagarole or Kirawali. Barhan is a sandy village, with brown mud buildings – a small, rain-water-filled, by-default formed pond ran alongside the railway track, which pointed to something as high-sounding as ‘Barhan Junction’.

Khaanda – At Barhan, we had enquired on the few other places that we could visit on this route. Khanda was a bit further on and then there was Jalesar, our aquaintance informed. So off we were to Khaanda. The road was a bit better, but as often with these villages, they are never on the good roads. So, soon we had to depart the ‘highway’ and get onto a small road that led to this village.

“Err…I hope we are on track” I remarked, when we had been shaken enough. My colleague (let’s call him Ajeet, for nomenclature ease) tried to read some illegible address on a tin shanty.

“Why dont you ask her?” I teased, as a lady passed by.

“You want me to get killed! Dont you see the foot long ghoonghat she is in” Ajeet replied, visibly horrified at my suggestion.  

A few meters later, it was confirmed we were in Khanda – but whosoever we asked, gave a vague direction towards the office we had to visit. So as vaguely we got the instructions, so did we go. And ended up in a huge courtyard full of goats, and lazing elderly gentlemen, who viewed my dust-laden once-upon-a-white Santro disinterestingly.

“I am sure we are on the wrong way” I hissed beneath my breath, as the royal animals grazed the sides of my car and leisurely passed around it.

With difficulty, I managed to maneuver the car out from that sandy courtyard, and finally stopped a sensible-looking gentleman, and firmly asked for the directions.

“Galat ho” he said. “Main road se, bamba kinaare jaana tha.”

The man was gesturing back towards the highway again. Since Ajeet is from Agra, I thought he would have understood the local dialect, but after a few seconds to my dismay, I found him stammering, “B..bamba kinaare?”

“Jee, bamba kinaare!” The man asserted again.

“Ummm…err…yeh bamba kya hota hai?”

Now, the man was clearly lost. With his hands straight and moving in parallel motion, he said, “Bamba…yaani, paani…naala…naala kinare”

How simple! And we tucked away between us one new word in our vocabulary.

Jalesar – “It’s just 21 kilometers” I remarked, when we had finished off with Khaanda. Ajeet was apprehensive in going towards Jalesar. But I argued that we still had some time in hand, plus (as the official earlier had pointed out) there was a direct route back to Agra, and of course 21 kilometers is never ‘far away’ for us Delhiites. I shouldnt have spoken. Because, barely five kilometers on, the road vanished and all we had were potholes, and stones, and sand, and grime, as my poor Santro wove its way towards Jalesar – which wasnt (to our horrific discovery) in Agra even. It fell within Etah District.

At a particulary bad stretch, the car shook so hard that suddenly out from nowhere, Asha Bhonsle started to assert ‘Aaj main khush hoon’*.

Terrified, we both jumped out our skin! For that split second, when the silence was rudely cut by her voice, we were frightened.

Now, I admit I am a bigger fan of her sister’s but that didn’t give Ashaji the right to laugh at my plight, and get happy about it too.

Since Ajeet was shaken too, surely this wasn’t just my imagination. I eyed the culprit – the car stereo had switched on, on its own.

“Tera haath laga hoga,” I told Ajeet.

“Arre nahi baba. My hand was far off,” he defended himself.

The Mystery of Automatic Stereo Power On would have lingered on for sometime, but the road gave us ample opportunity to solve it. The bumps were so hard that they somehow started the power of the system!

We reached Jalesar in one piece, and almost at our wit’s end, and the day’s too.

Jalesar is a town, and a pretty large one, since we got quite lost in its maze of streets and alleyways, and an array of markets. If you care to ever go there, make sure you make the roundabout with a statue as your fulcrum point – everything seems to originate or end there.

(We were shattered to learn there was after all no direct route to Agra, and if we had to reach back home, there were only two alternatives available – either take the same road that we had come through, which wasn’t advisable from security point of view. Or, go through Sadabad – which is some 28 kms from Jalesar – and then move on to Agra. Anyone who has read these pieces earlier would know that Sadabad (in Hathras distt.) falls on the same ‘road-less’ Aligarh route, and is the biggest bane of my current travelling!)

*Aaj mai khush hoon lo tum hi bolo kyun, from Grahan; Music- Karthik Raja; Singers – Asha Bhonsle, Jolly Mukherjee

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Seven

I was a bit perplexed to hear the nurse announce Vineeta’s name. I was not mentally prepared to meet her, grip mainly because I had suspected her to be the enemy whereas she had proven to be an ally. Yet, buy information pills there was a curiosity to know how she had managed it. And where had I gone wrong in my judgment?

She entered the room with a strong whiff of perfume. Perhaps, unhealthy Chanel, I thought as she would have informed, had we been in college. But today, I found her very different from the air-headed fool that I believed her to be. For one, she wore a salvar suit. Having seen her mostly in low-waist jeans, this was a marked change but for the better. The suit made her look even more attractive, and it fit wonderfully on her tall and lissome frame.

She walked across the room, hesitant and unsure, and I pointed towards the chair next to the bed, for her to sit. She sat gingerly, groping to begin the conversation. In that moment, I looked at her closely, and felt horrified at my own self for hating her so much.

“I am sorry,” she began.

“I should be sorry,” I interrupted. “And honestly, I am sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s nothing. Anyone would have thought what you did about me and Ashish,” she said, with a tinge of contempt at the name. “And that exactly was my plan!”

“But when did all this start? And why?”

“It started when Vasu spread the news about Smita’s pregnancy with obvious glee and malice,” she started.

But I stopped her mid-way. “Vasu?” I asked, shocked. So Vasu was the traitor in the class; that unknown friend of Ashish.

“Yes, Vasu,” she reiterated. “From then on, I don’t know why but I really felt bad for Smita and angry at Ashish. It wasn’t fair. So, I thought of getting back on Ashish… no clear plan to send him to jail, but at least to humiliate him enough so that he doesn’t play around again with a girl’s emotions. I knew he had flipped for me long time back. He had also sent some feelers through a common friend even as he was going around with Smita. He had been two-timing her for a long time. Anyways, I had ignored him then and had tried to drill some sense into Smita, but she took it otherwise and thought I was jealous of her. Also, just before this thing spread, and probably even before you came to know of it, one day I overheard Vasu and Ashish talking in the auditorium. They thought they were alone, but I heard them full and clear. Ashish was jittery about Smita’s pregnancy, and was asking a solution from Vasu. So, Vasu advised him to flatly deny his involvement, refuse to acknowledge Smita and devised this huge plan of spreading the rumor in the class, to humiliate Smita and drop enough hints to implicate you.”

“But why would Vasu want to humiliate Smita?”

“Remember the huge misunderstanding they had some months back. Apparently, Vasu hadn’t forgotten that and wanted to get back at her. It sounds silly alright, but that’s what he told Ashish. I think he is not the kind who can easily forgive or forget. Since, Vasu was never really pally with me, so I guess it was easy for him to pass the blame of ‘rumour-monger’ on to me.”

I was aghast and speechless.

“It was easy to make Ashish fall for me. He was already interested, plus he has an overactive libido, which I used to my full advantage. When things started getting a bit serious, I panicked. At that point, I took my mamaji, who is in police, in confidence. The day you beat Ashish up was an ideal day to execute the small plan we had made. I took him to our Mehrauli farm-house, and ensured that mamaji was fully informed. By the time we reached the place, I could see two familiar policemen, in plain-clothes near the farm. Ashish was terribly wounded you really beat him to a pulp, so he couldn’t have seen anything or anyone. There, I nursed him, and when, in the evening, he tried to be overtly romantic, I raised an alarm. The police rushed in, and nabbed him.”

There was a certain amount of maturity and intelligence on her face, which had otherwise always been quite expressionless. The softness had given way to determination, which lent an elderly hue to her face. Or perhaps, my eyes had always been curtained by silly enmity, which had blinded me to her obvious positives. I was dumbfounded at what she had done, the enormity of the act and the courage in going through with it.

“You are a genius, Vineeta!” I gushed, “you really bit him like a scorpion.”

“Don’t forget, I am a Scorpio by Zodiac,” she laughed. And I found the soft stream like naughtiness in the laughter very assuring and endearing.

“Vasu, Vasu! I can’t believe he was such a bastard! But what should he have against me?”

She shrugged. “Really can’t say. I guess he dislikes you because you are so close to Smita.”

“And the other day, I was at his place, asking for his help to sort out this mess.” I remembered what he had said that day, ‘Accept the child’ and when I had asked about Ashish, he had replied, ‘Leave him’. Of course, he wanted me not to mess with Ashish, and accept the child so that his friend could be free from blame. Damn sweet of him , indeed, I thought sarcastically! Only, I was thinking of accepting the child with another motive. He had wonderfully played on my emotion.

“Appearances can be deceptive,” remarked Vineeta.

“I wish people would show their enmity right at your face, rather than attacking from behind. It hurts.”

“I know. You were pretty open in showing your enmity towards me.”

“I am sorry,” I said, sheepishly.

“It’s ok, I know where you were coming from, and you are right it is the clarity in emotions while dealing with people that is important,” she said. She turned her attention to the flowers on the side table. “These are so awesome and wonderful!”

She raised her arm to touch them. “Yep. Smita got them,” I informed. For a sliver of a second, I thought I saw her arm hesitate, before touching them tenderly. I felt warmth exuding from her, something that I hadn’t expected to feel, at least not from her.

****************************************

I was to stay under observation for a few more days in the hospital, Dr. Chatterjee informed. I groaned. I was sick of being there, and wanted to move out. There was nothing to do, except read magazines, which dad had brought, and sleep. The routine was awfully boring. It was terrible to be fooling around in the hospital bed when the whole world was on the move. All that while, what I could really do is think, think and think more, till the time my mind was sore. I wanted to move out and do something – something that the world would be proud of, something that my parents could be proud of. Honestly, I had no idea what it would be. But I thought, let me first get out of this goddamn room!

Vishal, Sugandha, Saina and Shilpa came to meet. But the most surprising visit was of Prof. Arora. It was an awkward meeting, but this time the tables had turned. He was the one who was nervous and kept on repeating his apology. I believed him when he said that ‘family ties had blinded my eyes’. It was expected, and I held no grudge against him. “And yes, you are on for my tutorial class,” he offered, as a parting gift. I was pleased.

I had realized the hard way that all of us make mistakes, misunderstanding each other due to various circumstances and guises. Smita couldn’t see through Ashish. Hell, I couldn’t understand the people I met daily – Vasu and Vineeta!

Smita and Vineeta made a second round of visits a couple of days later together. It was odd seeing them enter like old friends. All this while, an invisible wall of rivalry had kept the two apart. Perhaps, some good had come from all the scandal in college: it broke the ice between them.

Smita looked relaxed and much better than she had been. She sat on the chair, while Vineeta moved towards the window.

“Wow, the lawn is so wonderful and awesome!” remarked Vineeta. It was. But since I had seen it enough, I was pretty bored with it.

“Tomorrow I will be free from this,” Smita said, her eyes pointing towards her abdomen.

Vineeta looked at her and then at me, and with a reassuring smile said, “Don’t worry. It will be fine. I will go with her.”

Smita smiled back. “Thanks a bunch.”

“But have you thought of what to do after that,” Vineeta asked her, and her eyes indicated me. I was very uncomfortable, and wished she hadn’t brought it up. But in a way, I was happy. Maybe Smita would have reached a positive decision.

Smita didn’t reply immediately. “Yes. I have thought a lot but couldn’t reach any decision,” she replied eventually. I saw my hopes crumble. Turning to me, she said, “Dinesh, you are a great friend. But anything more would just be a compromise.”

“At least it will be with a person who loves you,” whispered Vineeta, her eyes lowered, and she turned away to look out of the window.

Smita nodded, but didn’t say anything. Vineeta had to meet her Mamaji regarding some affidavits about the case, and she left soon. Smita stayed on.

“You know she has feelings for you,” she said. My eyes bulged out, my jaw landed on the bed and I nearly toppled from the bed.

“What?”

“Yes. She just told me while coming here.”

My mind was whirring and in a turmoil. “But… but I haven’t thought about her like that!”

“Neither have I thought about you like that,” said Smita, quietly.

I started to speak, but became conscious that I had nothing to say. In any case, I think it was best to keep quiet, for a change!

“It’s ok, Dinesh. I think Vineeta was sort of correct. I might accept the compromise. But allow me some more time, please. Maybe it will work out.”

When she had left, I was again left with my thoughts a new set of them, pouncing and prancing on my innards. This was impossible. Had Smita been mistaken? But no, she said that Vineeta had herself expressed her feelings. In all this, I finally realized how Smita must have felt when I proposed to her.

Suddenly, I was unsure. And more than Smita, I realized I had to make one firm and final decision.

****************************************

Today, fifteen years have passed since that scandal in college. In these fifteen years, I didn’t get time to think much about it. You know, how it is – college was over soon, and then MBA, then the jobs. Time became a casualty, friends drifted apart, and over the years, even that incident looked so trivial and blown out of proportion. It seemed we had nothing better to do than think about romantic liaisons and got serious about the slightest things.

However, last night I saw a new Bollywood release – very maudlin one, but there was one thought in it, which stuck on and pried open the entire can of memories. In the film, the heroine states “Mai rishton mein milawat nahi karrti” ; loosely translated it means that ‘she didn’t adulterate her relationships’- a friend and a lover are two different entities . So much like Smita, no?

Hence, all the past skeletons came crashing out. I came home from the multiplex, and immediately started to pen this story.

Like what happened to the film’s characters, sometimes circumstances and destiny force you to mix emotions. And often, the result can be extremely satisfying. That’s my personal experience. I wish I could meet Vishal again and tell him that my bookish philosophy has also worked very well.

As for me, let me sign off now – life has been great, or as my wife would say, it has been ‘wonderful and awesome’!

The End

Edited By Priyangini Mehta
Disclaimer – The story is a work of fiction; all characters and events are imaginary; any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Every year there are some innovative and hilariously titled films released; when Filmfare releases the list for its award nominations, treat I always go through the list to have a hearty laugh at them. This year, hair these are the titles that caught my attention, alongwith some of my comments.

Abhi Toh Raat Hai – Okay, I reckon a lot will happen in this night
Bajrang – He Man – Uh oh, where are the Bajrang Dal and VHP people?
Bepardah – Cover it up fast!
Betrayal – That was a name of my story once. I disown the title now!
Bheega Badan – Source of wet wet wet dreams!
Bikaau – Doesn’t seem to have sold anywhere
Bipasha- The Black Beauty – I wonder if Bipasha Basu should be amused or angry at this one!
Ek Se Mera Kya Hoga – With that DVD cover, Payal Rohtagi, I believe you – ek se tera vaakay kya hoga! Gets my ‘Most Outlandish Title Award’
Ek Zakham-The Blast – Get a Hindi-English lexicon, dude!
Galtiyan-The Mistake – Perhaps the film itself is one big mistake!
Free Entry – I’d stick to No Entry only.
Haseena – Smart, Sexy, Dangerous – Bizarre and Weird, as well.
Hot Girl – Ouch! Call the Burnol guys fast!
Hot Malaika – I can almost feel Arbaaz getting heated up in anger!
Iqraar – By Chance – No chance of watching this one, for sure!
Kaamwaali – ‘maid’ for disaster!
Love in Japan – Hope Sonu Nigam is not in this one too, after his outing in Nepal!
Madhubala – Ho hum, they don’t leave the yesteryear actresses as well, do they!
Maharani – Very very ‘queen’-y!
Main Hoon Rakhwala – but I ain’t trusting him!
Manoranjan-The Entertainment – Not too difficult to imagine of what sort!
Men Not Allowed – I bet only men would have gone to see this one (If I am not too mistaken, his too starred Payal Rohatgi)
Naughty Boy – get disciplined soon, buddy!
No Parking – What’s with these traffic sign named films!
Radha Ne Mala Japi Shaam Ki – And SDB squirmed in his grave, or wherever he is, at this!
Shaitan Ki Premika– LOL, this one takes the cake and the bakery! Wish they had added a tagline to the effect “A Sublime Love Story” 😛
Tera Pati Mera Pyaar – How bold – Ekta Kapoor take note, your ideas are getting stolen!
The Angrez – deport him fast!
The Real Dream Girl – Poor Hema Malini, there is a contender for her title as well!
Yeh Hai U Turn – Err, is the traffic department sponsoring films these days?

So, how many of these have you seen?

This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 

These are movies that either promised more, case or had huge budgets and big star-casts. I have purposely left out films like ‘Ek Se Mera Kya Hogaa’ that were doomed to bite the dust!

Rang De Basanti – The biggest disappointment. A patchy, uneven, disjointed, noisy, pretentious and juvenile film. It offered no tangible solution either for humanity (in general) or for India (in particular). In fact, it catered to the base and perverse human urge to kill someone who has wronged you. It’s ok to violently proclaim that ‘i will kill the person’ in a fit of anger, but that doesnt mean one executes the threat. This is not the behaviour what mature human civilized exhibit. The parallel to Indian freedom movement was ill-placed and utter nonsense. Anyways, I will refrain to say anything more here. Enough has been said, argued and counter-argued when I first wrote its review. Read it here. Sigh, another bad entry at the Oscars!

Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna – Karan Johar’s first self confessed attempt at ‘maturity’ was a dull, despondent and disastrous film, which dragged on and on endlessly. It resembled the serials prolifilating on television – bored housewives lusting after other’s husbands under the grand chhatrachhaya of Indian marriage and mangalsutra; wimpish men, who are either too bitter or too sweet;and, bucket ful of copious tears that drown the flimsy script; even the gawdy gloss matched. The music was boring. SRK lent some cheer as a character that could have been real, but was shunted irresponsibly by Karan to the other extreme from SRK’s otherwise screen-persona. The only bright sunshine remained Amitabh Bachhan, who lent grace and fun to this tedious affair.

Aap Ki Khatir – It’s like the rag the dog pulled out from a god-forsaken attic. Stale and tattered, the film was a big yawn evoking fare.

Ankahee – Enough of Bhatt-styled mentally disturbed and manic-depressed characters. Morose and melancholic, it lacks any escape for respite. For the same reason, I avoided Woh Lamhe! Both films have good music, though.

Utthaan – Another example of how to spoil a good story with indifferent direction. The twist could have been earth shattering bang, but is in reality a whimper not even loud enough to wake you up from the nap that you take during the film. Surprise factor? Neha Dhupia doesn’t bare at all, which makes you feel sad since it was better when she bared all!

Apna Sapna Money Money – I missed this on theatres; but didnt want to spoil it by watching only on small screen. So, with help of borrowed projector, I saw it at home deriving full theater benefits. I was expecting another Kya Kool Hai Hum; alas, the film is a gigantic bore – and only Riteish Deshmukh is the bright star that saves the film from total darkness. But still, the disappointment didnt fully dissipate, hence placed in this list.

Bas Ek Pal – I was in two minds about this film. It could have been placed in the ‘theek thaak’ list. But on second view I saw the glaring errors in its script – a loose and haphazard one, that moves from a compelling jail account to a wishy washy tale of love and betrayal, interspersed with notions of wife-bashing. The movie has a rivetting first half. But the second one wastes away the grand build-up. Director Onir (who made the sensitive My Brother Nikhil) doesnt live up to the expectations. As ever, Juhi Chawla and Sanjay Suri delight. Jimmy Shergill is good too. Urmila disappoints.

Chingaari – Umm, err… was this really a film? Crass, coarse and chaotic, the film was a long string of dreadful scenes put together. Sadly, it didnt nothing to alleviate the pain or elevate the stature of prostitutes.

Teesri Aankh – If you can take it as a laughter inducing exercise, enjoy the film. Per se, the movie had nothing going for it. Sunny Deol shouted his lungs hoarse, and only added to the pain. Full review here

Naksha – Another Sunny Deol flick that was outlandishly bizarre and bakwaas! As an actor, he needs to seriously re-think where he is headed.

Chup Chup Ke – Priyadarshan severely lost his touch with this one. The color coordinated costumes were eye pleasing; wish they had coordinated the script as well!

Jaane Hoga Kya – Even Bipasha Basu would burn this off with the next available beedi from her resume. The clone-saga provided inadvertant humor, but that’s about it. Original review available here.

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It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, and but some days back I was again on the drive. This time, prostate we were on the stretch between Agra and Firozabad, which falls within Agra District – or so we thought.

Just for formalities sake, allow me to list out the towns/villages we crossed; of course, interspersed with a few incidents that made it possible for this post to be written.

Kuberpur – Wherever the goddamn village is, the office we wanted to visit was thankfully on NH2, leading to Firozabad (yeah, the same place famous for its bangles and glass works). The cold cemented floor, and cobweb laden dirty walls inside the office werent much of a welcome anyways. But we panicked full time when we saw a thousand people (ok, I exaggerate – discount ten percent here or there) clamouring over one hapless employee, who was trying to do ten thousand things (I exaggerate again, but discount ten percent here or there) at the same time. Despite winters, the smell of sweat and human skin was overwhelming, but we managed a feeble smile towards the official, who tried to shake hands with us over the crowd and babel of voices; the official murmured a hundred thousand apologies (I exaggerate…but you get the point by now). We genuinely understood!

Etmadpur – This was just a few kilometers ahead on the highway. However, to enter the village, we had to get off it, on to a now-familiar dusty and narrow road. Our destination was bang in the middle of a crowded street, that lined odd shops, with cyclists covering the entire stretch. We parked my car, and got off.

Curious faces stared back at us, and I felt oddly uncomfortable to be looked at like this. “Why are they staring as if we had just escaped a zoo?” I murmured to my colleague. “Well, tie waale, patte-waale jaanwar kam hi dekhne ko milte honge yahan” he retorted wryly. I didn’t take off the tie, but discreetly placed the ‘patta‘ (our company’s ID-card) inside the pocket.

From this stretch began the real adventure. And thanx to Idea Mobile. Well, almost. It was Idea’s locator that flashed ‘Barhan Crssng’ on my cell-phone, which made me curious to ask about its distance from Etmadpur.

Barhan – To me now any road in U.P. interior is the same. The stretch to Barhan was no different, either in its ‘comfort’ or topography, to the ones that I had traveled earlier while going to Achnera, Kagarole or Kirawali. Barhan is a sandy village, with brown mud buildings – a small, rain-water-filled, by-default formed pond ran alongside the railway track, which pointed to something as high-sounding as ‘Barhan Junction’.

Khaanda – At Barhan, we had enquired on the few other places that we could visit on this route. Khanda was a bit further on and then there was Jalesar, our aquaintance informed. So off we were to Khaanda. The road was a bit better, but as often with these villages, they are never on the good roads. So, soon we had to depart the ‘highway’ and get onto a small road that led to this village.

“Err…I hope we are on track” I remarked, when we had been shaken enough. My colleague (let’s call him Ajeet, for nomenclature ease) tried to read some illegible address on a tin shanty.

“Why dont you ask her?” I teased, as a lady passed by.

“You want me to get killed! Dont you see the foot long ghoonghat she is in” Ajeet replied, visibly horrified at my suggestion.  

A few meters later, it was confirmed we were in Khanda – but whosoever we asked, gave a vague direction towards the office we had to visit. So as vaguely we got the instructions, so did we go. And ended up in a huge courtyard full of goats, and lazing elderly gentlemen, who viewed my dust-laden once-upon-a-white Santro disinterestingly.

“I am sure we are on the wrong way” I hissed beneath my breath, as the royal animals grazed the sides of my car and leisurely passed around it.

With difficulty, I managed to maneuver the car out from that sandy courtyard, and finally stopped a sensible-looking gentleman, and firmly asked for the directions.

“Galat ho” he said. “Main road se, bamba kinaare jaana tha.”

The man was gesturing back towards the highway again. Since Ajeet is from Agra, I thought he would have understood the local dialect, but after a few seconds to my dismay, I found him stammering, “B..bamba kinaare?”

“Jee, bamba kinaare!” The man asserted again.

“Ummm…err…yeh bamba kya hota hai?”

Now, the man was clearly lost. With his hands straight and moving in parallel motion, he said, “Bamba…yaani, paani…naala…naala kinare”

How simple! And we tucked away between us one new word in our vocabulary.

Jalesar – “It’s just 21 kilometers” I remarked, when we had finished off with Khaanda. Ajeet was apprehensive in going towards Jalesar. But I argued that we still had some time in hand, plus (as the official earlier had pointed out) there was a direct route back to Agra, and of course 21 kilometers is never ‘far away’ for us Delhiites. I shouldnt have spoken. Because, barely five kilometers on, the road vanished and all we had were potholes, and stones, and sand, and grime, as my poor Santro wove its way towards Jalesar – which wasnt (to our horrific discovery) in Agra even. It fell within Etah District.

At a particulary bad stretch, the car shook so hard that suddenly out from nowhere, Asha Bhonsle started to assert ‘Aaj main khush hoon’*.

Terrified, we both jumped out our skin! For that split second, when the silence was rudely cut by her voice, we were frightened.

Now, I admit I am a bigger fan of her sister’s but that didn’t give Ashaji the right to laugh at my plight, and get happy about it too.

Since Ajeet was shaken too, surely this wasn’t just my imagination. I eyed the culprit – the car stereo had switched on, on its own.

“Tera haath laga hoga,” I told Ajeet.

“Arre nahi baba. My hand was far off,” he defended himself.

The Mystery of Automatic Stereo Power On would have lingered on for sometime, but the road gave us ample opportunity to solve it. The bumps were so hard that they somehow started the power of the system!

We reached Jalesar in one piece, and almost at our wit’s end, and the day’s too.

Jalesar is a town, and a pretty large one, since we got quite lost in its maze of streets and alleyways, and an array of markets. If you care to ever go there, make sure you make the roundabout with a statue as your fulcrum point – everything seems to originate or end there.

(We were shattered to learn there was after all no direct route to Agra, and if we had to reach back home, there were only two alternatives available – either take the same road that we had come through, which wasn’t advisable from security point of view. Or, go through Sadabad – which is some 28 kms from Jalesar – and then move on to Agra. Anyone who has read these pieces earlier would know that Sadabad (in Hathras distt.) falls on the same ‘road-less’ Aligarh route, and is the biggest bane of my current travelling!)

*Aaj mai khush hoon lo tum hi bolo kyun, from Grahan; Music- Karthik Raja; Singers – Asha Bhonsle, Jolly Mukherjee

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Seven

I was a bit perplexed to hear the nurse announce Vineeta’s name. I was not mentally prepared to meet her, grip mainly because I had suspected her to be the enemy whereas she had proven to be an ally. Yet, buy information pills there was a curiosity to know how she had managed it. And where had I gone wrong in my judgment?

She entered the room with a strong whiff of perfume. Perhaps, unhealthy Chanel, I thought as she would have informed, had we been in college. But today, I found her very different from the air-headed fool that I believed her to be. For one, she wore a salvar suit. Having seen her mostly in low-waist jeans, this was a marked change but for the better. The suit made her look even more attractive, and it fit wonderfully on her tall and lissome frame.

She walked across the room, hesitant and unsure, and I pointed towards the chair next to the bed, for her to sit. She sat gingerly, groping to begin the conversation. In that moment, I looked at her closely, and felt horrified at my own self for hating her so much.

“I am sorry,” she began.

“I should be sorry,” I interrupted. “And honestly, I am sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s nothing. Anyone would have thought what you did about me and Ashish,” she said, with a tinge of contempt at the name. “And that exactly was my plan!”

“But when did all this start? And why?”

“It started when Vasu spread the news about Smita’s pregnancy with obvious glee and malice,” she started.

But I stopped her mid-way. “Vasu?” I asked, shocked. So Vasu was the traitor in the class; that unknown friend of Ashish.

“Yes, Vasu,” she reiterated. “From then on, I don’t know why but I really felt bad for Smita and angry at Ashish. It wasn’t fair. So, I thought of getting back on Ashish… no clear plan to send him to jail, but at least to humiliate him enough so that he doesn’t play around again with a girl’s emotions. I knew he had flipped for me long time back. He had also sent some feelers through a common friend even as he was going around with Smita. He had been two-timing her for a long time. Anyways, I had ignored him then and had tried to drill some sense into Smita, but she took it otherwise and thought I was jealous of her. Also, just before this thing spread, and probably even before you came to know of it, one day I overheard Vasu and Ashish talking in the auditorium. They thought they were alone, but I heard them full and clear. Ashish was jittery about Smita’s pregnancy, and was asking a solution from Vasu. So, Vasu advised him to flatly deny his involvement, refuse to acknowledge Smita and devised this huge plan of spreading the rumor in the class, to humiliate Smita and drop enough hints to implicate you.”

“But why would Vasu want to humiliate Smita?”

“Remember the huge misunderstanding they had some months back. Apparently, Vasu hadn’t forgotten that and wanted to get back at her. It sounds silly alright, but that’s what he told Ashish. I think he is not the kind who can easily forgive or forget. Since, Vasu was never really pally with me, so I guess it was easy for him to pass the blame of ‘rumour-monger’ on to me.”

I was aghast and speechless.

“It was easy to make Ashish fall for me. He was already interested, plus he has an overactive libido, which I used to my full advantage. When things started getting a bit serious, I panicked. At that point, I took my mamaji, who is in police, in confidence. The day you beat Ashish up was an ideal day to execute the small plan we had made. I took him to our Mehrauli farm-house, and ensured that mamaji was fully informed. By the time we reached the place, I could see two familiar policemen, in plain-clothes near the farm. Ashish was terribly wounded you really beat him to a pulp, so he couldn’t have seen anything or anyone. There, I nursed him, and when, in the evening, he tried to be overtly romantic, I raised an alarm. The police rushed in, and nabbed him.”

There was a certain amount of maturity and intelligence on her face, which had otherwise always been quite expressionless. The softness had given way to determination, which lent an elderly hue to her face. Or perhaps, my eyes had always been curtained by silly enmity, which had blinded me to her obvious positives. I was dumbfounded at what she had done, the enormity of the act and the courage in going through with it.

“You are a genius, Vineeta!” I gushed, “you really bit him like a scorpion.”

“Don’t forget, I am a Scorpio by Zodiac,” she laughed. And I found the soft stream like naughtiness in the laughter very assuring and endearing.

“Vasu, Vasu! I can’t believe he was such a bastard! But what should he have against me?”

She shrugged. “Really can’t say. I guess he dislikes you because you are so close to Smita.”

“And the other day, I was at his place, asking for his help to sort out this mess.” I remembered what he had said that day, ‘Accept the child’ and when I had asked about Ashish, he had replied, ‘Leave him’. Of course, he wanted me not to mess with Ashish, and accept the child so that his friend could be free from blame. Damn sweet of him , indeed, I thought sarcastically! Only, I was thinking of accepting the child with another motive. He had wonderfully played on my emotion.

“Appearances can be deceptive,” remarked Vineeta.

“I wish people would show their enmity right at your face, rather than attacking from behind. It hurts.”

“I know. You were pretty open in showing your enmity towards me.”

“I am sorry,” I said, sheepishly.

“It’s ok, I know where you were coming from, and you are right it is the clarity in emotions while dealing with people that is important,” she said. She turned her attention to the flowers on the side table. “These are so awesome and wonderful!”

She raised her arm to touch them. “Yep. Smita got them,” I informed. For a sliver of a second, I thought I saw her arm hesitate, before touching them tenderly. I felt warmth exuding from her, something that I hadn’t expected to feel, at least not from her.

****************************************

I was to stay under observation for a few more days in the hospital, Dr. Chatterjee informed. I groaned. I was sick of being there, and wanted to move out. There was nothing to do, except read magazines, which dad had brought, and sleep. The routine was awfully boring. It was terrible to be fooling around in the hospital bed when the whole world was on the move. All that while, what I could really do is think, think and think more, till the time my mind was sore. I wanted to move out and do something – something that the world would be proud of, something that my parents could be proud of. Honestly, I had no idea what it would be. But I thought, let me first get out of this goddamn room!

Vishal, Sugandha, Saina and Shilpa came to meet. But the most surprising visit was of Prof. Arora. It was an awkward meeting, but this time the tables had turned. He was the one who was nervous and kept on repeating his apology. I believed him when he said that ‘family ties had blinded my eyes’. It was expected, and I held no grudge against him. “And yes, you are on for my tutorial class,” he offered, as a parting gift. I was pleased.

I had realized the hard way that all of us make mistakes, misunderstanding each other due to various circumstances and guises. Smita couldn’t see through Ashish. Hell, I couldn’t understand the people I met daily – Vasu and Vineeta!

Smita and Vineeta made a second round of visits a couple of days later together. It was odd seeing them enter like old friends. All this while, an invisible wall of rivalry had kept the two apart. Perhaps, some good had come from all the scandal in college: it broke the ice between them.

Smita looked relaxed and much better than she had been. She sat on the chair, while Vineeta moved towards the window.

“Wow, the lawn is so wonderful and awesome!” remarked Vineeta. It was. But since I had seen it enough, I was pretty bored with it.

“Tomorrow I will be free from this,” Smita said, her eyes pointing towards her abdomen.

Vineeta looked at her and then at me, and with a reassuring smile said, “Don’t worry. It will be fine. I will go with her.”

Smita smiled back. “Thanks a bunch.”

“But have you thought of what to do after that,” Vineeta asked her, and her eyes indicated me. I was very uncomfortable, and wished she hadn’t brought it up. But in a way, I was happy. Maybe Smita would have reached a positive decision.

Smita didn’t reply immediately. “Yes. I have thought a lot but couldn’t reach any decision,” she replied eventually. I saw my hopes crumble. Turning to me, she said, “Dinesh, you are a great friend. But anything more would just be a compromise.”

“At least it will be with a person who loves you,” whispered Vineeta, her eyes lowered, and she turned away to look out of the window.

Smita nodded, but didn’t say anything. Vineeta had to meet her Mamaji regarding some affidavits about the case, and she left soon. Smita stayed on.

“You know she has feelings for you,” she said. My eyes bulged out, my jaw landed on the bed and I nearly toppled from the bed.

“What?”

“Yes. She just told me while coming here.”

My mind was whirring and in a turmoil. “But… but I haven’t thought about her like that!”

“Neither have I thought about you like that,” said Smita, quietly.

I started to speak, but became conscious that I had nothing to say. In any case, I think it was best to keep quiet, for a change!

“It’s ok, Dinesh. I think Vineeta was sort of correct. I might accept the compromise. But allow me some more time, please. Maybe it will work out.”

When she had left, I was again left with my thoughts a new set of them, pouncing and prancing on my innards. This was impossible. Had Smita been mistaken? But no, she said that Vineeta had herself expressed her feelings. In all this, I finally realized how Smita must have felt when I proposed to her.

Suddenly, I was unsure. And more than Smita, I realized I had to make one firm and final decision.

****************************************

Today, fifteen years have passed since that scandal in college. In these fifteen years, I didn’t get time to think much about it. You know, how it is – college was over soon, and then MBA, then the jobs. Time became a casualty, friends drifted apart, and over the years, even that incident looked so trivial and blown out of proportion. It seemed we had nothing better to do than think about romantic liaisons and got serious about the slightest things.

However, last night I saw a new Bollywood release – very maudlin one, but there was one thought in it, which stuck on and pried open the entire can of memories. In the film, the heroine states “Mai rishton mein milawat nahi karrti” ; loosely translated it means that ‘she didn’t adulterate her relationships’- a friend and a lover are two different entities . So much like Smita, no?

Hence, all the past skeletons came crashing out. I came home from the multiplex, and immediately started to pen this story.

Like what happened to the film’s characters, sometimes circumstances and destiny force you to mix emotions. And often, the result can be extremely satisfying. That’s my personal experience. I wish I could meet Vishal again and tell him that my bookish philosophy has also worked very well.

As for me, let me sign off now – life has been great, or as my wife would say, it has been ‘wonderful and awesome’!

The End

Edited By Priyangini Mehta
Disclaimer – The story is a work of fiction; all characters and events are imaginary; any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Every year there are some innovative and hilariously titled films released; when Filmfare releases the list for its award nominations, treat I always go through the list to have a hearty laugh at them. This year, hair these are the titles that caught my attention, alongwith some of my comments.

Abhi Toh Raat Hai – Okay, I reckon a lot will happen in this night
Bajrang – He Man – Uh oh, where are the Bajrang Dal and VHP people?
Bepardah – Cover it up fast!
Betrayal – That was a name of my story once. I disown the title now!
Bheega Badan – Source of wet wet wet dreams!
Bikaau – Doesn’t seem to have sold anywhere
Bipasha- The Black Beauty – I wonder if Bipasha Basu should be amused or angry at this one!
Ek Se Mera Kya Hoga – With that DVD cover, Payal Rohtagi, I believe you – ek se tera vaakay kya hoga! Gets my ‘Most Outlandish Title Award’
Ek Zakham-The Blast – Get a Hindi-English lexicon, dude!
Galtiyan-The Mistake – Perhaps the film itself is one big mistake!
Free Entry – I’d stick to No Entry only.
Haseena – Smart, Sexy, Dangerous – Bizarre and Weird, as well.
Hot Girl – Ouch! Call the Burnol guys fast!
Hot Malaika – I can almost feel Arbaaz getting heated up in anger!
Iqraar – By Chance – No chance of watching this one, for sure!
Kaamwaali – ‘maid’ for disaster!
Love in Japan – Hope Sonu Nigam is not in this one too, after his outing in Nepal!
Madhubala – Ho hum, they don’t leave the yesteryear actresses as well, do they!
Maharani – Very very ‘queen’-y!
Main Hoon Rakhwala – but I ain’t trusting him!
Manoranjan-The Entertainment – Not too difficult to imagine of what sort!
Men Not Allowed – I bet only men would have gone to see this one (If I am not too mistaken, his too starred Payal Rohatgi)
Naughty Boy – get disciplined soon, buddy!
No Parking – What’s with these traffic sign named films!
Radha Ne Mala Japi Shaam Ki – And SDB squirmed in his grave, or wherever he is, at this!
Shaitan Ki Premika– LOL, this one takes the cake and the bakery! Wish they had added a tagline to the effect “A Sublime Love Story” 😛
Tera Pati Mera Pyaar – How bold – Ekta Kapoor take note, your ideas are getting stolen!
The Angrez – deport him fast!
The Real Dream Girl – Poor Hema Malini, there is a contender for her title as well!
Yeh Hai U Turn – Err, is the traffic department sponsoring films these days?

So, how many of these have you seen?

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 

These are movies that either promised more, case or had huge budgets and big star-casts. I have purposely left out films like ‘Ek Se Mera Kya Hogaa’ that were doomed to bite the dust!

Rang De Basanti – The biggest disappointment. A patchy, uneven, disjointed, noisy, pretentious and juvenile film. It offered no tangible solution either for humanity (in general) or for India (in particular). In fact, it catered to the base and perverse human urge to kill someone who has wronged you. It’s ok to violently proclaim that ‘i will kill the person’ in a fit of anger, but that doesnt mean one executes the threat. This is not the behaviour what mature human civilized exhibit. The parallel to Indian freedom movement was ill-placed and utter nonsense. Anyways, I will refrain to say anything more here. Enough has been said, argued and counter-argued when I first wrote its review. Read it here. Sigh, another bad entry at the Oscars!

Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna – Karan Johar’s first self confessed attempt at ‘maturity’ was a dull, despondent and disastrous film, which dragged on and on endlessly. It resembled the serials prolifilating on television – bored housewives lusting after other’s husbands under the grand chhatrachhaya of Indian marriage and mangalsutra; wimpish men, who are either too bitter or too sweet;and, bucket ful of copious tears that drown the flimsy script; even the gawdy gloss matched. The music was boring. SRK lent some cheer as a character that could have been real, but was shunted irresponsibly by Karan to the other extreme from SRK’s otherwise screen-persona. The only bright sunshine remained Amitabh Bachhan, who lent grace and fun to this tedious affair.

Aap Ki Khatir – It’s like the rag the dog pulled out from a god-forsaken attic. Stale and tattered, the film was a big yawn evoking fare.

Ankahee – Enough of Bhatt-styled mentally disturbed and manic-depressed characters. Morose and melancholic, it lacks any escape for respite. For the same reason, I avoided Woh Lamhe! Both films have good music, though.

Utthaan – Another example of how to spoil a good story with indifferent direction. The twist could have been earth shattering bang, but is in reality a whimper not even loud enough to wake you up from the nap that you take during the film. Surprise factor? Neha Dhupia doesn’t bare at all, which makes you feel sad since it was better when she bared all!

Apna Sapna Money Money – I missed this on theatres; but didnt want to spoil it by watching only on small screen. So, with help of borrowed projector, I saw it at home deriving full theater benefits. I was expecting another Kya Kool Hai Hum; alas, the film is a gigantic bore – and only Riteish Deshmukh is the bright star that saves the film from total darkness. But still, the disappointment didnt fully dissipate, hence placed in this list.

Bas Ek Pal – I was in two minds about this film. It could have been placed in the ‘theek thaak’ list. But on second view I saw the glaring errors in its script – a loose and haphazard one, that moves from a compelling jail account to a wishy washy tale of love and betrayal, interspersed with notions of wife-bashing. The movie has a rivetting first half. But the second one wastes away the grand build-up. Director Onir (who made the sensitive My Brother Nikhil) doesnt live up to the expectations. As ever, Juhi Chawla and Sanjay Suri delight. Jimmy Shergill is good too. Urmila disappoints.

Chingaari – Umm, err… was this really a film? Crass, coarse and chaotic, the film was a long string of dreadful scenes put together. Sadly, it didnt nothing to alleviate the pain or elevate the stature of prostitutes.

Teesri Aankh – If you can take it as a laughter inducing exercise, enjoy the film. Per se, the movie had nothing going for it. Sunny Deol shouted his lungs hoarse, and only added to the pain. Full review here

Naksha – Another Sunny Deol flick that was outlandishly bizarre and bakwaas! As an actor, he needs to seriously re-think where he is headed.

Chup Chup Ke – Priyadarshan severely lost his touch with this one. The color coordinated costumes were eye pleasing; wish they had coordinated the script as well!

Jaane Hoga Kya – Even Bipasha Basu would burn this off with the next available beedi from her resume. The clone-saga provided inadvertant humor, but that’s about it. Original review available here.

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It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, and but some days back I was again on the drive. This time, prostate we were on the stretch between Agra and Firozabad, which falls within Agra District – or so we thought.

Just for formalities sake, allow me to list out the towns/villages we crossed; of course, interspersed with a few incidents that made it possible for this post to be written.

Kuberpur – Wherever the goddamn village is, the office we wanted to visit was thankfully on NH2, leading to Firozabad (yeah, the same place famous for its bangles and glass works). The cold cemented floor, and cobweb laden dirty walls inside the office werent much of a welcome anyways. But we panicked full time when we saw a thousand people (ok, I exaggerate – discount ten percent here or there) clamouring over one hapless employee, who was trying to do ten thousand things (I exaggerate again, but discount ten percent here or there) at the same time. Despite winters, the smell of sweat and human skin was overwhelming, but we managed a feeble smile towards the official, who tried to shake hands with us over the crowd and babel of voices; the official murmured a hundred thousand apologies (I exaggerate…but you get the point by now). We genuinely understood!

Etmadpur – This was just a few kilometers ahead on the highway. However, to enter the village, we had to get off it, on to a now-familiar dusty and narrow road. Our destination was bang in the middle of a crowded street, that lined odd shops, with cyclists covering the entire stretch. We parked my car, and got off.

Curious faces stared back at us, and I felt oddly uncomfortable to be looked at like this. “Why are they staring as if we had just escaped a zoo?” I murmured to my colleague. “Well, tie waale, patte-waale jaanwar kam hi dekhne ko milte honge yahan” he retorted wryly. I didn’t take off the tie, but discreetly placed the ‘patta‘ (our company’s ID-card) inside the pocket.

From this stretch began the real adventure. And thanx to Idea Mobile. Well, almost. It was Idea’s locator that flashed ‘Barhan Crssng’ on my cell-phone, which made me curious to ask about its distance from Etmadpur.

Barhan – To me now any road in U.P. interior is the same. The stretch to Barhan was no different, either in its ‘comfort’ or topography, to the ones that I had traveled earlier while going to Achnera, Kagarole or Kirawali. Barhan is a sandy village, with brown mud buildings – a small, rain-water-filled, by-default formed pond ran alongside the railway track, which pointed to something as high-sounding as ‘Barhan Junction’.

Khaanda – At Barhan, we had enquired on the few other places that we could visit on this route. Khanda was a bit further on and then there was Jalesar, our aquaintance informed. So off we were to Khaanda. The road was a bit better, but as often with these villages, they are never on the good roads. So, soon we had to depart the ‘highway’ and get onto a small road that led to this village.

“Err…I hope we are on track” I remarked, when we had been shaken enough. My colleague (let’s call him Ajeet, for nomenclature ease) tried to read some illegible address on a tin shanty.

“Why dont you ask her?” I teased, as a lady passed by.

“You want me to get killed! Dont you see the foot long ghoonghat she is in” Ajeet replied, visibly horrified at my suggestion.  

A few meters later, it was confirmed we were in Khanda – but whosoever we asked, gave a vague direction towards the office we had to visit. So as vaguely we got the instructions, so did we go. And ended up in a huge courtyard full of goats, and lazing elderly gentlemen, who viewed my dust-laden once-upon-a-white Santro disinterestingly.

“I am sure we are on the wrong way” I hissed beneath my breath, as the royal animals grazed the sides of my car and leisurely passed around it.

With difficulty, I managed to maneuver the car out from that sandy courtyard, and finally stopped a sensible-looking gentleman, and firmly asked for the directions.

“Galat ho” he said. “Main road se, bamba kinaare jaana tha.”

The man was gesturing back towards the highway again. Since Ajeet is from Agra, I thought he would have understood the local dialect, but after a few seconds to my dismay, I found him stammering, “B..bamba kinaare?”

“Jee, bamba kinaare!” The man asserted again.

“Ummm…err…yeh bamba kya hota hai?”

Now, the man was clearly lost. With his hands straight and moving in parallel motion, he said, “Bamba…yaani, paani…naala…naala kinare”

How simple! And we tucked away between us one new word in our vocabulary.

Jalesar – “It’s just 21 kilometers” I remarked, when we had finished off with Khaanda. Ajeet was apprehensive in going towards Jalesar. But I argued that we still had some time in hand, plus (as the official earlier had pointed out) there was a direct route back to Agra, and of course 21 kilometers is never ‘far away’ for us Delhiites. I shouldnt have spoken. Because, barely five kilometers on, the road vanished and all we had were potholes, and stones, and sand, and grime, as my poor Santro wove its way towards Jalesar – which wasnt (to our horrific discovery) in Agra even. It fell within Etah District.

At a particulary bad stretch, the car shook so hard that suddenly out from nowhere, Asha Bhonsle started to assert ‘Aaj main khush hoon’*.

Terrified, we both jumped out our skin! For that split second, when the silence was rudely cut by her voice, we were frightened.

Now, I admit I am a bigger fan of her sister’s but that didn’t give Ashaji the right to laugh at my plight, and get happy about it too.

Since Ajeet was shaken too, surely this wasn’t just my imagination. I eyed the culprit – the car stereo had switched on, on its own.

“Tera haath laga hoga,” I told Ajeet.

“Arre nahi baba. My hand was far off,” he defended himself.

The Mystery of Automatic Stereo Power On would have lingered on for sometime, but the road gave us ample opportunity to solve it. The bumps were so hard that they somehow started the power of the system!

We reached Jalesar in one piece, and almost at our wit’s end, and the day’s too.

Jalesar is a town, and a pretty large one, since we got quite lost in its maze of streets and alleyways, and an array of markets. If you care to ever go there, make sure you make the roundabout with a statue as your fulcrum point – everything seems to originate or end there.

(We were shattered to learn there was after all no direct route to Agra, and if we had to reach back home, there were only two alternatives available – either take the same road that we had come through, which wasn’t advisable from security point of view. Or, go through Sadabad – which is some 28 kms from Jalesar – and then move on to Agra. Anyone who has read these pieces earlier would know that Sadabad (in Hathras distt.) falls on the same ‘road-less’ Aligarh route, and is the biggest bane of my current travelling!)

*Aaj mai khush hoon lo tum hi bolo kyun, from Grahan; Music- Karthik Raja; Singers – Asha Bhonsle, Jolly Mukherjee

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Seven

I was a bit perplexed to hear the nurse announce Vineeta’s name. I was not mentally prepared to meet her, grip mainly because I had suspected her to be the enemy whereas she had proven to be an ally. Yet, buy information pills there was a curiosity to know how she had managed it. And where had I gone wrong in my judgment?

She entered the room with a strong whiff of perfume. Perhaps, unhealthy Chanel, I thought as she would have informed, had we been in college. But today, I found her very different from the air-headed fool that I believed her to be. For one, she wore a salvar suit. Having seen her mostly in low-waist jeans, this was a marked change but for the better. The suit made her look even more attractive, and it fit wonderfully on her tall and lissome frame.

She walked across the room, hesitant and unsure, and I pointed towards the chair next to the bed, for her to sit. She sat gingerly, groping to begin the conversation. In that moment, I looked at her closely, and felt horrified at my own self for hating her so much.

“I am sorry,” she began.

“I should be sorry,” I interrupted. “And honestly, I am sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s nothing. Anyone would have thought what you did about me and Ashish,” she said, with a tinge of contempt at the name. “And that exactly was my plan!”

“But when did all this start? And why?”

“It started when Vasu spread the news about Smita’s pregnancy with obvious glee and malice,” she started.

But I stopped her mid-way. “Vasu?” I asked, shocked. So Vasu was the traitor in the class; that unknown friend of Ashish.

“Yes, Vasu,” she reiterated. “From then on, I don’t know why but I really felt bad for Smita and angry at Ashish. It wasn’t fair. So, I thought of getting back on Ashish… no clear plan to send him to jail, but at least to humiliate him enough so that he doesn’t play around again with a girl’s emotions. I knew he had flipped for me long time back. He had also sent some feelers through a common friend even as he was going around with Smita. He had been two-timing her for a long time. Anyways, I had ignored him then and had tried to drill some sense into Smita, but she took it otherwise and thought I was jealous of her. Also, just before this thing spread, and probably even before you came to know of it, one day I overheard Vasu and Ashish talking in the auditorium. They thought they were alone, but I heard them full and clear. Ashish was jittery about Smita’s pregnancy, and was asking a solution from Vasu. So, Vasu advised him to flatly deny his involvement, refuse to acknowledge Smita and devised this huge plan of spreading the rumor in the class, to humiliate Smita and drop enough hints to implicate you.”

“But why would Vasu want to humiliate Smita?”

“Remember the huge misunderstanding they had some months back. Apparently, Vasu hadn’t forgotten that and wanted to get back at her. It sounds silly alright, but that’s what he told Ashish. I think he is not the kind who can easily forgive or forget. Since, Vasu was never really pally with me, so I guess it was easy for him to pass the blame of ‘rumour-monger’ on to me.”

I was aghast and speechless.

“It was easy to make Ashish fall for me. He was already interested, plus he has an overactive libido, which I used to my full advantage. When things started getting a bit serious, I panicked. At that point, I took my mamaji, who is in police, in confidence. The day you beat Ashish up was an ideal day to execute the small plan we had made. I took him to our Mehrauli farm-house, and ensured that mamaji was fully informed. By the time we reached the place, I could see two familiar policemen, in plain-clothes near the farm. Ashish was terribly wounded you really beat him to a pulp, so he couldn’t have seen anything or anyone. There, I nursed him, and when, in the evening, he tried to be overtly romantic, I raised an alarm. The police rushed in, and nabbed him.”

There was a certain amount of maturity and intelligence on her face, which had otherwise always been quite expressionless. The softness had given way to determination, which lent an elderly hue to her face. Or perhaps, my eyes had always been curtained by silly enmity, which had blinded me to her obvious positives. I was dumbfounded at what she had done, the enormity of the act and the courage in going through with it.

“You are a genius, Vineeta!” I gushed, “you really bit him like a scorpion.”

“Don’t forget, I am a Scorpio by Zodiac,” she laughed. And I found the soft stream like naughtiness in the laughter very assuring and endearing.

“Vasu, Vasu! I can’t believe he was such a bastard! But what should he have against me?”

She shrugged. “Really can’t say. I guess he dislikes you because you are so close to Smita.”

“And the other day, I was at his place, asking for his help to sort out this mess.” I remembered what he had said that day, ‘Accept the child’ and when I had asked about Ashish, he had replied, ‘Leave him’. Of course, he wanted me not to mess with Ashish, and accept the child so that his friend could be free from blame. Damn sweet of him , indeed, I thought sarcastically! Only, I was thinking of accepting the child with another motive. He had wonderfully played on my emotion.

“Appearances can be deceptive,” remarked Vineeta.

“I wish people would show their enmity right at your face, rather than attacking from behind. It hurts.”

“I know. You were pretty open in showing your enmity towards me.”

“I am sorry,” I said, sheepishly.

“It’s ok, I know where you were coming from, and you are right it is the clarity in emotions while dealing with people that is important,” she said. She turned her attention to the flowers on the side table. “These are so awesome and wonderful!”

She raised her arm to touch them. “Yep. Smita got them,” I informed. For a sliver of a second, I thought I saw her arm hesitate, before touching them tenderly. I felt warmth exuding from her, something that I hadn’t expected to feel, at least not from her.

****************************************

I was to stay under observation for a few more days in the hospital, Dr. Chatterjee informed. I groaned. I was sick of being there, and wanted to move out. There was nothing to do, except read magazines, which dad had brought, and sleep. The routine was awfully boring. It was terrible to be fooling around in the hospital bed when the whole world was on the move. All that while, what I could really do is think, think and think more, till the time my mind was sore. I wanted to move out and do something – something that the world would be proud of, something that my parents could be proud of. Honestly, I had no idea what it would be. But I thought, let me first get out of this goddamn room!

Vishal, Sugandha, Saina and Shilpa came to meet. But the most surprising visit was of Prof. Arora. It was an awkward meeting, but this time the tables had turned. He was the one who was nervous and kept on repeating his apology. I believed him when he said that ‘family ties had blinded my eyes’. It was expected, and I held no grudge against him. “And yes, you are on for my tutorial class,” he offered, as a parting gift. I was pleased.

I had realized the hard way that all of us make mistakes, misunderstanding each other due to various circumstances and guises. Smita couldn’t see through Ashish. Hell, I couldn’t understand the people I met daily – Vasu and Vineeta!

Smita and Vineeta made a second round of visits a couple of days later together. It was odd seeing them enter like old friends. All this while, an invisible wall of rivalry had kept the two apart. Perhaps, some good had come from all the scandal in college: it broke the ice between them.

Smita looked relaxed and much better than she had been. She sat on the chair, while Vineeta moved towards the window.

“Wow, the lawn is so wonderful and awesome!” remarked Vineeta. It was. But since I had seen it enough, I was pretty bored with it.

“Tomorrow I will be free from this,” Smita said, her eyes pointing towards her abdomen.

Vineeta looked at her and then at me, and with a reassuring smile said, “Don’t worry. It will be fine. I will go with her.”

Smita smiled back. “Thanks a bunch.”

“But have you thought of what to do after that,” Vineeta asked her, and her eyes indicated me. I was very uncomfortable, and wished she hadn’t brought it up. But in a way, I was happy. Maybe Smita would have reached a positive decision.

Smita didn’t reply immediately. “Yes. I have thought a lot but couldn’t reach any decision,” she replied eventually. I saw my hopes crumble. Turning to me, she said, “Dinesh, you are a great friend. But anything more would just be a compromise.”

“At least it will be with a person who loves you,” whispered Vineeta, her eyes lowered, and she turned away to look out of the window.

Smita nodded, but didn’t say anything. Vineeta had to meet her Mamaji regarding some affidavits about the case, and she left soon. Smita stayed on.

“You know she has feelings for you,” she said. My eyes bulged out, my jaw landed on the bed and I nearly toppled from the bed.

“What?”

“Yes. She just told me while coming here.”

My mind was whirring and in a turmoil. “But… but I haven’t thought about her like that!”

“Neither have I thought about you like that,” said Smita, quietly.

I started to speak, but became conscious that I had nothing to say. In any case, I think it was best to keep quiet, for a change!

“It’s ok, Dinesh. I think Vineeta was sort of correct. I might accept the compromise. But allow me some more time, please. Maybe it will work out.”

When she had left, I was again left with my thoughts a new set of them, pouncing and prancing on my innards. This was impossible. Had Smita been mistaken? But no, she said that Vineeta had herself expressed her feelings. In all this, I finally realized how Smita must have felt when I proposed to her.

Suddenly, I was unsure. And more than Smita, I realized I had to make one firm and final decision.

****************************************

Today, fifteen years have passed since that scandal in college. In these fifteen years, I didn’t get time to think much about it. You know, how it is – college was over soon, and then MBA, then the jobs. Time became a casualty, friends drifted apart, and over the years, even that incident looked so trivial and blown out of proportion. It seemed we had nothing better to do than think about romantic liaisons and got serious about the slightest things.

However, last night I saw a new Bollywood release – very maudlin one, but there was one thought in it, which stuck on and pried open the entire can of memories. In the film, the heroine states “Mai rishton mein milawat nahi karrti” ; loosely translated it means that ‘she didn’t adulterate her relationships’- a friend and a lover are two different entities . So much like Smita, no?

Hence, all the past skeletons came crashing out. I came home from the multiplex, and immediately started to pen this story.

Like what happened to the film’s characters, sometimes circumstances and destiny force you to mix emotions. And often, the result can be extremely satisfying. That’s my personal experience. I wish I could meet Vishal again and tell him that my bookish philosophy has also worked very well.

As for me, let me sign off now – life has been great, or as my wife would say, it has been ‘wonderful and awesome’!

The End

Edited By Priyangini Mehta
Disclaimer – The story is a work of fiction; all characters and events are imaginary; any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Every year there are some innovative and hilariously titled films released; when Filmfare releases the list for its award nominations, treat I always go through the list to have a hearty laugh at them. This year, hair these are the titles that caught my attention, alongwith some of my comments.

Abhi Toh Raat Hai – Okay, I reckon a lot will happen in this night
Bajrang – He Man – Uh oh, where are the Bajrang Dal and VHP people?
Bepardah – Cover it up fast!
Betrayal – That was a name of my story once. I disown the title now!
Bheega Badan – Source of wet wet wet dreams!
Bikaau – Doesn’t seem to have sold anywhere
Bipasha- The Black Beauty – I wonder if Bipasha Basu should be amused or angry at this one!
Ek Se Mera Kya Hoga – With that DVD cover, Payal Rohtagi, I believe you – ek se tera vaakay kya hoga! Gets my ‘Most Outlandish Title Award’
Ek Zakham-The Blast – Get a Hindi-English lexicon, dude!
Galtiyan-The Mistake – Perhaps the film itself is one big mistake!
Free Entry – I’d stick to No Entry only.
Haseena – Smart, Sexy, Dangerous – Bizarre and Weird, as well.
Hot Girl – Ouch! Call the Burnol guys fast!
Hot Malaika – I can almost feel Arbaaz getting heated up in anger!
Iqraar – By Chance – No chance of watching this one, for sure!
Kaamwaali – ‘maid’ for disaster!
Love in Japan – Hope Sonu Nigam is not in this one too, after his outing in Nepal!
Madhubala – Ho hum, they don’t leave the yesteryear actresses as well, do they!
Maharani – Very very ‘queen’-y!
Main Hoon Rakhwala – but I ain’t trusting him!
Manoranjan-The Entertainment – Not too difficult to imagine of what sort!
Men Not Allowed – I bet only men would have gone to see this one (If I am not too mistaken, his too starred Payal Rohatgi)
Naughty Boy – get disciplined soon, buddy!
No Parking – What’s with these traffic sign named films!
Radha Ne Mala Japi Shaam Ki – And SDB squirmed in his grave, or wherever he is, at this!
Shaitan Ki Premika– LOL, this one takes the cake and the bakery! Wish they had added a tagline to the effect “A Sublime Love Story” 😛
Tera Pati Mera Pyaar – How bold – Ekta Kapoor take note, your ideas are getting stolen!
The Angrez – deport him fast!
The Real Dream Girl – Poor Hema Malini, there is a contender for her title as well!
Yeh Hai U Turn – Err, is the traffic department sponsoring films these days?

So, how many of these have you seen?

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!
This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 

These are movies that either promised more, case or had huge budgets and big star-casts. I have purposely left out films like ‘Ek Se Mera Kya Hogaa’ that were doomed to bite the dust!

Rang De Basanti – The biggest disappointment. A patchy, uneven, disjointed, noisy, pretentious and juvenile film. It offered no tangible solution either for humanity (in general) or for India (in particular). In fact, it catered to the base and perverse human urge to kill someone who has wronged you. It’s ok to violently proclaim that ‘i will kill the person’ in a fit of anger, but that doesnt mean one executes the threat. This is not the behaviour what mature human civilized exhibit. The parallel to Indian freedom movement was ill-placed and utter nonsense. Anyways, I will refrain to say anything more here. Enough has been said, argued and counter-argued when I first wrote its review. Read it here. Sigh, another bad entry at the Oscars!

Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna – Karan Johar’s first self confessed attempt at ‘maturity’ was a dull, despondent and disastrous film, which dragged on and on endlessly. It resembled the serials prolifilating on television – bored housewives lusting after other’s husbands under the grand chhatrachhaya of Indian marriage and mangalsutra; wimpish men, who are either too bitter or too sweet;and, bucket ful of copious tears that drown the flimsy script; even the gawdy gloss matched. The music was boring. SRK lent some cheer as a character that could have been real, but was shunted irresponsibly by Karan to the other extreme from SRK’s otherwise screen-persona. The only bright sunshine remained Amitabh Bachhan, who lent grace and fun to this tedious affair.

Aap Ki Khatir – It’s like the rag the dog pulled out from a god-forsaken attic. Stale and tattered, the film was a big yawn evoking fare.

Ankahee – Enough of Bhatt-styled mentally disturbed and manic-depressed characters. Morose and melancholic, it lacks any escape for respite. For the same reason, I avoided Woh Lamhe! Both films have good music, though.

Utthaan – Another example of how to spoil a good story with indifferent direction. The twist could have been earth shattering bang, but is in reality a whimper not even loud enough to wake you up from the nap that you take during the film. Surprise factor? Neha Dhupia doesn’t bare at all, which makes you feel sad since it was better when she bared all!

Apna Sapna Money Money – I missed this on theatres; but didnt want to spoil it by watching only on small screen. So, with help of borrowed projector, I saw it at home deriving full theater benefits. I was expecting another Kya Kool Hai Hum; alas, the film is a gigantic bore – and only Riteish Deshmukh is the bright star that saves the film from total darkness. But still, the disappointment didnt fully dissipate, hence placed in this list.

Bas Ek Pal – I was in two minds about this film. It could have been placed in the ‘theek thaak’ list. But on second view I saw the glaring errors in its script – a loose and haphazard one, that moves from a compelling jail account to a wishy washy tale of love and betrayal, interspersed with notions of wife-bashing. The movie has a rivetting first half. But the second one wastes away the grand build-up. Director Onir (who made the sensitive My Brother Nikhil) doesnt live up to the expectations. As ever, Juhi Chawla and Sanjay Suri delight. Jimmy Shergill is good too. Urmila disappoints.

Chingaari – Umm, err… was this really a film? Crass, coarse and chaotic, the film was a long string of dreadful scenes put together. Sadly, it didnt nothing to alleviate the pain or elevate the stature of prostitutes.

Teesri Aankh – If you can take it as a laughter inducing exercise, enjoy the film. Per se, the movie had nothing going for it. Sunny Deol shouted his lungs hoarse, and only added to the pain. Full review here

Naksha – Another Sunny Deol flick that was outlandishly bizarre and bakwaas! As an actor, he needs to seriously re-think where he is headed.

Chup Chup Ke – Priyadarshan severely lost his touch with this one. The color coordinated costumes were eye pleasing; wish they had coordinated the script as well!

Jaane Hoga Kya – Even Bipasha Basu would burn this off with the next available beedi from her resume. The clone-saga provided inadvertant humor, but that’s about it. Original review available here.

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It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, and but some days back I was again on the drive. This time, prostate we were on the stretch between Agra and Firozabad, which falls within Agra District – or so we thought.

Just for formalities sake, allow me to list out the towns/villages we crossed; of course, interspersed with a few incidents that made it possible for this post to be written.

Kuberpur – Wherever the goddamn village is, the office we wanted to visit was thankfully on NH2, leading to Firozabad (yeah, the same place famous for its bangles and glass works). The cold cemented floor, and cobweb laden dirty walls inside the office werent much of a welcome anyways. But we panicked full time when we saw a thousand people (ok, I exaggerate – discount ten percent here or there) clamouring over one hapless employee, who was trying to do ten thousand things (I exaggerate again, but discount ten percent here or there) at the same time. Despite winters, the smell of sweat and human skin was overwhelming, but we managed a feeble smile towards the official, who tried to shake hands with us over the crowd and babel of voices; the official murmured a hundred thousand apologies (I exaggerate…but you get the point by now). We genuinely understood!

Etmadpur – This was just a few kilometers ahead on the highway. However, to enter the village, we had to get off it, on to a now-familiar dusty and narrow road. Our destination was bang in the middle of a crowded street, that lined odd shops, with cyclists covering the entire stretch. We parked my car, and got off.

Curious faces stared back at us, and I felt oddly uncomfortable to be looked at like this. “Why are they staring as if we had just escaped a zoo?” I murmured to my colleague. “Well, tie waale, patte-waale jaanwar kam hi dekhne ko milte honge yahan” he retorted wryly. I didn’t take off the tie, but discreetly placed the ‘patta‘ (our company’s ID-card) inside the pocket.

From this stretch began the real adventure. And thanx to Idea Mobile. Well, almost. It was Idea’s locator that flashed ‘Barhan Crssng’ on my cell-phone, which made me curious to ask about its distance from Etmadpur.

Barhan – To me now any road in U.P. interior is the same. The stretch to Barhan was no different, either in its ‘comfort’ or topography, to the ones that I had traveled earlier while going to Achnera, Kagarole or Kirawali. Barhan is a sandy village, with brown mud buildings – a small, rain-water-filled, by-default formed pond ran alongside the railway track, which pointed to something as high-sounding as ‘Barhan Junction’.

Khaanda – At Barhan, we had enquired on the few other places that we could visit on this route. Khanda was a bit further on and then there was Jalesar, our aquaintance informed. So off we were to Khaanda. The road was a bit better, but as often with these villages, they are never on the good roads. So, soon we had to depart the ‘highway’ and get onto a small road that led to this village.

“Err…I hope we are on track” I remarked, when we had been shaken enough. My colleague (let’s call him Ajeet, for nomenclature ease) tried to read some illegible address on a tin shanty.

“Why dont you ask her?” I teased, as a lady passed by.

“You want me to get killed! Dont you see the foot long ghoonghat she is in” Ajeet replied, visibly horrified at my suggestion.  

A few meters later, it was confirmed we were in Khanda – but whosoever we asked, gave a vague direction towards the office we had to visit. So as vaguely we got the instructions, so did we go. And ended up in a huge courtyard full of goats, and lazing elderly gentlemen, who viewed my dust-laden once-upon-a-white Santro disinterestingly.

“I am sure we are on the wrong way” I hissed beneath my breath, as the royal animals grazed the sides of my car and leisurely passed around it.

With difficulty, I managed to maneuver the car out from that sandy courtyard, and finally stopped a sensible-looking gentleman, and firmly asked for the directions.

“Galat ho” he said. “Main road se, bamba kinaare jaana tha.”

The man was gesturing back towards the highway again. Since Ajeet is from Agra, I thought he would have understood the local dialect, but after a few seconds to my dismay, I found him stammering, “B..bamba kinaare?”

“Jee, bamba kinaare!” The man asserted again.

“Ummm…err…yeh bamba kya hota hai?”

Now, the man was clearly lost. With his hands straight and moving in parallel motion, he said, “Bamba…yaani, paani…naala…naala kinare”

How simple! And we tucked away between us one new word in our vocabulary.

Jalesar – “It’s just 21 kilometers” I remarked, when we had finished off with Khaanda. Ajeet was apprehensive in going towards Jalesar. But I argued that we still had some time in hand, plus (as the official earlier had pointed out) there was a direct route back to Agra, and of course 21 kilometers is never ‘far away’ for us Delhiites. I shouldnt have spoken. Because, barely five kilometers on, the road vanished and all we had were potholes, and stones, and sand, and grime, as my poor Santro wove its way towards Jalesar – which wasnt (to our horrific discovery) in Agra even. It fell within Etah District.

At a particulary bad stretch, the car shook so hard that suddenly out from nowhere, Asha Bhonsle started to assert ‘Aaj main khush hoon’*.

Terrified, we both jumped out our skin! For that split second, when the silence was rudely cut by her voice, we were frightened.

Now, I admit I am a bigger fan of her sister’s but that didn’t give Ashaji the right to laugh at my plight, and get happy about it too.

Since Ajeet was shaken too, surely this wasn’t just my imagination. I eyed the culprit – the car stereo had switched on, on its own.

“Tera haath laga hoga,” I told Ajeet.

“Arre nahi baba. My hand was far off,” he defended himself.

The Mystery of Automatic Stereo Power On would have lingered on for sometime, but the road gave us ample opportunity to solve it. The bumps were so hard that they somehow started the power of the system!

We reached Jalesar in one piece, and almost at our wit’s end, and the day’s too.

Jalesar is a town, and a pretty large one, since we got quite lost in its maze of streets and alleyways, and an array of markets. If you care to ever go there, make sure you make the roundabout with a statue as your fulcrum point – everything seems to originate or end there.

(We were shattered to learn there was after all no direct route to Agra, and if we had to reach back home, there were only two alternatives available – either take the same road that we had come through, which wasn’t advisable from security point of view. Or, go through Sadabad – which is some 28 kms from Jalesar – and then move on to Agra. Anyone who has read these pieces earlier would know that Sadabad (in Hathras distt.) falls on the same ‘road-less’ Aligarh route, and is the biggest bane of my current travelling!)

*Aaj mai khush hoon lo tum hi bolo kyun, from Grahan; Music- Karthik Raja; Singers – Asha Bhonsle, Jolly Mukherjee

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Seven

I was a bit perplexed to hear the nurse announce Vineeta’s name. I was not mentally prepared to meet her, grip mainly because I had suspected her to be the enemy whereas she had proven to be an ally. Yet, buy information pills there was a curiosity to know how she had managed it. And where had I gone wrong in my judgment?

She entered the room with a strong whiff of perfume. Perhaps, unhealthy Chanel, I thought as she would have informed, had we been in college. But today, I found her very different from the air-headed fool that I believed her to be. For one, she wore a salvar suit. Having seen her mostly in low-waist jeans, this was a marked change but for the better. The suit made her look even more attractive, and it fit wonderfully on her tall and lissome frame.

She walked across the room, hesitant and unsure, and I pointed towards the chair next to the bed, for her to sit. She sat gingerly, groping to begin the conversation. In that moment, I looked at her closely, and felt horrified at my own self for hating her so much.

“I am sorry,” she began.

“I should be sorry,” I interrupted. “And honestly, I am sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s nothing. Anyone would have thought what you did about me and Ashish,” she said, with a tinge of contempt at the name. “And that exactly was my plan!”

“But when did all this start? And why?”

“It started when Vasu spread the news about Smita’s pregnancy with obvious glee and malice,” she started.

But I stopped her mid-way. “Vasu?” I asked, shocked. So Vasu was the traitor in the class; that unknown friend of Ashish.

“Yes, Vasu,” she reiterated. “From then on, I don’t know why but I really felt bad for Smita and angry at Ashish. It wasn’t fair. So, I thought of getting back on Ashish… no clear plan to send him to jail, but at least to humiliate him enough so that he doesn’t play around again with a girl’s emotions. I knew he had flipped for me long time back. He had also sent some feelers through a common friend even as he was going around with Smita. He had been two-timing her for a long time. Anyways, I had ignored him then and had tried to drill some sense into Smita, but she took it otherwise and thought I was jealous of her. Also, just before this thing spread, and probably even before you came to know of it, one day I overheard Vasu and Ashish talking in the auditorium. They thought they were alone, but I heard them full and clear. Ashish was jittery about Smita’s pregnancy, and was asking a solution from Vasu. So, Vasu advised him to flatly deny his involvement, refuse to acknowledge Smita and devised this huge plan of spreading the rumor in the class, to humiliate Smita and drop enough hints to implicate you.”

“But why would Vasu want to humiliate Smita?”

“Remember the huge misunderstanding they had some months back. Apparently, Vasu hadn’t forgotten that and wanted to get back at her. It sounds silly alright, but that’s what he told Ashish. I think he is not the kind who can easily forgive or forget. Since, Vasu was never really pally with me, so I guess it was easy for him to pass the blame of ‘rumour-monger’ on to me.”

I was aghast and speechless.

“It was easy to make Ashish fall for me. He was already interested, plus he has an overactive libido, which I used to my full advantage. When things started getting a bit serious, I panicked. At that point, I took my mamaji, who is in police, in confidence. The day you beat Ashish up was an ideal day to execute the small plan we had made. I took him to our Mehrauli farm-house, and ensured that mamaji was fully informed. By the time we reached the place, I could see two familiar policemen, in plain-clothes near the farm. Ashish was terribly wounded you really beat him to a pulp, so he couldn’t have seen anything or anyone. There, I nursed him, and when, in the evening, he tried to be overtly romantic, I raised an alarm. The police rushed in, and nabbed him.”

There was a certain amount of maturity and intelligence on her face, which had otherwise always been quite expressionless. The softness had given way to determination, which lent an elderly hue to her face. Or perhaps, my eyes had always been curtained by silly enmity, which had blinded me to her obvious positives. I was dumbfounded at what she had done, the enormity of the act and the courage in going through with it.

“You are a genius, Vineeta!” I gushed, “you really bit him like a scorpion.”

“Don’t forget, I am a Scorpio by Zodiac,” she laughed. And I found the soft stream like naughtiness in the laughter very assuring and endearing.

“Vasu, Vasu! I can’t believe he was such a bastard! But what should he have against me?”

She shrugged. “Really can’t say. I guess he dislikes you because you are so close to Smita.”

“And the other day, I was at his place, asking for his help to sort out this mess.” I remembered what he had said that day, ‘Accept the child’ and when I had asked about Ashish, he had replied, ‘Leave him’. Of course, he wanted me not to mess with Ashish, and accept the child so that his friend could be free from blame. Damn sweet of him , indeed, I thought sarcastically! Only, I was thinking of accepting the child with another motive. He had wonderfully played on my emotion.

“Appearances can be deceptive,” remarked Vineeta.

“I wish people would show their enmity right at your face, rather than attacking from behind. It hurts.”

“I know. You were pretty open in showing your enmity towards me.”

“I am sorry,” I said, sheepishly.

“It’s ok, I know where you were coming from, and you are right it is the clarity in emotions while dealing with people that is important,” she said. She turned her attention to the flowers on the side table. “These are so awesome and wonderful!”

She raised her arm to touch them. “Yep. Smita got them,” I informed. For a sliver of a second, I thought I saw her arm hesitate, before touching them tenderly. I felt warmth exuding from her, something that I hadn’t expected to feel, at least not from her.

****************************************

I was to stay under observation for a few more days in the hospital, Dr. Chatterjee informed. I groaned. I was sick of being there, and wanted to move out. There was nothing to do, except read magazines, which dad had brought, and sleep. The routine was awfully boring. It was terrible to be fooling around in the hospital bed when the whole world was on the move. All that while, what I could really do is think, think and think more, till the time my mind was sore. I wanted to move out and do something – something that the world would be proud of, something that my parents could be proud of. Honestly, I had no idea what it would be. But I thought, let me first get out of this goddamn room!

Vishal, Sugandha, Saina and Shilpa came to meet. But the most surprising visit was of Prof. Arora. It was an awkward meeting, but this time the tables had turned. He was the one who was nervous and kept on repeating his apology. I believed him when he said that ‘family ties had blinded my eyes’. It was expected, and I held no grudge against him. “And yes, you are on for my tutorial class,” he offered, as a parting gift. I was pleased.

I had realized the hard way that all of us make mistakes, misunderstanding each other due to various circumstances and guises. Smita couldn’t see through Ashish. Hell, I couldn’t understand the people I met daily – Vasu and Vineeta!

Smita and Vineeta made a second round of visits a couple of days later together. It was odd seeing them enter like old friends. All this while, an invisible wall of rivalry had kept the two apart. Perhaps, some good had come from all the scandal in college: it broke the ice between them.

Smita looked relaxed and much better than she had been. She sat on the chair, while Vineeta moved towards the window.

“Wow, the lawn is so wonderful and awesome!” remarked Vineeta. It was. But since I had seen it enough, I was pretty bored with it.

“Tomorrow I will be free from this,” Smita said, her eyes pointing towards her abdomen.

Vineeta looked at her and then at me, and with a reassuring smile said, “Don’t worry. It will be fine. I will go with her.”

Smita smiled back. “Thanks a bunch.”

“But have you thought of what to do after that,” Vineeta asked her, and her eyes indicated me. I was very uncomfortable, and wished she hadn’t brought it up. But in a way, I was happy. Maybe Smita would have reached a positive decision.

Smita didn’t reply immediately. “Yes. I have thought a lot but couldn’t reach any decision,” she replied eventually. I saw my hopes crumble. Turning to me, she said, “Dinesh, you are a great friend. But anything more would just be a compromise.”

“At least it will be with a person who loves you,” whispered Vineeta, her eyes lowered, and she turned away to look out of the window.

Smita nodded, but didn’t say anything. Vineeta had to meet her Mamaji regarding some affidavits about the case, and she left soon. Smita stayed on.

“You know she has feelings for you,” she said. My eyes bulged out, my jaw landed on the bed and I nearly toppled from the bed.

“What?”

“Yes. She just told me while coming here.”

My mind was whirring and in a turmoil. “But… but I haven’t thought about her like that!”

“Neither have I thought about you like that,” said Smita, quietly.

I started to speak, but became conscious that I had nothing to say. In any case, I think it was best to keep quiet, for a change!

“It’s ok, Dinesh. I think Vineeta was sort of correct. I might accept the compromise. But allow me some more time, please. Maybe it will work out.”

When she had left, I was again left with my thoughts a new set of them, pouncing and prancing on my innards. This was impossible. Had Smita been mistaken? But no, she said that Vineeta had herself expressed her feelings. In all this, I finally realized how Smita must have felt when I proposed to her.

Suddenly, I was unsure. And more than Smita, I realized I had to make one firm and final decision.

****************************************

Today, fifteen years have passed since that scandal in college. In these fifteen years, I didn’t get time to think much about it. You know, how it is – college was over soon, and then MBA, then the jobs. Time became a casualty, friends drifted apart, and over the years, even that incident looked so trivial and blown out of proportion. It seemed we had nothing better to do than think about romantic liaisons and got serious about the slightest things.

However, last night I saw a new Bollywood release – very maudlin one, but there was one thought in it, which stuck on and pried open the entire can of memories. In the film, the heroine states “Mai rishton mein milawat nahi karrti” ; loosely translated it means that ‘she didn’t adulterate her relationships’- a friend and a lover are two different entities . So much like Smita, no?

Hence, all the past skeletons came crashing out. I came home from the multiplex, and immediately started to pen this story.

Like what happened to the film’s characters, sometimes circumstances and destiny force you to mix emotions. And often, the result can be extremely satisfying. That’s my personal experience. I wish I could meet Vishal again and tell him that my bookish philosophy has also worked very well.

As for me, let me sign off now – life has been great, or as my wife would say, it has been ‘wonderful and awesome’!

The End

Edited By Priyangini Mehta
Disclaimer – The story is a work of fiction; all characters and events are imaginary; any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Every year there are some innovative and hilariously titled films released; when Filmfare releases the list for its award nominations, treat I always go through the list to have a hearty laugh at them. This year, hair these are the titles that caught my attention, alongwith some of my comments.

Abhi Toh Raat Hai – Okay, I reckon a lot will happen in this night
Bajrang – He Man – Uh oh, where are the Bajrang Dal and VHP people?
Bepardah – Cover it up fast!
Betrayal – That was a name of my story once. I disown the title now!
Bheega Badan – Source of wet wet wet dreams!
Bikaau – Doesn’t seem to have sold anywhere
Bipasha- The Black Beauty – I wonder if Bipasha Basu should be amused or angry at this one!
Ek Se Mera Kya Hoga – With that DVD cover, Payal Rohtagi, I believe you – ek se tera vaakay kya hoga! Gets my ‘Most Outlandish Title Award’
Ek Zakham-The Blast – Get a Hindi-English lexicon, dude!
Galtiyan-The Mistake – Perhaps the film itself is one big mistake!
Free Entry – I’d stick to No Entry only.
Haseena – Smart, Sexy, Dangerous – Bizarre and Weird, as well.
Hot Girl – Ouch! Call the Burnol guys fast!
Hot Malaika – I can almost feel Arbaaz getting heated up in anger!
Iqraar – By Chance – No chance of watching this one, for sure!
Kaamwaali – ‘maid’ for disaster!
Love in Japan – Hope Sonu Nigam is not in this one too, after his outing in Nepal!
Madhubala – Ho hum, they don’t leave the yesteryear actresses as well, do they!
Maharani – Very very ‘queen’-y!
Main Hoon Rakhwala – but I ain’t trusting him!
Manoranjan-The Entertainment – Not too difficult to imagine of what sort!
Men Not Allowed – I bet only men would have gone to see this one (If I am not too mistaken, his too starred Payal Rohatgi)
Naughty Boy – get disciplined soon, buddy!
No Parking – What’s with these traffic sign named films!
Radha Ne Mala Japi Shaam Ki – And SDB squirmed in his grave, or wherever he is, at this!
Shaitan Ki Premika– LOL, this one takes the cake and the bakery! Wish they had added a tagline to the effect “A Sublime Love Story” 😛
Tera Pati Mera Pyaar – How bold – Ekta Kapoor take note, your ideas are getting stolen!
The Angrez – deport him fast!
The Real Dream Girl – Poor Hema Malini, there is a contender for her title as well!
Yeh Hai U Turn – Err, is the traffic department sponsoring films these days?

So, how many of these have you seen?

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!
So, buy more about
2006 slipped into posterity and the New Year greets us with the same characteristic cheer and good-will as each new year does – till the time it settles into its own routine, beyond the flurry of congratulatory SMS’s, emails, phone-calls and messages.

 

Taking stock of the past year, I can safely conclude it was very average – nothing spectacular, but not humdrum either. From Kathmandu to Delhi to Agra, for me the year was neatly divided into three equal and distinct phases. For the world in general, it held sorrows and happiness, catastrophes and cheer in equal measure. In the larger context of time, it was just another year, and it is over and done with – and time to move ahead.

My new year’s eve was pleasant and enjoyable, spent in the comfortable confines of parental love and care.

On Saturday, I had decided not to go home, since I had gone there only a week back – and the drive, though only 200 kms seemed an arduously difficult task. That evening I had a couple of drinks, surfed mindlessly at the local internet café, drove around a bit, saw a few happy sights – and yet, the time didn’t seem to move at all. I was feeling extremely lonely and bored. The thought of my parents being alone as well, huddled in the increasing chill, without any excitement or cheer pricked my conscience hard. On Sunday morning, when I woke a voice within me was urging me to go home. Immediately, I dressed up hurriedly, packed a jeans and a couple of shirts and started off for Delhi.

It was a very wise decision. The look of sheer joy on my parents’ faces was a delight. In the evening, we went to Connaught Place for dinner, and thereafter took a walk in the newly renovated central park. The place is very well done up, with land-scaped gardens, an amphi-theater and full-on lighting. Needless to say, it was crowded. Delhi administration had made the entire inner circle a vehicle-free zone that evening, which made walking there a joy. We rounded the evening off with a softy from McDonald’s. I couldn’t recall a much better new year eve spent – even though on paper it sounds dull, I can guarantee it was much better than the biggest party I have ever attended. I guess, there comes a time in life when booze and brashness loses its value.

As such, there isn’t any expectation from the new year. I am not looking forward to anything exciting. Hence, there are no new resolutions, no plans and no dreams. Yet, paradoxically, it is a new beginning – so there is some hope.

An additional jubilation in this trip was meeting Ashish Dange – after a long long time. It was fun catching up with him – on life, career, music and movies! Since our meetings in the past have been a series of coffee outlet promotions, it was befitting that we met again at Café Coffee Day! There, I had my first ‘blogger-meet’ on the first day of the year (even though he is no longer blogging these days). He sends his hello to all his erstwhile readers (and we do have a lot of them in common), though there is no immediate plan of returning to the webspace. But then, as he averred, you never know!

The sun looked as if it was readying for the party on the other end of the globe, and hence chose to stay away from this side. While the sun was away, the fog had a field day scaring off the flights and Delhiites.

For Random Expressions readers, I have a brand-new story ready. Many months have passed since I wrote any fresh fiction. (The last story was Tapish, in Hindi, on my older blog, but that too was a re-hash of one of my own old stories).

So what’s it about? I can’t even remotely claim it is ‘different’. All I can say is that it is an emotional tale of love, losing and longing; it is typical DJ-ish (which means, it is pretty ‘filmi’); it has the heroine in a peach chiffon sari cavorting in the rains; and yes, I promise it is fairly entertaining. The only difference is that it is a very short story and will be over in a single episode.

The story is called Ambadeep, and it completes my trilogy after Suryakiran and Indraprakash (all three named after three high-rise buildings in Connaught Place; all linked in some-way to my previous organization).

Excited enough to read it? If yes, then be here on Thursday 4th January 2007, at 1700 Hrs IST to catch a glimpse of one day in the lives of Pooja and Vishwas.
This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 

These are movies that either promised more, case or had huge budgets and big star-casts. I have purposely left out films like ‘Ek Se Mera Kya Hogaa’ that were doomed to bite the dust!

Rang De Basanti – The biggest disappointment. A patchy, uneven, disjointed, noisy, pretentious and juvenile film. It offered no tangible solution either for humanity (in general) or for India (in particular). In fact, it catered to the base and perverse human urge to kill someone who has wronged you. It’s ok to violently proclaim that ‘i will kill the person’ in a fit of anger, but that doesnt mean one executes the threat. This is not the behaviour what mature human civilized exhibit. The parallel to Indian freedom movement was ill-placed and utter nonsense. Anyways, I will refrain to say anything more here. Enough has been said, argued and counter-argued when I first wrote its review. Read it here. Sigh, another bad entry at the Oscars!

Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna – Karan Johar’s first self confessed attempt at ‘maturity’ was a dull, despondent and disastrous film, which dragged on and on endlessly. It resembled the serials prolifilating on television – bored housewives lusting after other’s husbands under the grand chhatrachhaya of Indian marriage and mangalsutra; wimpish men, who are either too bitter or too sweet;and, bucket ful of copious tears that drown the flimsy script; even the gawdy gloss matched. The music was boring. SRK lent some cheer as a character that could have been real, but was shunted irresponsibly by Karan to the other extreme from SRK’s otherwise screen-persona. The only bright sunshine remained Amitabh Bachhan, who lent grace and fun to this tedious affair.

Aap Ki Khatir – It’s like the rag the dog pulled out from a god-forsaken attic. Stale and tattered, the film was a big yawn evoking fare.

Ankahee – Enough of Bhatt-styled mentally disturbed and manic-depressed characters. Morose and melancholic, it lacks any escape for respite. For the same reason, I avoided Woh Lamhe! Both films have good music, though.

Utthaan – Another example of how to spoil a good story with indifferent direction. The twist could have been earth shattering bang, but is in reality a whimper not even loud enough to wake you up from the nap that you take during the film. Surprise factor? Neha Dhupia doesn’t bare at all, which makes you feel sad since it was better when she bared all!

Apna Sapna Money Money – I missed this on theatres; but didnt want to spoil it by watching only on small screen. So, with help of borrowed projector, I saw it at home deriving full theater benefits. I was expecting another Kya Kool Hai Hum; alas, the film is a gigantic bore – and only Riteish Deshmukh is the bright star that saves the film from total darkness. But still, the disappointment didnt fully dissipate, hence placed in this list.

Bas Ek Pal – I was in two minds about this film. It could have been placed in the ‘theek thaak’ list. But on second view I saw the glaring errors in its script – a loose and haphazard one, that moves from a compelling jail account to a wishy washy tale of love and betrayal, interspersed with notions of wife-bashing. The movie has a rivetting first half. But the second one wastes away the grand build-up. Director Onir (who made the sensitive My Brother Nikhil) doesnt live up to the expectations. As ever, Juhi Chawla and Sanjay Suri delight. Jimmy Shergill is good too. Urmila disappoints.

Chingaari – Umm, err… was this really a film? Crass, coarse and chaotic, the film was a long string of dreadful scenes put together. Sadly, it didnt nothing to alleviate the pain or elevate the stature of prostitutes.

Teesri Aankh – If you can take it as a laughter inducing exercise, enjoy the film. Per se, the movie had nothing going for it. Sunny Deol shouted his lungs hoarse, and only added to the pain. Full review here

Naksha – Another Sunny Deol flick that was outlandishly bizarre and bakwaas! As an actor, he needs to seriously re-think where he is headed.

Chup Chup Ke – Priyadarshan severely lost his touch with this one. The color coordinated costumes were eye pleasing; wish they had coordinated the script as well!

Jaane Hoga Kya – Even Bipasha Basu would burn this off with the next available beedi from her resume. The clone-saga provided inadvertant humor, but that’s about it. Original review available here.

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It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, and but some days back I was again on the drive. This time, prostate we were on the stretch between Agra and Firozabad, which falls within Agra District – or so we thought.

Just for formalities sake, allow me to list out the towns/villages we crossed; of course, interspersed with a few incidents that made it possible for this post to be written.

Kuberpur – Wherever the goddamn village is, the office we wanted to visit was thankfully on NH2, leading to Firozabad (yeah, the same place famous for its bangles and glass works). The cold cemented floor, and cobweb laden dirty walls inside the office werent much of a welcome anyways. But we panicked full time when we saw a thousand people (ok, I exaggerate – discount ten percent here or there) clamouring over one hapless employee, who was trying to do ten thousand things (I exaggerate again, but discount ten percent here or there) at the same time. Despite winters, the smell of sweat and human skin was overwhelming, but we managed a feeble smile towards the official, who tried to shake hands with us over the crowd and babel of voices; the official murmured a hundred thousand apologies (I exaggerate…but you get the point by now). We genuinely understood!

Etmadpur – This was just a few kilometers ahead on the highway. However, to enter the village, we had to get off it, on to a now-familiar dusty and narrow road. Our destination was bang in the middle of a crowded street, that lined odd shops, with cyclists covering the entire stretch. We parked my car, and got off.

Curious faces stared back at us, and I felt oddly uncomfortable to be looked at like this. “Why are they staring as if we had just escaped a zoo?” I murmured to my colleague. “Well, tie waale, patte-waale jaanwar kam hi dekhne ko milte honge yahan” he retorted wryly. I didn’t take off the tie, but discreetly placed the ‘patta‘ (our company’s ID-card) inside the pocket.

From this stretch began the real adventure. And thanx to Idea Mobile. Well, almost. It was Idea’s locator that flashed ‘Barhan Crssng’ on my cell-phone, which made me curious to ask about its distance from Etmadpur.

Barhan – To me now any road in U.P. interior is the same. The stretch to Barhan was no different, either in its ‘comfort’ or topography, to the ones that I had traveled earlier while going to Achnera, Kagarole or Kirawali. Barhan is a sandy village, with brown mud buildings – a small, rain-water-filled, by-default formed pond ran alongside the railway track, which pointed to something as high-sounding as ‘Barhan Junction’.

Khaanda – At Barhan, we had enquired on the few other places that we could visit on this route. Khanda was a bit further on and then there was Jalesar, our aquaintance informed. So off we were to Khaanda. The road was a bit better, but as often with these villages, they are never on the good roads. So, soon we had to depart the ‘highway’ and get onto a small road that led to this village.

“Err…I hope we are on track” I remarked, when we had been shaken enough. My colleague (let’s call him Ajeet, for nomenclature ease) tried to read some illegible address on a tin shanty.

“Why dont you ask her?” I teased, as a lady passed by.

“You want me to get killed! Dont you see the foot long ghoonghat she is in” Ajeet replied, visibly horrified at my suggestion.  

A few meters later, it was confirmed we were in Khanda – but whosoever we asked, gave a vague direction towards the office we had to visit. So as vaguely we got the instructions, so did we go. And ended up in a huge courtyard full of goats, and lazing elderly gentlemen, who viewed my dust-laden once-upon-a-white Santro disinterestingly.

“I am sure we are on the wrong way” I hissed beneath my breath, as the royal animals grazed the sides of my car and leisurely passed around it.

With difficulty, I managed to maneuver the car out from that sandy courtyard, and finally stopped a sensible-looking gentleman, and firmly asked for the directions.

“Galat ho” he said. “Main road se, bamba kinaare jaana tha.”

The man was gesturing back towards the highway again. Since Ajeet is from Agra, I thought he would have understood the local dialect, but after a few seconds to my dismay, I found him stammering, “B..bamba kinaare?”

“Jee, bamba kinaare!” The man asserted again.

“Ummm…err…yeh bamba kya hota hai?”

Now, the man was clearly lost. With his hands straight and moving in parallel motion, he said, “Bamba…yaani, paani…naala…naala kinare”

How simple! And we tucked away between us one new word in our vocabulary.

Jalesar – “It’s just 21 kilometers” I remarked, when we had finished off with Khaanda. Ajeet was apprehensive in going towards Jalesar. But I argued that we still had some time in hand, plus (as the official earlier had pointed out) there was a direct route back to Agra, and of course 21 kilometers is never ‘far away’ for us Delhiites. I shouldnt have spoken. Because, barely five kilometers on, the road vanished and all we had were potholes, and stones, and sand, and grime, as my poor Santro wove its way towards Jalesar – which wasnt (to our horrific discovery) in Agra even. It fell within Etah District.

At a particulary bad stretch, the car shook so hard that suddenly out from nowhere, Asha Bhonsle started to assert ‘Aaj main khush hoon’*.

Terrified, we both jumped out our skin! For that split second, when the silence was rudely cut by her voice, we were frightened.

Now, I admit I am a bigger fan of her sister’s but that didn’t give Ashaji the right to laugh at my plight, and get happy about it too.

Since Ajeet was shaken too, surely this wasn’t just my imagination. I eyed the culprit – the car stereo had switched on, on its own.

“Tera haath laga hoga,” I told Ajeet.

“Arre nahi baba. My hand was far off,” he defended himself.

The Mystery of Automatic Stereo Power On would have lingered on for sometime, but the road gave us ample opportunity to solve it. The bumps were so hard that they somehow started the power of the system!

We reached Jalesar in one piece, and almost at our wit’s end, and the day’s too.

Jalesar is a town, and a pretty large one, since we got quite lost in its maze of streets and alleyways, and an array of markets. If you care to ever go there, make sure you make the roundabout with a statue as your fulcrum point – everything seems to originate or end there.

(We were shattered to learn there was after all no direct route to Agra, and if we had to reach back home, there were only two alternatives available – either take the same road that we had come through, which wasn’t advisable from security point of view. Or, go through Sadabad – which is some 28 kms from Jalesar – and then move on to Agra. Anyone who has read these pieces earlier would know that Sadabad (in Hathras distt.) falls on the same ‘road-less’ Aligarh route, and is the biggest bane of my current travelling!)

*Aaj mai khush hoon lo tum hi bolo kyun, from Grahan; Music- Karthik Raja; Singers – Asha Bhonsle, Jolly Mukherjee

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Seven

I was a bit perplexed to hear the nurse announce Vineeta’s name. I was not mentally prepared to meet her, grip mainly because I had suspected her to be the enemy whereas she had proven to be an ally. Yet, buy information pills there was a curiosity to know how she had managed it. And where had I gone wrong in my judgment?

She entered the room with a strong whiff of perfume. Perhaps, unhealthy Chanel, I thought as she would have informed, had we been in college. But today, I found her very different from the air-headed fool that I believed her to be. For one, she wore a salvar suit. Having seen her mostly in low-waist jeans, this was a marked change but for the better. The suit made her look even more attractive, and it fit wonderfully on her tall and lissome frame.

She walked across the room, hesitant and unsure, and I pointed towards the chair next to the bed, for her to sit. She sat gingerly, groping to begin the conversation. In that moment, I looked at her closely, and felt horrified at my own self for hating her so much.

“I am sorry,” she began.

“I should be sorry,” I interrupted. “And honestly, I am sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s nothing. Anyone would have thought what you did about me and Ashish,” she said, with a tinge of contempt at the name. “And that exactly was my plan!”

“But when did all this start? And why?”

“It started when Vasu spread the news about Smita’s pregnancy with obvious glee and malice,” she started.

But I stopped her mid-way. “Vasu?” I asked, shocked. So Vasu was the traitor in the class; that unknown friend of Ashish.

“Yes, Vasu,” she reiterated. “From then on, I don’t know why but I really felt bad for Smita and angry at Ashish. It wasn’t fair. So, I thought of getting back on Ashish… no clear plan to send him to jail, but at least to humiliate him enough so that he doesn’t play around again with a girl’s emotions. I knew he had flipped for me long time back. He had also sent some feelers through a common friend even as he was going around with Smita. He had been two-timing her for a long time. Anyways, I had ignored him then and had tried to drill some sense into Smita, but she took it otherwise and thought I was jealous of her. Also, just before this thing spread, and probably even before you came to know of it, one day I overheard Vasu and Ashish talking in the auditorium. They thought they were alone, but I heard them full and clear. Ashish was jittery about Smita’s pregnancy, and was asking a solution from Vasu. So, Vasu advised him to flatly deny his involvement, refuse to acknowledge Smita and devised this huge plan of spreading the rumor in the class, to humiliate Smita and drop enough hints to implicate you.”

“But why would Vasu want to humiliate Smita?”

“Remember the huge misunderstanding they had some months back. Apparently, Vasu hadn’t forgotten that and wanted to get back at her. It sounds silly alright, but that’s what he told Ashish. I think he is not the kind who can easily forgive or forget. Since, Vasu was never really pally with me, so I guess it was easy for him to pass the blame of ‘rumour-monger’ on to me.”

I was aghast and speechless.

“It was easy to make Ashish fall for me. He was already interested, plus he has an overactive libido, which I used to my full advantage. When things started getting a bit serious, I panicked. At that point, I took my mamaji, who is in police, in confidence. The day you beat Ashish up was an ideal day to execute the small plan we had made. I took him to our Mehrauli farm-house, and ensured that mamaji was fully informed. By the time we reached the place, I could see two familiar policemen, in plain-clothes near the farm. Ashish was terribly wounded you really beat him to a pulp, so he couldn’t have seen anything or anyone. There, I nursed him, and when, in the evening, he tried to be overtly romantic, I raised an alarm. The police rushed in, and nabbed him.”

There was a certain amount of maturity and intelligence on her face, which had otherwise always been quite expressionless. The softness had given way to determination, which lent an elderly hue to her face. Or perhaps, my eyes had always been curtained by silly enmity, which had blinded me to her obvious positives. I was dumbfounded at what she had done, the enormity of the act and the courage in going through with it.

“You are a genius, Vineeta!” I gushed, “you really bit him like a scorpion.”

“Don’t forget, I am a Scorpio by Zodiac,” she laughed. And I found the soft stream like naughtiness in the laughter very assuring and endearing.

“Vasu, Vasu! I can’t believe he was such a bastard! But what should he have against me?”

She shrugged. “Really can’t say. I guess he dislikes you because you are so close to Smita.”

“And the other day, I was at his place, asking for his help to sort out this mess.” I remembered what he had said that day, ‘Accept the child’ and when I had asked about Ashish, he had replied, ‘Leave him’. Of course, he wanted me not to mess with Ashish, and accept the child so that his friend could be free from blame. Damn sweet of him , indeed, I thought sarcastically! Only, I was thinking of accepting the child with another motive. He had wonderfully played on my emotion.

“Appearances can be deceptive,” remarked Vineeta.

“I wish people would show their enmity right at your face, rather than attacking from behind. It hurts.”

“I know. You were pretty open in showing your enmity towards me.”

“I am sorry,” I said, sheepishly.

“It’s ok, I know where you were coming from, and you are right it is the clarity in emotions while dealing with people that is important,” she said. She turned her attention to the flowers on the side table. “These are so awesome and wonderful!”

She raised her arm to touch them. “Yep. Smita got them,” I informed. For a sliver of a second, I thought I saw her arm hesitate, before touching them tenderly. I felt warmth exuding from her, something that I hadn’t expected to feel, at least not from her.

****************************************

I was to stay under observation for a few more days in the hospital, Dr. Chatterjee informed. I groaned. I was sick of being there, and wanted to move out. There was nothing to do, except read magazines, which dad had brought, and sleep. The routine was awfully boring. It was terrible to be fooling around in the hospital bed when the whole world was on the move. All that while, what I could really do is think, think and think more, till the time my mind was sore. I wanted to move out and do something – something that the world would be proud of, something that my parents could be proud of. Honestly, I had no idea what it would be. But I thought, let me first get out of this goddamn room!

Vishal, Sugandha, Saina and Shilpa came to meet. But the most surprising visit was of Prof. Arora. It was an awkward meeting, but this time the tables had turned. He was the one who was nervous and kept on repeating his apology. I believed him when he said that ‘family ties had blinded my eyes’. It was expected, and I held no grudge against him. “And yes, you are on for my tutorial class,” he offered, as a parting gift. I was pleased.

I had realized the hard way that all of us make mistakes, misunderstanding each other due to various circumstances and guises. Smita couldn’t see through Ashish. Hell, I couldn’t understand the people I met daily – Vasu and Vineeta!

Smita and Vineeta made a second round of visits a couple of days later together. It was odd seeing them enter like old friends. All this while, an invisible wall of rivalry had kept the two apart. Perhaps, some good had come from all the scandal in college: it broke the ice between them.

Smita looked relaxed and much better than she had been. She sat on the chair, while Vineeta moved towards the window.

“Wow, the lawn is so wonderful and awesome!” remarked Vineeta. It was. But since I had seen it enough, I was pretty bored with it.

“Tomorrow I will be free from this,” Smita said, her eyes pointing towards her abdomen.

Vineeta looked at her and then at me, and with a reassuring smile said, “Don’t worry. It will be fine. I will go with her.”

Smita smiled back. “Thanks a bunch.”

“But have you thought of what to do after that,” Vineeta asked her, and her eyes indicated me. I was very uncomfortable, and wished she hadn’t brought it up. But in a way, I was happy. Maybe Smita would have reached a positive decision.

Smita didn’t reply immediately. “Yes. I have thought a lot but couldn’t reach any decision,” she replied eventually. I saw my hopes crumble. Turning to me, she said, “Dinesh, you are a great friend. But anything more would just be a compromise.”

“At least it will be with a person who loves you,” whispered Vineeta, her eyes lowered, and she turned away to look out of the window.

Smita nodded, but didn’t say anything. Vineeta had to meet her Mamaji regarding some affidavits about the case, and she left soon. Smita stayed on.

“You know she has feelings for you,” she said. My eyes bulged out, my jaw landed on the bed and I nearly toppled from the bed.

“What?”

“Yes. She just told me while coming here.”

My mind was whirring and in a turmoil. “But… but I haven’t thought about her like that!”

“Neither have I thought about you like that,” said Smita, quietly.

I started to speak, but became conscious that I had nothing to say. In any case, I think it was best to keep quiet, for a change!

“It’s ok, Dinesh. I think Vineeta was sort of correct. I might accept the compromise. But allow me some more time, please. Maybe it will work out.”

When she had left, I was again left with my thoughts a new set of them, pouncing and prancing on my innards. This was impossible. Had Smita been mistaken? But no, she said that Vineeta had herself expressed her feelings. In all this, I finally realized how Smita must have felt when I proposed to her.

Suddenly, I was unsure. And more than Smita, I realized I had to make one firm and final decision.

****************************************

Today, fifteen years have passed since that scandal in college. In these fifteen years, I didn’t get time to think much about it. You know, how it is – college was over soon, and then MBA, then the jobs. Time became a casualty, friends drifted apart, and over the years, even that incident looked so trivial and blown out of proportion. It seemed we had nothing better to do than think about romantic liaisons and got serious about the slightest things.

However, last night I saw a new Bollywood release – very maudlin one, but there was one thought in it, which stuck on and pried open the entire can of memories. In the film, the heroine states “Mai rishton mein milawat nahi karrti” ; loosely translated it means that ‘she didn’t adulterate her relationships’- a friend and a lover are two different entities . So much like Smita, no?

Hence, all the past skeletons came crashing out. I came home from the multiplex, and immediately started to pen this story.

Like what happened to the film’s characters, sometimes circumstances and destiny force you to mix emotions. And often, the result can be extremely satisfying. That’s my personal experience. I wish I could meet Vishal again and tell him that my bookish philosophy has also worked very well.

As for me, let me sign off now – life has been great, or as my wife would say, it has been ‘wonderful and awesome’!

The End

Edited By Priyangini Mehta
Disclaimer – The story is a work of fiction; all characters and events are imaginary; any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Every year there are some innovative and hilariously titled films released; when Filmfare releases the list for its award nominations, treat I always go through the list to have a hearty laugh at them. This year, hair these are the titles that caught my attention, alongwith some of my comments.

Abhi Toh Raat Hai – Okay, I reckon a lot will happen in this night
Bajrang – He Man – Uh oh, where are the Bajrang Dal and VHP people?
Bepardah – Cover it up fast!
Betrayal – That was a name of my story once. I disown the title now!
Bheega Badan – Source of wet wet wet dreams!
Bikaau – Doesn’t seem to have sold anywhere
Bipasha- The Black Beauty – I wonder if Bipasha Basu should be amused or angry at this one!
Ek Se Mera Kya Hoga – With that DVD cover, Payal Rohtagi, I believe you – ek se tera vaakay kya hoga! Gets my ‘Most Outlandish Title Award’
Ek Zakham-The Blast – Get a Hindi-English lexicon, dude!
Galtiyan-The Mistake – Perhaps the film itself is one big mistake!
Free Entry – I’d stick to No Entry only.
Haseena – Smart, Sexy, Dangerous – Bizarre and Weird, as well.
Hot Girl – Ouch! Call the Burnol guys fast!
Hot Malaika – I can almost feel Arbaaz getting heated up in anger!
Iqraar – By Chance – No chance of watching this one, for sure!
Kaamwaali – ‘maid’ for disaster!
Love in Japan – Hope Sonu Nigam is not in this one too, after his outing in Nepal!
Madhubala – Ho hum, they don’t leave the yesteryear actresses as well, do they!
Maharani – Very very ‘queen’-y!
Main Hoon Rakhwala – but I ain’t trusting him!
Manoranjan-The Entertainment – Not too difficult to imagine of what sort!
Men Not Allowed – I bet only men would have gone to see this one (If I am not too mistaken, his too starred Payal Rohatgi)
Naughty Boy – get disciplined soon, buddy!
No Parking – What’s with these traffic sign named films!
Radha Ne Mala Japi Shaam Ki – And SDB squirmed in his grave, or wherever he is, at this!
Shaitan Ki Premika– LOL, this one takes the cake and the bakery! Wish they had added a tagline to the effect “A Sublime Love Story” 😛
Tera Pati Mera Pyaar – How bold – Ekta Kapoor take note, your ideas are getting stolen!
The Angrez – deport him fast!
The Real Dream Girl – Poor Hema Malini, there is a contender for her title as well!
Yeh Hai U Turn – Err, is the traffic department sponsoring films these days?

So, how many of these have you seen?

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!
So, buy more about
2006 slipped into posterity and the New Year greets us with the same characteristic cheer and good-will as each new year does – till the time it settles into its own routine, beyond the flurry of congratulatory SMS’s, emails, phone-calls and messages.

 

Taking stock of the past year, I can safely conclude it was very average – nothing spectacular, but not humdrum either. From Kathmandu to Delhi to Agra, for me the year was neatly divided into three equal and distinct phases. For the world in general, it held sorrows and happiness, catastrophes and cheer in equal measure. In the larger context of time, it was just another year, and it is over and done with – and time to move ahead.

My new year’s eve was pleasant and enjoyable, spent in the comfortable confines of parental love and care.

On Saturday, I had decided not to go home, since I had gone there only a week back – and the drive, though only 200 kms seemed an arduously difficult task. That evening I had a couple of drinks, surfed mindlessly at the local internet café, drove around a bit, saw a few happy sights – and yet, the time didn’t seem to move at all. I was feeling extremely lonely and bored. The thought of my parents being alone as well, huddled in the increasing chill, without any excitement or cheer pricked my conscience hard. On Sunday morning, when I woke a voice within me was urging me to go home. Immediately, I dressed up hurriedly, packed a jeans and a couple of shirts and started off for Delhi.

It was a very wise decision. The look of sheer joy on my parents’ faces was a delight. In the evening, we went to Connaught Place for dinner, and thereafter took a walk in the newly renovated central park. The place is very well done up, with land-scaped gardens, an amphi-theater and full-on lighting. Needless to say, it was crowded. Delhi administration had made the entire inner circle a vehicle-free zone that evening, which made walking there a joy. We rounded the evening off with a softy from McDonald’s. I couldn’t recall a much better new year eve spent – even though on paper it sounds dull, I can guarantee it was much better than the biggest party I have ever attended. I guess, there comes a time in life when booze and brashness loses its value.

As such, there isn’t any expectation from the new year. I am not looking forward to anything exciting. Hence, there are no new resolutions, no plans and no dreams. Yet, paradoxically, it is a new beginning – so there is some hope.

An additional jubilation in this trip was meeting Ashish Dange – after a long long time. It was fun catching up with him – on life, career, music and movies! Since our meetings in the past have been a series of coffee outlet promotions, it was befitting that we met again at Café Coffee Day! There, I had my first ‘blogger-meet’ on the first day of the year (even though he is no longer blogging these days). He sends his hello to all his erstwhile readers (and we do have a lot of them in common), though there is no immediate plan of returning to the webspace. But then, as he averred, you never know!

The sun looked as if it was readying for the party on the other end of the globe, and hence chose to stay away from this side. While the sun was away, the fog had a field day scaring off the flights and Delhiites.

For Random Expressions readers, I have a brand-new story ready. Many months have passed since I wrote any fresh fiction. (The last story was Tapish, in Hindi, on my older blog, but that too was a re-hash of one of my own old stories).

So what’s it about? I can’t even remotely claim it is ‘different’. All I can say is that it is an emotional tale of love, losing and longing; it is typical DJ-ish (which means, it is pretty ‘filmi’); it has the heroine in a peach chiffon sari cavorting in the rains; and yes, I promise it is fairly entertaining. The only difference is that it is a very short story and will be over in a single episode.

The story is called Ambadeep, and it completes my trilogy after Suryakiran and Indraprakash (all three named after three high-rise buildings in Connaught Place; all linked in some-way to my previous organization).

Excited enough to read it? If yes, then be here on Thursday 4th January 2007, at 1700 Hrs IST to catch a glimpse of one day in the lives of Pooja and Vishwas.

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!
So, buy more about
2006 slipped into posterity and the New Year greets us with the same characteristic cheer and good-will as each new year does – till the time it settles into its own routine, beyond the flurry of congratulatory SMS’s, emails, phone-calls and messages.

 

Taking stock of the past year, I can safely conclude it was very average – nothing spectacular, but not humdrum either. From Kathmandu to Delhi to Agra, for me the year was neatly divided into three equal and distinct phases. For the world in general, it held sorrows and happiness, catastrophes and cheer in equal measure. In the larger context of time, it was just another year, and it is over and done with – and time to move ahead.

My new year’s eve was pleasant and enjoyable, spent in the comfortable confines of parental love and care.

On Saturday, I had decided not to go home, since I had gone there only a week back – and the drive, though only 200 kms seemed an arduously difficult task. That evening I had a couple of drinks, surfed mindlessly at the local internet café, drove around a bit, saw a few happy sights – and yet, the time didn’t seem to move at all. I was feeling extremely lonely and bored. The thought of my parents being alone as well, huddled in the increasing chill, without any excitement or cheer pricked my conscience hard. On Sunday morning, when I woke a voice within me was urging me to go home. Immediately, I dressed up hurriedly, packed a jeans and a couple of shirts and started off for Delhi.

It was a very wise decision. The look of sheer joy on my parents’ faces was a delight. In the evening, we went to Connaught Place for dinner, and thereafter took a walk in the newly renovated central park. The place is very well done up, with land-scaped gardens, an amphi-theater and full-on lighting. Needless to say, it was crowded. Delhi administration had made the entire inner circle a vehicle-free zone that evening, which made walking there a joy. We rounded the evening off with a softy from McDonald’s. I couldn’t recall a much better new year eve spent – even though on paper it sounds dull, I can guarantee it was much better than the biggest party I have ever attended. I guess, there comes a time in life when booze and brashness loses its value.

As such, there isn’t any expectation from the new year. I am not looking forward to anything exciting. Hence, there are no new resolutions, no plans and no dreams. Yet, paradoxically, it is a new beginning – so there is some hope.

An additional jubilation in this trip was meeting Ashish Dange – after a long long time. It was fun catching up with him – on life, career, music and movies! Since our meetings in the past have been a series of coffee outlet promotions, it was befitting that we met again at Café Coffee Day! There, I had my first ‘blogger-meet’ on the first day of the year (even though he is no longer blogging these days). He sends his hello to all his erstwhile readers (and we do have a lot of them in common), though there is no immediate plan of returning to the webspace. But then, as he averred, you never know!

The sun looked as if it was readying for the party on the other end of the globe, and hence chose to stay away from this side. While the sun was away, the fog had a field day scaring off the flights and Delhiites.

For Random Expressions readers, I have a brand-new story ready. Many months have passed since I wrote any fresh fiction. (The last story was Tapish, in Hindi, on my older blog, but that too was a re-hash of one of my own old stories).

So what’s it about? I can’t even remotely claim it is ‘different’. All I can say is that it is an emotional tale of love, losing and longing; it is typical DJ-ish (which means, it is pretty ‘filmi’); it has the heroine in a peach chiffon sari cavorting in the rains; and yes, I promise it is fairly entertaining. The only difference is that it is a very short story and will be over in a single episode.

The story is called Ambadeep, and it completes my trilogy after Suryakiran and Indraprakash (all three named after three high-rise buildings in Connaught Place; all linked in some-way to my previous organization).

Excited enough to read it? If yes, then be here on Thursday 4th January 2007, at 1700 Hrs IST to catch a glimpse of one day in the lives of Pooja and Vishwas.

Madhur Bhandarkar attempts a true blue musical in his film on glamour and the glamorous; for this, viagra 40mg
he has unexpectedly chosen a relatively new Shamir Tandon, page
rather than rely on an established name in the industry. Tandon has earlier given us a few bloopers in Rakth.

The cover proudly proclaims ‘a complete album’ and gives us the photos of the singers, instead of the in-film stills as is norm. On the first, I have my reservations. On the second, it is justified; especially, if you have singers ranging from Lata Mangeshkar to Asha Bhosle to Adnan Sami to Suresh Wadkar…the cover asserts that it is a singer dominated album- and that makes Tandon’s life considerably easier!

Well, to be honest, the album is good in parts. And, the best parts are the opening and the closing tracks! No, this is not meant to be a funny line thrown in, but a genuine fact.

Let’s start from the end: Asha Bhonsle’s Huzoor – e- aala is smooth and silky, and the crooner sounds young, hot and in the groove. Of course, the ditty is built around the old OP Nayyar songs, but thankfully, is not a rehash or remix or an absolute copy! It is original in its own right, and very hummable. One thing though, the song is labeled as ‘Bonus track’- when Yash Chopra gave those two numbers in Veer Zaara CD, the songs parted ways from the film’s music while retaining the same
flavor; unfortunately, Huzoor-e-aala sounds too situational to be a stand-alone number.

Amit Kumar (bless him, where has he been all these years?) croons Filmi very filmi with full verve and vivaciousness that would make his father proud! Like the Naseeb song (John Jaani Janardhan), lyricist Sandeep Nath has fun in weaving in names of today’s top notch stars. He is accompanied (rather, irritated) by Blaaze and Taanishta Chatterjee.

Though Adnan Sami has started to sound the same with the trademark curls and curves (I am talking about his voice, sillies) the song Mere wajood mein is quite well tuned and well orchestrated too. Unfortunately, the song is too ‘masculine’ in its composition for Sadhna Sargam to do any justice in the female version. The inlay card tells us this song is not there in the film; if so, then, why did they make her sound like twisted kurkures?

The two rock and growl numbers Lets Dance and Jhoot Boliyan are best enjoyed in the discotheques, so suffice to say they are foot tapping but no paths broken by them! These are ‘tired’ and tested numbers and will scuttle up and down the middle orders of the charts.

So, I shall jump straight on to the top of the heap, and the best part of the album, which makes spending Rs 100 on the CD absolutely worthwhile – Lata Mangeshkar’s Kitne ajeeb rishte hai yahan pe… of course, Lata, as ever, sounds marvelously mellow and syrupy sweet; especially, it is (once more) a revelation to hear her go base at the beginning of each antara taking it steadily up to a breathtaking crescendo. This one song in itself can serve a lesson to all aspiring singers. Sounding a bit like a seventies
creation, the song is easy on the lips (such philosophical theme songs can often be too heavy to digest) with good music and rhythm. The backup vocals (not credited in this version, but done so in the male one) are by Vivienne Pocha and Pankaj Saroagi, and provide able support. I have not stopped humming it since the day I heard it. And, it does have poignant and meaningful lyrics. In all, a very satisfying song!

The sad version (Lata Mangeshkar) is well…sad! Too bad Tandon botched up completely there. The male version by Suresh Wadkar is redundant; more so, as the cover tells us, sadistically again, that it is not there in the film.

Before ending, one small note: Sapna Awasthi springs up from oblivion and raucously threatens Kuan ma kood jaaoongi…my suggestion: by all means, help yourself, lady! Who’s stopping you?

Overall: A Good Buy

This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 

These are movies that either promised more, case or had huge budgets and big star-casts. I have purposely left out films like ‘Ek Se Mera Kya Hogaa’ that were doomed to bite the dust!

Rang De Basanti – The biggest disappointment. A patchy, uneven, disjointed, noisy, pretentious and juvenile film. It offered no tangible solution either for humanity (in general) or for India (in particular). In fact, it catered to the base and perverse human urge to kill someone who has wronged you. It’s ok to violently proclaim that ‘i will kill the person’ in a fit of anger, but that doesnt mean one executes the threat. This is not the behaviour what mature human civilized exhibit. The parallel to Indian freedom movement was ill-placed and utter nonsense. Anyways, I will refrain to say anything more here. Enough has been said, argued and counter-argued when I first wrote its review. Read it here. Sigh, another bad entry at the Oscars!

Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna – Karan Johar’s first self confessed attempt at ‘maturity’ was a dull, despondent and disastrous film, which dragged on and on endlessly. It resembled the serials prolifilating on television – bored housewives lusting after other’s husbands under the grand chhatrachhaya of Indian marriage and mangalsutra; wimpish men, who are either too bitter or too sweet;and, bucket ful of copious tears that drown the flimsy script; even the gawdy gloss matched. The music was boring. SRK lent some cheer as a character that could have been real, but was shunted irresponsibly by Karan to the other extreme from SRK’s otherwise screen-persona. The only bright sunshine remained Amitabh Bachhan, who lent grace and fun to this tedious affair.

Aap Ki Khatir – It’s like the rag the dog pulled out from a god-forsaken attic. Stale and tattered, the film was a big yawn evoking fare.

Ankahee – Enough of Bhatt-styled mentally disturbed and manic-depressed characters. Morose and melancholic, it lacks any escape for respite. For the same reason, I avoided Woh Lamhe! Both films have good music, though.

Utthaan – Another example of how to spoil a good story with indifferent direction. The twist could have been earth shattering bang, but is in reality a whimper not even loud enough to wake you up from the nap that you take during the film. Surprise factor? Neha Dhupia doesn’t bare at all, which makes you feel sad since it was better when she bared all!

Apna Sapna Money Money – I missed this on theatres; but didnt want to spoil it by watching only on small screen. So, with help of borrowed projector, I saw it at home deriving full theater benefits. I was expecting another Kya Kool Hai Hum; alas, the film is a gigantic bore – and only Riteish Deshmukh is the bright star that saves the film from total darkness. But still, the disappointment didnt fully dissipate, hence placed in this list.

Bas Ek Pal – I was in two minds about this film. It could have been placed in the ‘theek thaak’ list. But on second view I saw the glaring errors in its script – a loose and haphazard one, that moves from a compelling jail account to a wishy washy tale of love and betrayal, interspersed with notions of wife-bashing. The movie has a rivetting first half. But the second one wastes away the grand build-up. Director Onir (who made the sensitive My Brother Nikhil) doesnt live up to the expectations. As ever, Juhi Chawla and Sanjay Suri delight. Jimmy Shergill is good too. Urmila disappoints.

Chingaari – Umm, err… was this really a film? Crass, coarse and chaotic, the film was a long string of dreadful scenes put together. Sadly, it didnt nothing to alleviate the pain or elevate the stature of prostitutes.

Teesri Aankh – If you can take it as a laughter inducing exercise, enjoy the film. Per se, the movie had nothing going for it. Sunny Deol shouted his lungs hoarse, and only added to the pain. Full review here

Naksha – Another Sunny Deol flick that was outlandishly bizarre and bakwaas! As an actor, he needs to seriously re-think where he is headed.

Chup Chup Ke – Priyadarshan severely lost his touch with this one. The color coordinated costumes were eye pleasing; wish they had coordinated the script as well!

Jaane Hoga Kya – Even Bipasha Basu would burn this off with the next available beedi from her resume. The clone-saga provided inadvertant humor, but that’s about it. Original review available here.

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It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, and but some days back I was again on the drive. This time, prostate we were on the stretch between Agra and Firozabad, which falls within Agra District – or so we thought.

Just for formalities sake, allow me to list out the towns/villages we crossed; of course, interspersed with a few incidents that made it possible for this post to be written.

Kuberpur – Wherever the goddamn village is, the office we wanted to visit was thankfully on NH2, leading to Firozabad (yeah, the same place famous for its bangles and glass works). The cold cemented floor, and cobweb laden dirty walls inside the office werent much of a welcome anyways. But we panicked full time when we saw a thousand people (ok, I exaggerate – discount ten percent here or there) clamouring over one hapless employee, who was trying to do ten thousand things (I exaggerate again, but discount ten percent here or there) at the same time. Despite winters, the smell of sweat and human skin was overwhelming, but we managed a feeble smile towards the official, who tried to shake hands with us over the crowd and babel of voices; the official murmured a hundred thousand apologies (I exaggerate…but you get the point by now). We genuinely understood!

Etmadpur – This was just a few kilometers ahead on the highway. However, to enter the village, we had to get off it, on to a now-familiar dusty and narrow road. Our destination was bang in the middle of a crowded street, that lined odd shops, with cyclists covering the entire stretch. We parked my car, and got off.

Curious faces stared back at us, and I felt oddly uncomfortable to be looked at like this. “Why are they staring as if we had just escaped a zoo?” I murmured to my colleague. “Well, tie waale, patte-waale jaanwar kam hi dekhne ko milte honge yahan” he retorted wryly. I didn’t take off the tie, but discreetly placed the ‘patta‘ (our company’s ID-card) inside the pocket.

From this stretch began the real adventure. And thanx to Idea Mobile. Well, almost. It was Idea’s locator that flashed ‘Barhan Crssng’ on my cell-phone, which made me curious to ask about its distance from Etmadpur.

Barhan – To me now any road in U.P. interior is the same. The stretch to Barhan was no different, either in its ‘comfort’ or topography, to the ones that I had traveled earlier while going to Achnera, Kagarole or Kirawali. Barhan is a sandy village, with brown mud buildings – a small, rain-water-filled, by-default formed pond ran alongside the railway track, which pointed to something as high-sounding as ‘Barhan Junction’.

Khaanda – At Barhan, we had enquired on the few other places that we could visit on this route. Khanda was a bit further on and then there was Jalesar, our aquaintance informed. So off we were to Khaanda. The road was a bit better, but as often with these villages, they are never on the good roads. So, soon we had to depart the ‘highway’ and get onto a small road that led to this village.

“Err…I hope we are on track” I remarked, when we had been shaken enough. My colleague (let’s call him Ajeet, for nomenclature ease) tried to read some illegible address on a tin shanty.

“Why dont you ask her?” I teased, as a lady passed by.

“You want me to get killed! Dont you see the foot long ghoonghat she is in” Ajeet replied, visibly horrified at my suggestion.  

A few meters later, it was confirmed we were in Khanda – but whosoever we asked, gave a vague direction towards the office we had to visit. So as vaguely we got the instructions, so did we go. And ended up in a huge courtyard full of goats, and lazing elderly gentlemen, who viewed my dust-laden once-upon-a-white Santro disinterestingly.

“I am sure we are on the wrong way” I hissed beneath my breath, as the royal animals grazed the sides of my car and leisurely passed around it.

With difficulty, I managed to maneuver the car out from that sandy courtyard, and finally stopped a sensible-looking gentleman, and firmly asked for the directions.

“Galat ho” he said. “Main road se, bamba kinaare jaana tha.”

The man was gesturing back towards the highway again. Since Ajeet is from Agra, I thought he would have understood the local dialect, but after a few seconds to my dismay, I found him stammering, “B..bamba kinaare?”

“Jee, bamba kinaare!” The man asserted again.

“Ummm…err…yeh bamba kya hota hai?”

Now, the man was clearly lost. With his hands straight and moving in parallel motion, he said, “Bamba…yaani, paani…naala…naala kinare”

How simple! And we tucked away between us one new word in our vocabulary.

Jalesar – “It’s just 21 kilometers” I remarked, when we had finished off with Khaanda. Ajeet was apprehensive in going towards Jalesar. But I argued that we still had some time in hand, plus (as the official earlier had pointed out) there was a direct route back to Agra, and of course 21 kilometers is never ‘far away’ for us Delhiites. I shouldnt have spoken. Because, barely five kilometers on, the road vanished and all we had were potholes, and stones, and sand, and grime, as my poor Santro wove its way towards Jalesar – which wasnt (to our horrific discovery) in Agra even. It fell within Etah District.

At a particulary bad stretch, the car shook so hard that suddenly out from nowhere, Asha Bhonsle started to assert ‘Aaj main khush hoon’*.

Terrified, we both jumped out our skin! For that split second, when the silence was rudely cut by her voice, we were frightened.

Now, I admit I am a bigger fan of her sister’s but that didn’t give Ashaji the right to laugh at my plight, and get happy about it too.

Since Ajeet was shaken too, surely this wasn’t just my imagination. I eyed the culprit – the car stereo had switched on, on its own.

“Tera haath laga hoga,” I told Ajeet.

“Arre nahi baba. My hand was far off,” he defended himself.

The Mystery of Automatic Stereo Power On would have lingered on for sometime, but the road gave us ample opportunity to solve it. The bumps were so hard that they somehow started the power of the system!

We reached Jalesar in one piece, and almost at our wit’s end, and the day’s too.

Jalesar is a town, and a pretty large one, since we got quite lost in its maze of streets and alleyways, and an array of markets. If you care to ever go there, make sure you make the roundabout with a statue as your fulcrum point – everything seems to originate or end there.

(We were shattered to learn there was after all no direct route to Agra, and if we had to reach back home, there were only two alternatives available – either take the same road that we had come through, which wasn’t advisable from security point of view. Or, go through Sadabad – which is some 28 kms from Jalesar – and then move on to Agra. Anyone who has read these pieces earlier would know that Sadabad (in Hathras distt.) falls on the same ‘road-less’ Aligarh route, and is the biggest bane of my current travelling!)

*Aaj mai khush hoon lo tum hi bolo kyun, from Grahan; Music- Karthik Raja; Singers – Asha Bhonsle, Jolly Mukherjee

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Seven

I was a bit perplexed to hear the nurse announce Vineeta’s name. I was not mentally prepared to meet her, grip mainly because I had suspected her to be the enemy whereas she had proven to be an ally. Yet, buy information pills there was a curiosity to know how she had managed it. And where had I gone wrong in my judgment?

She entered the room with a strong whiff of perfume. Perhaps, unhealthy Chanel, I thought as she would have informed, had we been in college. But today, I found her very different from the air-headed fool that I believed her to be. For one, she wore a salvar suit. Having seen her mostly in low-waist jeans, this was a marked change but for the better. The suit made her look even more attractive, and it fit wonderfully on her tall and lissome frame.

She walked across the room, hesitant and unsure, and I pointed towards the chair next to the bed, for her to sit. She sat gingerly, groping to begin the conversation. In that moment, I looked at her closely, and felt horrified at my own self for hating her so much.

“I am sorry,” she began.

“I should be sorry,” I interrupted. “And honestly, I am sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s nothing. Anyone would have thought what you did about me and Ashish,” she said, with a tinge of contempt at the name. “And that exactly was my plan!”

“But when did all this start? And why?”

“It started when Vasu spread the news about Smita’s pregnancy with obvious glee and malice,” she started.

But I stopped her mid-way. “Vasu?” I asked, shocked. So Vasu was the traitor in the class; that unknown friend of Ashish.

“Yes, Vasu,” she reiterated. “From then on, I don’t know why but I really felt bad for Smita and angry at Ashish. It wasn’t fair. So, I thought of getting back on Ashish… no clear plan to send him to jail, but at least to humiliate him enough so that he doesn’t play around again with a girl’s emotions. I knew he had flipped for me long time back. He had also sent some feelers through a common friend even as he was going around with Smita. He had been two-timing her for a long time. Anyways, I had ignored him then and had tried to drill some sense into Smita, but she took it otherwise and thought I was jealous of her. Also, just before this thing spread, and probably even before you came to know of it, one day I overheard Vasu and Ashish talking in the auditorium. They thought they were alone, but I heard them full and clear. Ashish was jittery about Smita’s pregnancy, and was asking a solution from Vasu. So, Vasu advised him to flatly deny his involvement, refuse to acknowledge Smita and devised this huge plan of spreading the rumor in the class, to humiliate Smita and drop enough hints to implicate you.”

“But why would Vasu want to humiliate Smita?”

“Remember the huge misunderstanding they had some months back. Apparently, Vasu hadn’t forgotten that and wanted to get back at her. It sounds silly alright, but that’s what he told Ashish. I think he is not the kind who can easily forgive or forget. Since, Vasu was never really pally with me, so I guess it was easy for him to pass the blame of ‘rumour-monger’ on to me.”

I was aghast and speechless.

“It was easy to make Ashish fall for me. He was already interested, plus he has an overactive libido, which I used to my full advantage. When things started getting a bit serious, I panicked. At that point, I took my mamaji, who is in police, in confidence. The day you beat Ashish up was an ideal day to execute the small plan we had made. I took him to our Mehrauli farm-house, and ensured that mamaji was fully informed. By the time we reached the place, I could see two familiar policemen, in plain-clothes near the farm. Ashish was terribly wounded you really beat him to a pulp, so he couldn’t have seen anything or anyone. There, I nursed him, and when, in the evening, he tried to be overtly romantic, I raised an alarm. The police rushed in, and nabbed him.”

There was a certain amount of maturity and intelligence on her face, which had otherwise always been quite expressionless. The softness had given way to determination, which lent an elderly hue to her face. Or perhaps, my eyes had always been curtained by silly enmity, which had blinded me to her obvious positives. I was dumbfounded at what she had done, the enormity of the act and the courage in going through with it.

“You are a genius, Vineeta!” I gushed, “you really bit him like a scorpion.”

“Don’t forget, I am a Scorpio by Zodiac,” she laughed. And I found the soft stream like naughtiness in the laughter very assuring and endearing.

“Vasu, Vasu! I can’t believe he was such a bastard! But what should he have against me?”

She shrugged. “Really can’t say. I guess he dislikes you because you are so close to Smita.”

“And the other day, I was at his place, asking for his help to sort out this mess.” I remembered what he had said that day, ‘Accept the child’ and when I had asked about Ashish, he had replied, ‘Leave him’. Of course, he wanted me not to mess with Ashish, and accept the child so that his friend could be free from blame. Damn sweet of him , indeed, I thought sarcastically! Only, I was thinking of accepting the child with another motive. He had wonderfully played on my emotion.

“Appearances can be deceptive,” remarked Vineeta.

“I wish people would show their enmity right at your face, rather than attacking from behind. It hurts.”

“I know. You were pretty open in showing your enmity towards me.”

“I am sorry,” I said, sheepishly.

“It’s ok, I know where you were coming from, and you are right it is the clarity in emotions while dealing with people that is important,” she said. She turned her attention to the flowers on the side table. “These are so awesome and wonderful!”

She raised her arm to touch them. “Yep. Smita got them,” I informed. For a sliver of a second, I thought I saw her arm hesitate, before touching them tenderly. I felt warmth exuding from her, something that I hadn’t expected to feel, at least not from her.

****************************************

I was to stay under observation for a few more days in the hospital, Dr. Chatterjee informed. I groaned. I was sick of being there, and wanted to move out. There was nothing to do, except read magazines, which dad had brought, and sleep. The routine was awfully boring. It was terrible to be fooling around in the hospital bed when the whole world was on the move. All that while, what I could really do is think, think and think more, till the time my mind was sore. I wanted to move out and do something – something that the world would be proud of, something that my parents could be proud of. Honestly, I had no idea what it would be. But I thought, let me first get out of this goddamn room!

Vishal, Sugandha, Saina and Shilpa came to meet. But the most surprising visit was of Prof. Arora. It was an awkward meeting, but this time the tables had turned. He was the one who was nervous and kept on repeating his apology. I believed him when he said that ‘family ties had blinded my eyes’. It was expected, and I held no grudge against him. “And yes, you are on for my tutorial class,” he offered, as a parting gift. I was pleased.

I had realized the hard way that all of us make mistakes, misunderstanding each other due to various circumstances and guises. Smita couldn’t see through Ashish. Hell, I couldn’t understand the people I met daily – Vasu and Vineeta!

Smita and Vineeta made a second round of visits a couple of days later together. It was odd seeing them enter like old friends. All this while, an invisible wall of rivalry had kept the two apart. Perhaps, some good had come from all the scandal in college: it broke the ice between them.

Smita looked relaxed and much better than she had been. She sat on the chair, while Vineeta moved towards the window.

“Wow, the lawn is so wonderful and awesome!” remarked Vineeta. It was. But since I had seen it enough, I was pretty bored with it.

“Tomorrow I will be free from this,” Smita said, her eyes pointing towards her abdomen.

Vineeta looked at her and then at me, and with a reassuring smile said, “Don’t worry. It will be fine. I will go with her.”

Smita smiled back. “Thanks a bunch.”

“But have you thought of what to do after that,” Vineeta asked her, and her eyes indicated me. I was very uncomfortable, and wished she hadn’t brought it up. But in a way, I was happy. Maybe Smita would have reached a positive decision.

Smita didn’t reply immediately. “Yes. I have thought a lot but couldn’t reach any decision,” she replied eventually. I saw my hopes crumble. Turning to me, she said, “Dinesh, you are a great friend. But anything more would just be a compromise.”

“At least it will be with a person who loves you,” whispered Vineeta, her eyes lowered, and she turned away to look out of the window.

Smita nodded, but didn’t say anything. Vineeta had to meet her Mamaji regarding some affidavits about the case, and she left soon. Smita stayed on.

“You know she has feelings for you,” she said. My eyes bulged out, my jaw landed on the bed and I nearly toppled from the bed.

“What?”

“Yes. She just told me while coming here.”

My mind was whirring and in a turmoil. “But… but I haven’t thought about her like that!”

“Neither have I thought about you like that,” said Smita, quietly.

I started to speak, but became conscious that I had nothing to say. In any case, I think it was best to keep quiet, for a change!

“It’s ok, Dinesh. I think Vineeta was sort of correct. I might accept the compromise. But allow me some more time, please. Maybe it will work out.”

When she had left, I was again left with my thoughts a new set of them, pouncing and prancing on my innards. This was impossible. Had Smita been mistaken? But no, she said that Vineeta had herself expressed her feelings. In all this, I finally realized how Smita must have felt when I proposed to her.

Suddenly, I was unsure. And more than Smita, I realized I had to make one firm and final decision.

****************************************

Today, fifteen years have passed since that scandal in college. In these fifteen years, I didn’t get time to think much about it. You know, how it is – college was over soon, and then MBA, then the jobs. Time became a casualty, friends drifted apart, and over the years, even that incident looked so trivial and blown out of proportion. It seemed we had nothing better to do than think about romantic liaisons and got serious about the slightest things.

However, last night I saw a new Bollywood release – very maudlin one, but there was one thought in it, which stuck on and pried open the entire can of memories. In the film, the heroine states “Mai rishton mein milawat nahi karrti” ; loosely translated it means that ‘she didn’t adulterate her relationships’- a friend and a lover are two different entities . So much like Smita, no?

Hence, all the past skeletons came crashing out. I came home from the multiplex, and immediately started to pen this story.

Like what happened to the film’s characters, sometimes circumstances and destiny force you to mix emotions. And often, the result can be extremely satisfying. That’s my personal experience. I wish I could meet Vishal again and tell him that my bookish philosophy has also worked very well.

As for me, let me sign off now – life has been great, or as my wife would say, it has been ‘wonderful and awesome’!

The End

Edited By Priyangini Mehta
Disclaimer – The story is a work of fiction; all characters and events are imaginary; any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Every year there are some innovative and hilariously titled films released; when Filmfare releases the list for its award nominations, treat I always go through the list to have a hearty laugh at them. This year, hair these are the titles that caught my attention, alongwith some of my comments.

Abhi Toh Raat Hai – Okay, I reckon a lot will happen in this night
Bajrang – He Man – Uh oh, where are the Bajrang Dal and VHP people?
Bepardah – Cover it up fast!
Betrayal – That was a name of my story once. I disown the title now!
Bheega Badan – Source of wet wet wet dreams!
Bikaau – Doesn’t seem to have sold anywhere
Bipasha- The Black Beauty – I wonder if Bipasha Basu should be amused or angry at this one!
Ek Se Mera Kya Hoga – With that DVD cover, Payal Rohtagi, I believe you – ek se tera vaakay kya hoga! Gets my ‘Most Outlandish Title Award’
Ek Zakham-The Blast – Get a Hindi-English lexicon, dude!
Galtiyan-The Mistake – Perhaps the film itself is one big mistake!
Free Entry – I’d stick to No Entry only.
Haseena – Smart, Sexy, Dangerous – Bizarre and Weird, as well.
Hot Girl – Ouch! Call the Burnol guys fast!
Hot Malaika – I can almost feel Arbaaz getting heated up in anger!
Iqraar – By Chance – No chance of watching this one, for sure!
Kaamwaali – ‘maid’ for disaster!
Love in Japan – Hope Sonu Nigam is not in this one too, after his outing in Nepal!
Madhubala – Ho hum, they don’t leave the yesteryear actresses as well, do they!
Maharani – Very very ‘queen’-y!
Main Hoon Rakhwala – but I ain’t trusting him!
Manoranjan-The Entertainment – Not too difficult to imagine of what sort!
Men Not Allowed – I bet only men would have gone to see this one (If I am not too mistaken, his too starred Payal Rohatgi)
Naughty Boy – get disciplined soon, buddy!
No Parking – What’s with these traffic sign named films!
Radha Ne Mala Japi Shaam Ki – And SDB squirmed in his grave, or wherever he is, at this!
Shaitan Ki Premika– LOL, this one takes the cake and the bakery! Wish they had added a tagline to the effect “A Sublime Love Story” 😛
Tera Pati Mera Pyaar – How bold – Ekta Kapoor take note, your ideas are getting stolen!
The Angrez – deport him fast!
The Real Dream Girl – Poor Hema Malini, there is a contender for her title as well!
Yeh Hai U Turn – Err, is the traffic department sponsoring films these days?

So, how many of these have you seen?

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!
So, buy more about
2006 slipped into posterity and the New Year greets us with the same characteristic cheer and good-will as each new year does – till the time it settles into its own routine, beyond the flurry of congratulatory SMS’s, emails, phone-calls and messages.

 

Taking stock of the past year, I can safely conclude it was very average – nothing spectacular, but not humdrum either. From Kathmandu to Delhi to Agra, for me the year was neatly divided into three equal and distinct phases. For the world in general, it held sorrows and happiness, catastrophes and cheer in equal measure. In the larger context of time, it was just another year, and it is over and done with – and time to move ahead.

My new year’s eve was pleasant and enjoyable, spent in the comfortable confines of parental love and care.

On Saturday, I had decided not to go home, since I had gone there only a week back – and the drive, though only 200 kms seemed an arduously difficult task. That evening I had a couple of drinks, surfed mindlessly at the local internet café, drove around a bit, saw a few happy sights – and yet, the time didn’t seem to move at all. I was feeling extremely lonely and bored. The thought of my parents being alone as well, huddled in the increasing chill, without any excitement or cheer pricked my conscience hard. On Sunday morning, when I woke a voice within me was urging me to go home. Immediately, I dressed up hurriedly, packed a jeans and a couple of shirts and started off for Delhi.

It was a very wise decision. The look of sheer joy on my parents’ faces was a delight. In the evening, we went to Connaught Place for dinner, and thereafter took a walk in the newly renovated central park. The place is very well done up, with land-scaped gardens, an amphi-theater and full-on lighting. Needless to say, it was crowded. Delhi administration had made the entire inner circle a vehicle-free zone that evening, which made walking there a joy. We rounded the evening off with a softy from McDonald’s. I couldn’t recall a much better new year eve spent – even though on paper it sounds dull, I can guarantee it was much better than the biggest party I have ever attended. I guess, there comes a time in life when booze and brashness loses its value.

As such, there isn’t any expectation from the new year. I am not looking forward to anything exciting. Hence, there are no new resolutions, no plans and no dreams. Yet, paradoxically, it is a new beginning – so there is some hope.

An additional jubilation in this trip was meeting Ashish Dange – after a long long time. It was fun catching up with him – on life, career, music and movies! Since our meetings in the past have been a series of coffee outlet promotions, it was befitting that we met again at Café Coffee Day! There, I had my first ‘blogger-meet’ on the first day of the year (even though he is no longer blogging these days). He sends his hello to all his erstwhile readers (and we do have a lot of them in common), though there is no immediate plan of returning to the webspace. But then, as he averred, you never know!

The sun looked as if it was readying for the party on the other end of the globe, and hence chose to stay away from this side. While the sun was away, the fog had a field day scaring off the flights and Delhiites.

For Random Expressions readers, I have a brand-new story ready. Many months have passed since I wrote any fresh fiction. (The last story was Tapish, in Hindi, on my older blog, but that too was a re-hash of one of my own old stories).

So what’s it about? I can’t even remotely claim it is ‘different’. All I can say is that it is an emotional tale of love, losing and longing; it is typical DJ-ish (which means, it is pretty ‘filmi’); it has the heroine in a peach chiffon sari cavorting in the rains; and yes, I promise it is fairly entertaining. The only difference is that it is a very short story and will be over in a single episode.

The story is called Ambadeep, and it completes my trilogy after Suryakiran and Indraprakash (all three named after three high-rise buildings in Connaught Place; all linked in some-way to my previous organization).

Excited enough to read it? If yes, then be here on Thursday 4th January 2007, at 1700 Hrs IST to catch a glimpse of one day in the lives of Pooja and Vishwas.

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!
So, buy more about
2006 slipped into posterity and the New Year greets us with the same characteristic cheer and good-will as each new year does – till the time it settles into its own routine, beyond the flurry of congratulatory SMS’s, emails, phone-calls and messages.

 

Taking stock of the past year, I can safely conclude it was very average – nothing spectacular, but not humdrum either. From Kathmandu to Delhi to Agra, for me the year was neatly divided into three equal and distinct phases. For the world in general, it held sorrows and happiness, catastrophes and cheer in equal measure. In the larger context of time, it was just another year, and it is over and done with – and time to move ahead.

My new year’s eve was pleasant and enjoyable, spent in the comfortable confines of parental love and care.

On Saturday, I had decided not to go home, since I had gone there only a week back – and the drive, though only 200 kms seemed an arduously difficult task. That evening I had a couple of drinks, surfed mindlessly at the local internet café, drove around a bit, saw a few happy sights – and yet, the time didn’t seem to move at all. I was feeling extremely lonely and bored. The thought of my parents being alone as well, huddled in the increasing chill, without any excitement or cheer pricked my conscience hard. On Sunday morning, when I woke a voice within me was urging me to go home. Immediately, I dressed up hurriedly, packed a jeans and a couple of shirts and started off for Delhi.

It was a very wise decision. The look of sheer joy on my parents’ faces was a delight. In the evening, we went to Connaught Place for dinner, and thereafter took a walk in the newly renovated central park. The place is very well done up, with land-scaped gardens, an amphi-theater and full-on lighting. Needless to say, it was crowded. Delhi administration had made the entire inner circle a vehicle-free zone that evening, which made walking there a joy. We rounded the evening off with a softy from McDonald’s. I couldn’t recall a much better new year eve spent – even though on paper it sounds dull, I can guarantee it was much better than the biggest party I have ever attended. I guess, there comes a time in life when booze and brashness loses its value.

As such, there isn’t any expectation from the new year. I am not looking forward to anything exciting. Hence, there are no new resolutions, no plans and no dreams. Yet, paradoxically, it is a new beginning – so there is some hope.

An additional jubilation in this trip was meeting Ashish Dange – after a long long time. It was fun catching up with him – on life, career, music and movies! Since our meetings in the past have been a series of coffee outlet promotions, it was befitting that we met again at Café Coffee Day! There, I had my first ‘blogger-meet’ on the first day of the year (even though he is no longer blogging these days). He sends his hello to all his erstwhile readers (and we do have a lot of them in common), though there is no immediate plan of returning to the webspace. But then, as he averred, you never know!

The sun looked as if it was readying for the party on the other end of the globe, and hence chose to stay away from this side. While the sun was away, the fog had a field day scaring off the flights and Delhiites.

For Random Expressions readers, I have a brand-new story ready. Many months have passed since I wrote any fresh fiction. (The last story was Tapish, in Hindi, on my older blog, but that too was a re-hash of one of my own old stories).

So what’s it about? I can’t even remotely claim it is ‘different’. All I can say is that it is an emotional tale of love, losing and longing; it is typical DJ-ish (which means, it is pretty ‘filmi’); it has the heroine in a peach chiffon sari cavorting in the rains; and yes, I promise it is fairly entertaining. The only difference is that it is a very short story and will be over in a single episode.

The story is called Ambadeep, and it completes my trilogy after Suryakiran and Indraprakash (all three named after three high-rise buildings in Connaught Place; all linked in some-way to my previous organization).

Excited enough to read it? If yes, then be here on Thursday 4th January 2007, at 1700 Hrs IST to catch a glimpse of one day in the lives of Pooja and Vishwas.

Madhur Bhandarkar attempts a true blue musical in his film on glamour and the glamorous; for this, viagra 40mg
he has unexpectedly chosen a relatively new Shamir Tandon, page
rather than rely on an established name in the industry. Tandon has earlier given us a few bloopers in Rakth.

The cover proudly proclaims ‘a complete album’ and gives us the photos of the singers, instead of the in-film stills as is norm. On the first, I have my reservations. On the second, it is justified; especially, if you have singers ranging from Lata Mangeshkar to Asha Bhosle to Adnan Sami to Suresh Wadkar…the cover asserts that it is a singer dominated album- and that makes Tandon’s life considerably easier!

Well, to be honest, the album is good in parts. And, the best parts are the opening and the closing tracks! No, this is not meant to be a funny line thrown in, but a genuine fact.

Let’s start from the end: Asha Bhonsle’s Huzoor – e- aala is smooth and silky, and the crooner sounds young, hot and in the groove. Of course, the ditty is built around the old OP Nayyar songs, but thankfully, is not a rehash or remix or an absolute copy! It is original in its own right, and very hummable. One thing though, the song is labeled as ‘Bonus track’- when Yash Chopra gave those two numbers in Veer Zaara CD, the songs parted ways from the film’s music while retaining the same
flavor; unfortunately, Huzoor-e-aala sounds too situational to be a stand-alone number.

Amit Kumar (bless him, where has he been all these years?) croons Filmi very filmi with full verve and vivaciousness that would make his father proud! Like the Naseeb song (John Jaani Janardhan), lyricist Sandeep Nath has fun in weaving in names of today’s top notch stars. He is accompanied (rather, irritated) by Blaaze and Taanishta Chatterjee.

Though Adnan Sami has started to sound the same with the trademark curls and curves (I am talking about his voice, sillies) the song Mere wajood mein is quite well tuned and well orchestrated too. Unfortunately, the song is too ‘masculine’ in its composition for Sadhna Sargam to do any justice in the female version. The inlay card tells us this song is not there in the film; if so, then, why did they make her sound like twisted kurkures?

The two rock and growl numbers Lets Dance and Jhoot Boliyan are best enjoyed in the discotheques, so suffice to say they are foot tapping but no paths broken by them! These are ‘tired’ and tested numbers and will scuttle up and down the middle orders of the charts.

So, I shall jump straight on to the top of the heap, and the best part of the album, which makes spending Rs 100 on the CD absolutely worthwhile – Lata Mangeshkar’s Kitne ajeeb rishte hai yahan pe… of course, Lata, as ever, sounds marvelously mellow and syrupy sweet; especially, it is (once more) a revelation to hear her go base at the beginning of each antara taking it steadily up to a breathtaking crescendo. This one song in itself can serve a lesson to all aspiring singers. Sounding a bit like a seventies
creation, the song is easy on the lips (such philosophical theme songs can often be too heavy to digest) with good music and rhythm. The backup vocals (not credited in this version, but done so in the male one) are by Vivienne Pocha and Pankaj Saroagi, and provide able support. I have not stopped humming it since the day I heard it. And, it does have poignant and meaningful lyrics. In all, a very satisfying song!

The sad version (Lata Mangeshkar) is well…sad! Too bad Tandon botched up completely there. The male version by Suresh Wadkar is redundant; more so, as the cover tells us, sadistically again, that it is not there in the film.

Before ending, one small note: Sapna Awasthi springs up from oblivion and raucously threatens Kuan ma kood jaaoongi…my suggestion: by all means, help yourself, lady! Who’s stopping you?

Overall: A Good Buy

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!
So, buy more about
2006 slipped into posterity and the New Year greets us with the same characteristic cheer and good-will as each new year does – till the time it settles into its own routine, beyond the flurry of congratulatory SMS’s, emails, phone-calls and messages.

 

Taking stock of the past year, I can safely conclude it was very average – nothing spectacular, but not humdrum either. From Kathmandu to Delhi to Agra, for me the year was neatly divided into three equal and distinct phases. For the world in general, it held sorrows and happiness, catastrophes and cheer in equal measure. In the larger context of time, it was just another year, and it is over and done with – and time to move ahead.

My new year’s eve was pleasant and enjoyable, spent in the comfortable confines of parental love and care.

On Saturday, I had decided not to go home, since I had gone there only a week back – and the drive, though only 200 kms seemed an arduously difficult task. That evening I had a couple of drinks, surfed mindlessly at the local internet café, drove around a bit, saw a few happy sights – and yet, the time didn’t seem to move at all. I was feeling extremely lonely and bored. The thought of my parents being alone as well, huddled in the increasing chill, without any excitement or cheer pricked my conscience hard. On Sunday morning, when I woke a voice within me was urging me to go home. Immediately, I dressed up hurriedly, packed a jeans and a couple of shirts and started off for Delhi.

It was a very wise decision. The look of sheer joy on my parents’ faces was a delight. In the evening, we went to Connaught Place for dinner, and thereafter took a walk in the newly renovated central park. The place is very well done up, with land-scaped gardens, an amphi-theater and full-on lighting. Needless to say, it was crowded. Delhi administration had made the entire inner circle a vehicle-free zone that evening, which made walking there a joy. We rounded the evening off with a softy from McDonald’s. I couldn’t recall a much better new year eve spent – even though on paper it sounds dull, I can guarantee it was much better than the biggest party I have ever attended. I guess, there comes a time in life when booze and brashness loses its value.

As such, there isn’t any expectation from the new year. I am not looking forward to anything exciting. Hence, there are no new resolutions, no plans and no dreams. Yet, paradoxically, it is a new beginning – so there is some hope.

An additional jubilation in this trip was meeting Ashish Dange – after a long long time. It was fun catching up with him – on life, career, music and movies! Since our meetings in the past have been a series of coffee outlet promotions, it was befitting that we met again at Café Coffee Day! There, I had my first ‘blogger-meet’ on the first day of the year (even though he is no longer blogging these days). He sends his hello to all his erstwhile readers (and we do have a lot of them in common), though there is no immediate plan of returning to the webspace. But then, as he averred, you never know!

The sun looked as if it was readying for the party on the other end of the globe, and hence chose to stay away from this side. While the sun was away, the fog had a field day scaring off the flights and Delhiites.

For Random Expressions readers, I have a brand-new story ready. Many months have passed since I wrote any fresh fiction. (The last story was Tapish, in Hindi, on my older blog, but that too was a re-hash of one of my own old stories).

So what’s it about? I can’t even remotely claim it is ‘different’. All I can say is that it is an emotional tale of love, losing and longing; it is typical DJ-ish (which means, it is pretty ‘filmi’); it has the heroine in a peach chiffon sari cavorting in the rains; and yes, I promise it is fairly entertaining. The only difference is that it is a very short story and will be over in a single episode.

The story is called Ambadeep, and it completes my trilogy after Suryakiran and Indraprakash (all three named after three high-rise buildings in Connaught Place; all linked in some-way to my previous organization).

Excited enough to read it? If yes, then be here on Thursday 4th January 2007, at 1700 Hrs IST to catch a glimpse of one day in the lives of Pooja and Vishwas.

Madhur Bhandarkar attempts a true blue musical in his film on glamour and the glamorous; for this, viagra 40mg
he has unexpectedly chosen a relatively new Shamir Tandon, page
rather than rely on an established name in the industry. Tandon has earlier given us a few bloopers in Rakth.

The cover proudly proclaims ‘a complete album’ and gives us the photos of the singers, instead of the in-film stills as is norm. On the first, I have my reservations. On the second, it is justified; especially, if you have singers ranging from Lata Mangeshkar to Asha Bhosle to Adnan Sami to Suresh Wadkar…the cover asserts that it is a singer dominated album- and that makes Tandon’s life considerably easier!

Well, to be honest, the album is good in parts. And, the best parts are the opening and the closing tracks! No, this is not meant to be a funny line thrown in, but a genuine fact.

Let’s start from the end: Asha Bhonsle’s Huzoor – e- aala is smooth and silky, and the crooner sounds young, hot and in the groove. Of course, the ditty is built around the old OP Nayyar songs, but thankfully, is not a rehash or remix or an absolute copy! It is original in its own right, and very hummable. One thing though, the song is labeled as ‘Bonus track’- when Yash Chopra gave those two numbers in Veer Zaara CD, the songs parted ways from the film’s music while retaining the same
flavor; unfortunately, Huzoor-e-aala sounds too situational to be a stand-alone number.

Amit Kumar (bless him, where has he been all these years?) croons Filmi very filmi with full verve and vivaciousness that would make his father proud! Like the Naseeb song (John Jaani Janardhan), lyricist Sandeep Nath has fun in weaving in names of today’s top notch stars. He is accompanied (rather, irritated) by Blaaze and Taanishta Chatterjee.

Though Adnan Sami has started to sound the same with the trademark curls and curves (I am talking about his voice, sillies) the song Mere wajood mein is quite well tuned and well orchestrated too. Unfortunately, the song is too ‘masculine’ in its composition for Sadhna Sargam to do any justice in the female version. The inlay card tells us this song is not there in the film; if so, then, why did they make her sound like twisted kurkures?

The two rock and growl numbers Lets Dance and Jhoot Boliyan are best enjoyed in the discotheques, so suffice to say they are foot tapping but no paths broken by them! These are ‘tired’ and tested numbers and will scuttle up and down the middle orders of the charts.

So, I shall jump straight on to the top of the heap, and the best part of the album, which makes spending Rs 100 on the CD absolutely worthwhile – Lata Mangeshkar’s Kitne ajeeb rishte hai yahan pe… of course, Lata, as ever, sounds marvelously mellow and syrupy sweet; especially, it is (once more) a revelation to hear her go base at the beginning of each antara taking it steadily up to a breathtaking crescendo. This one song in itself can serve a lesson to all aspiring singers. Sounding a bit like a seventies
creation, the song is easy on the lips (such philosophical theme songs can often be too heavy to digest) with good music and rhythm. The backup vocals (not credited in this version, but done so in the male one) are by Vivienne Pocha and Pankaj Saroagi, and provide able support. I have not stopped humming it since the day I heard it. And, it does have poignant and meaningful lyrics. In all, a very satisfying song!

The sad version (Lata Mangeshkar) is well…sad! Too bad Tandon botched up completely there. The male version by Suresh Wadkar is redundant; more so, as the cover tells us, sadistically again, that it is not there in the film.

Before ending, one small note: Sapna Awasthi springs up from oblivion and raucously threatens Kuan ma kood jaaoongi…my suggestion: by all means, help yourself, lady! Who’s stopping you?

Overall: A Good Buy

A Story By Deepak Jeswal

The serpentine road, see
with bumps and warts, wound its way through cornfields and stretched beyond the horizon. The car rode over the bumps and warts on the road that the government had forsaken as soon as it had built it. At places, it narrowed to a treacherous single lane, which was so constricted that in case two cars passed that stretch from opposing ends, a non-verbal tussle, fought with blinking dippers, ensued. Almost always the one who lost would let out his futile fury with a string of expletives, which in any case the opponent would not have heard, and even if he did, it hardly mattered.

Over the heated tar, the sky was ready to shower its blessings. Rains, that hadn’t reached there till then, were impending to unzip their black bags over the parched fields.

From Agra to Jagner, this journey of fifty kilometers is ordinary except for the subtle change in landscape beyond Kagarole, a village en route. Vishwas wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary either. In fact he never expected anything beyond ordinary from life now. At 33, he was well settled in life – a cushy job in a multi-national and a mundane but sweet family life. His only worry was to complete the task assigned to him and reach home fast, as his wife had asked him to. The navratras were on, and today was the seventh day, she had kept a fast and an elaborate pooja of Goddess Amba at their house and he was to reach there to light the lamp for the Goddess. He had no interest in the pooja, but he would have to go out of duty. He didn’t believe in prayers. Nor did he expect them to work.

Yet, that day somewhere within he had his dead hope resurrecting itself from the burnt ashes from his life long back. It’s strange how coincidences pile upon each other. Just the previous weekend a long-lost friend from Delhi had mentioned Pooja and informed that the last he had heard her banker husband was posted in the far-off Jagner. At that time the place’s name had barely registered in his mind. Today, unexpectedly his boss had given him an important assignment to be completed there.

That night, after his friend had left, and his wife had drifted off to sleep, for a long time he sat on his fifth floor balcony eyeing the Taj Mahal, accompanied by four empty beer bottles and a half finished plate of chicken-tikka. The yellowing Taj, whose dome and the four minarets were clearly visible from where he sat, was ‘just another building’ , as he often mocked at it to his friends. But deep within, he knew it was a symbol of love and passion.

Nay, he didn’t think so! Those were exactly Pooja’s thoughts, an ultra romantic girl whom he had befriended, loved and lost when he was young. It amazed him as to how much she cared for the Taj! But adamantly refused to visit it – “No, it’s a symbol of marriage, and we shall go there only after we are married!” That was Pooja – always finding meaning into the most commonplace things. “Love is a prayer – which is what my name means!” she would joke – only that when she said it, it didn’t sound like a joke at all.

Those were the heady college days – carefree, wild and enjoyable. He didn’t realize when Pooja transformed from being just a friend to a very good one and eventually his lover. The affair spanned three years of college, two years of MBA and one year into his first job. Six beautiful years spent with Pooja, which he had often tried to erase but couldn’t really do it.

A sudden speed-breaker bumped him out of his reverie. He cursed within his breath, and shuffled in his seat uncomfortably, straightening his blue suit’s arm a little. The suit seemed impossibly incongruous in the rural surroundings he was driving to but then he hadn’t known he would have to leave for Jagner when he dressed up that morning. Another bump, and this time he cursed aloud. The road itself wasn’t all that great, and the innumerable breakers added to the woes. He looked upwards – the clouds had thickened, and soon the tip-tap of raindrops lashed on his windscreen. With his left hand permanently on the gear, he maneuvered his bruised white Santro over the potholes. He looked at his watch. He had to return home soon.

The fields gave way to open plains. Beyond the rain, he saw a few solitary hills, part of the Aravalli range. Jagner was the last point on this stretch of Uttar Pradesh, after which Rajasthan began.

So engrossed was Vishwas in eyeing the hills, he missed seeing the oncoming vehicle, till it was barely a hundred meters away. In a quick reflex action he jammed his foot over the brake, while his hand changed the gears. The car screeched to a halt.

“Bastard!” he exclaimed. He reversed the car in order to make for him to pass it. But before he could do so, his jaw dropped. From the oncoming red Maruti Swift, he saw a lady’s face peeping out of the window, an apologetic smile on her face.

Even through the haze of the rain and the years between them, he recognized her instantaneously.

“Pooja!”

He brought his car parallel to hers, and lowered his tinted glass. “Pooja, hi! You remember me?”

Her brows knitted questioningly for a brief second but recognition swept over it alongwith the rain instantaneously. “Of course, Vishwas I remember you”

Excited, he let out a volley of questions, “How have you been? Where have you been? Why didn’t you call? Do you know I am in Agra now?”

She let out a short laugh. Just like old times. And even after all these years, his heart skipped a beat. Her round and fair face held the power to make him jelly-kneed and even though they were shorter now, he could perceive the luster and fragrance of her auburn hair.

“Wait a second, Vishwas. Let me just park this damn thing,” she said, and immediately turned the ignition on and swept the car aside on the edge of the highway. He did the same, leaving enough gap between the two vehicles lest some one did cross this god-forsaken place.

She wore a light peach chiffon sari with almost no jewelry except for a slim gold necklace and matching earrings – tiny little jhumkas that dangled impishly as she moved towards his car. Her hands clutched a beige purse. Gingerly she rounded his car, and entered through the passenger side.

“Damn this rain,” she murmured, wiping off her face. Vishwas smiled – nothing had changed, not even her ‘damns’ or sudden impulsiveness in disregarding the rain and crossing the road before he could make any move. Age had settled so gracefully on her persona that it held an exquisiteness of its own. In comparison, he eyed his beer-belly with disgust and to his own self he felt conscious of his haggardness.

“How have you been, Pooja? It seems so long ago, no?”

“Well, it has been quite a while now. And I have been perfect. At least, I think so,” she replied, settling down on her seat. “You tell me? What’s up?”

“Nothing much, really” and he gave an elaborate description of his job and his reason to be on this road. There was a brief awkward pause between them. He cleared his throat. And let out another “So what’s new?” Extremely maudlin, he thought! But then, so many years had passed, there wasn’t much in common left. It wasn’t really like old times.

“Just the same. Routine,” she sighed. “Ajay works as branch manager with the State Bank at Jagner, we prefer staying there rather than traveling daily up and down from Agra as many do.”

Of course he knew Ajay Ranawat – the business card was in his coat’s pocket, given to him by his boss. That’s exactly where he was headed to.

“Oh ok,” he replied lamely and after an almost imperceptible cough he asked, “Ajay?”

“My husband,” she said in a low voice.

He knew she was married, yet hearing it from her sounded rather unreal. Seeing her alight from her car running towards him, had made him forget that years had flown past them. It still looked as if she had just jumped from an auto towards his bike, as she did in college. Together, they would then just roam about or sit in the canteen. At that time, they were never short of words, and he tried to pressurize his brain to whip out what they talked about. There wasn’t any memory left. In fact, as he thought it just struck him that he didn’t even remember the reason for their break up. Why had they separated?

It was the second year in his job, when office time began taking precedence over their meetings. Then, voila the most prestigious project doing the rounds landed on his lap. He was so taken up by the motivational talk by his then boss that he completely forgot Pooja’s existance. It was in that hazy period, amidst a slew of meetings, and buried beneath a plethora of late-nights, sprinkled with short telephonic conversations, that Pooja had dropped the bomb. Her parents had selected a match for her. It all came back to him in an instant. He was in the midst of a presentation when his newly acquired cell-phone had beeped a message. It took five more hours before he could yank himself from the office to meet her at Connaught Place’s Nirula’s – their favorite haunt. “But how could you even agree to see that man and display yourself like a mute ware in some shop!” he had demanded angrily. She simply smiled and said, “Let’s say it is my duty towards my parents.” And then sarcastically she added, “If this is the trailer to the damn life that is to follow, I am definitely better off with that man” His blood sizzled in anger, but she simply walked out of the restaurant, and eventually his life, in spite of Vishwas’s attempts to make amends.

“These rains here are scary, they make the road so damn treacherous,” she was saying, and Vishwas came back to the present. “And they never come on time. This year too they are delayed!”

“Yep, you are right, but some of these roads are not even worth calling roads,” he laughed. “You should someday do the Hathras-Aligarh stretch. The road just doesn’t exist.”

She laughed along with him, and he felt a strange satisfaction. With her fingers, she started to wipe off the water from her face. He eyed her intently, watching her slim fingers’ futile attempt to remove the raindrops from her face. He bent forward, picked up a light blue towel lying on the dashboard, and handed it over to her. She smiled and accepted it and continued to wipe her neck.

One arrogant droplet slithered down defiantly from her hair onto her silky smooth neck, slipping down towards the gold chain. Vishwas felt a perplexing tingle in his fingers to touch her. But reason took the better of his emotions, and he held back.

Their conversation continued in fits and starts – first the horrid roads, then the poor infrastructural development, and then about Jagner’s poor social life. It was as if two strangers had met in a boring cocktail party and were trying to pass time.

After a brief pause he said, “So you finally did see the Taj?”

She smiled wryly, “Yeah, you can’t damn avoid it, being so close to Agra!”

“Nice, no?”

“It is – but not really as I had imagined it. After all, it’s just stones stuck together in a damn neat design”

Vishwas laughed. “What a change in thought!”

Ruefully she said, “Yes, time changes, people change. So have I.” After a hesitant pause, she placed the towel back on the dashboard, and sighed, “It could have been different with you. I am sorry Vishwas…”

“No no, Pooja, don’t start off on that…”

But Pooja raised her hand, and said, “No let me say it – maybe then I can get my peace. I am sorry Vishwas I let you down” Their eyes melted and intermingled into a warm pool of love and longing.

Vishwas felt a lump in his throat. “I missed you Pooja.” On impulse, he pulled her and gave a tight hug. She didn’t resist, and clung to him, gently sobbing.

“So did I,” she said, tearing herself apart unwillingly. “It’s not the same with Ajay – though he is nice and caring, in his own way. But somewhere deep within I feel that life could have been…” She bit her lower lip and didn’t complete the sentence. But he understood. Just the same way as he felt.

“I am meeting Ajay today,” he said, out of the blue. And explained how he was to get an agreement signed with State Bank, Jagner for a financing of a project that his company was to undertake in that region.

They sat for a few more minutes, talking generalities but soon Pooja said that she had to leave.

“Will we meet again?” he asked hopefully, his heart beat rapidly pounding his ribs at the thought.

“Cant say,” she responded. And added, “When you meet Ajay, tell him I am fine, and no need to worry about me. He gets worked up when I drive out in the damn rains” she said. Vishwas’s smile froze on his lips as a pang of jealousy stabbed his gut. Of course, Ajay had the right to get worried.

“Do visit us at Agra,” he said as she closed the door, and immediately bit his tongue. The ‘us’ obviously included his wife – a standard sentence that he spoke to many colleagues and friends, without giving any thought to it.

“Let’s see,” she replied and rushed towards her car.

He admired her grace in entering the vehicle, turning on the ignition and driving off with a wave. Sighing, he turned his gaze ahead; he saw the towel lying on the dashboard. Instinctively he picked it up and felt it with his hand hoping to feel the touch of her skin once more. It held faint traces of her fragrance. He took a deep breath and clutched the towel tightly; his mind was playing an old film when she would place her head on his shoulders, and the same fragrance would give him a giddy intoxicated feeling. As he fingered the towel, he felt a small lump within its fold. He opened it and found Pooja’s jhumka entangled between the sky blue strands of the towel.

Immediately, he grabbed it and stuck his head out to call her. However, by then her car was a tiny speck in the misty distance. Tenderly he circled the gold in his palms and placed it in his coat pocket.

Vishwas sat in his car for sometime looking through the rains at the spot where her car had been. After a while, he pushed the gear and started onwards. The mud and the rain only made the onward journey tougher. At Jagner, the road seemed to vanish leaving behind a sticky residue of wet earth and floating cow dung. Thankfully, it wasn’t tough to locate the State Bank there – barely a few hundred meters into the village, a derelict rusty signboard pointed to an inner road. He turned into the narrow lane, surrounded with shops covered with blue tarpaulin to protect from the rain. The second building housed the bank, on the first floor. The road continued ahead only to end at a tent which was set up and decorated with idols of the Goddess in gaudy colored clothes and accessories. A pooja, here too! A huge, tackily painted banner proclaimed in bold blue color “Sponsored by State Bank of India, Jagner.”

The meeting went as expected, interrupted by innumerable phone calls. At every given pause, Vishwas would scrutinize Ajay’s face and the roots of jealousy grew deeper. From the moment he entered the spartan office, he knew Ajay was a man of few words, and fewer needs. The large desk was piled up with files, broken only by an array of telephones. Behind Ajay stood a dirty Godrej almirah, and the walls were all covered with wires and cobwebs. Obviously, State Bank’s renovation drive hadn’t reached the smaller branches.

When he had got the requisite documents signed, he shuffled uneasily on his seat as Ajay turned his attention towards other documents. Vishwas’s hand was in his pocket, encircling the jhumka. How could he begin conveying Pooja’s message – without offering to explain how he knew her.

Ajay signed the last file, placed it on the side and rang a bell beneath his table. He looked up quizzically. Immediately, Vishwas dropped his stare to the contract in front of him, acting to read the same.

“I hope everything is in order?” asked Ajay. “Is there anything else that we can do?” he added, with an intent to convey that the meeting was all but over, and Vishwas should leave. When Vishwas didn’t budge or answer, Ajay said directly, “If you would excuse me, I will have to leave – the pooja down the road is about to begin. I have to attend it, though my wife should…” he rang a bell beneath his desk. “It becomes impossible to leave work mid-way, but sometimes one has to,” he murmured.

Vishwas understood the importance of work taking precedence over such things. He wondered if Pooja did too. “Sure, Mr Ranawat, I’ll take leave” began Vishwas, but was interrupted. A peon, in a white stained uniform, entered the room. Ajay pointed to the pile of files. The man took them away and dragged himself out of the office.

Vishwas reluctantly pulled himself up to go while his mind searched for a suitable excuse to convey Pooja in the conversation. After all, it was in years that she had asked him to do something, even if it was just a small message to be conveyed to her husband.

And then Vishwas found it – in the opening just cleared from the files, he noticed a small frame on the desk. It was Pooja’s photograph smiling in a light yellow dress. It looked as if it was taken at their home.

He nodded towards the photograph, “Bhabhiji…” he forced himself to bring the word out and let it trail, waiting for Ajay’s reaction. Strangely, and thankfully, Ajay didn’t take it as an intrusion of his privacy, which might have been more acceptable to Vishwas, since what he came up instead was a very fond look.

“Yes…Pooja, my wife,” answered Ajay, “She died in a car accident last year,” he added in an emotionless straight voice.

Ajay’s words knocked Vishwas like a solid punch on his solar plexus. Blood receded from his face, and he sat there eyeing Ajay blankly, his hand tightening the grip around Pooja’s earring in his pocket.

Outside, Vishwas stood in the rain watching Ajay leave towards the pandal down the road. Along side him, in the haze, he saw a faint peach reflection. She turned for a brief while to look at him – a look of deep love, but in the next instant she turned back to walk beside her husband into the shamiana, where the head-priest lit a lamp to the Goddess.

THE END

Special Thanks to Priyangini Mehta for editing the story.

The story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are imaginary, and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. State Bank of India is a well known government entity. Jagner, Agra, Delhi, Connaught Place etc are actual places.

This place seriously needs an update!

😛

 

Jaane Hoga Kya – Now I wasnt expecting anything great from this long-in-the-making-released-hurriedly film. So, page what turned out was a pleasant surprise. And not because of its content. But for the inadvertant humor that the film provides. Ok, there so what’s it about? Cloning! Don’t choke on that coke, it is actually a film on human cloning. And how the directors (Glenn-Ankush) portray it is the best comedy released this year. As per this film, to make a clone there has to be two plastic covered ‘capsules’, connected to a computer. So, ‘data’ will move from one capsule to another, as heat rises, and out of steam a new human will be formed! Wow! That simple!

That’s how Aftab creates his own clone. But that’s not all. As soon as the new Aftab is formed, he leaves the capsule and *laugh laugh* heads for a dance bar to sing an item number with Maria Goretti. Some Bollywood pre-educated clone this was indeed! In fact, going by the number of songs that the clone gets to sing, he seems quite the ‘in-thing’! And other than the item number, this includes one roll-in-the-hay number with Preeti Jhangiani (who seems to have lost her voice and inhibitions permanently in this film).

Of course, the clone is not all that ‘good’, like the scientist. In fact, he turns out to be some ‘super-power’ monster with immense powers. Frankenstein, did some one say? Well, the scientist’s haalat is quite like that, but then the hero has to win in the end in movies!

Oh yes, in between all the songs and evil, there was a nice little twist in the end.

Overall – Watch it to laugh at it!

Aap Ki Khatir – Honestly, can some one tell Dharmesh Darshan to retire and spare us his tortures! Can someone tell Amisha Patel that making melancholic expressions doesnt construe acting! Can someone tell Sunil Shetty that joi-de-vivre is an inborn feeling; faking it never works! Can someone tell Lillette Dubey that she looked horrendous in this film spouting Anglicised Punjabi! Can someone tell…ok, I am sure you got what I want to convey.

This pain-some movie is old wine in older bottle. A soggy script with limp characters and a bland-as-London-weather scenario only worsens the viewer’s discomfort. In fact, the film ends up looking like a shoddy UK-produced small-budget fare.

I am quite surprised that Akshaye Khanna chose to do this film, which couldnt have looked attractive at script level even!

Overall – Dont even think of it!

Naksha – Beware of Vivek Oberoi in the jungle! He bored us first in Kaal, and now returns for another jungle-mein-mangle! Naksha is a directionless film that has no head nor tail nor any body in between!

Sadly, the concept is good. And one feels like screaming at the director for wasting an opportunity that could have been turned into a Dan Brown like slick thriller.

The story – We all know that in Mahabharat, Karan was born with the magical ‘kawach‘ and ‘kundal’ that gave him immense strength. The mythology tells us that during the Kuruskshetra war, Lord Indra (disguised as a brahman) had asked for the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’ as alms. This was done at the behest of Lord Krishna, in order to defeat Karan. After this, the epic is silent on the ‘kawach’ and ‘kundal’. What if Lord Indra buried these powerful object somewhere in the Himalayas? Well, the film is built on this premise wherein one archeologist is able to find the same, and prepares a map to reach the place. However, one evil person (Jackie in a horrible get up) gets to know of the same, and wants them as well. The archeologist prefers to suicide rather than give the map to Jackie.

Years later, the archeologist’s son (Vivek) learns of the map, and proceeds to get those objects, with Jackie again close on his heels. To help Vivek, there is his elder step-brother, Sunny Deol.

The story simply meanders precious reels in the jungle. And if the repartees between Sunny and Vivek were ‘comedy’ well, then the director needs to seriously watch some Hrishida films!

Our Bollywood heroes never know when to call it quits. But I had thought Sunny would have learnt from his father (Dharamendra acted in the most third-rate films in the eighties, romancing heroines like Amrita Singh and Dimple Kapadia, who were half his age. In fact, Dimple was having a allegedly having an affair with Sunny when Dharam acted opposite her!) Anyways, Sunny should take caution and remember that such inane roles dont suit his stature. I am sure there will be many writers/directors ready to provide him dignified roles that are commensurate with his age.

As for Sameera Reddy, well her role is the most wishy-washy and redundant. Perhaps, the director realised it, that’s why in the climax, she is just dropped off somewhere and forgotten as well. BTW, if Sameera’s acting career never takes off, she can try for WWE!

Overall – Go tickle your masochist streak and watch it!

I admit it is too early to really write a review on the music on which everyone seems to have an opinion. But before that, women’s health let’s face a few facts squarely in the face – it was an arduously tough act to compose songs for a subject whose previous version is still fresh in the minds of music listeners. More than merit for the older hit, it is the nostalgic wrapper that shines and glitters. It has reached a cult status, traumatologist where it is placed at a hallowed pedestal. One reality check that I wish to present – unlike Sholay or Don the movie, or its music, wasn’t such an earth shattering hit when released in the eighties. It is only over the years that the songs have acquired a ‘retro-hit’ status. So, this sudden urge by everyone to lambast against the newer version sounds funny – even from that generation. Even those who wouldn’t ordinarily listen to Khayyam’s ghazals from Muzaffar Ali’s classic have somehow turned up their nose against Anu Mallik’s efforts. A prime reason is that Mallik’s name itself evokes plentiful negative reactions. Even before the music was out, I had read vitriolic write ups on how could J P Dutta entrust Mallik with such a prestigious job. But obviously, Dutta has enough faith in his composer who gave two whopper (musical) hits with Border and Refugee. In my honest opinion, such reaction was totally unwarranted. Mallik might be obnoxious in his interviews, his many compositions lack any luster of many kind, but still the man has in him to turn up with music that might just be listenable. Another positive point in Dutta-Mallik’s favor is that they haven’t gone and remixed or re-arranged the old classic songs – a towering brownie point to the team, especially seen in the light of the absolutely bland re-mixes/re-designed score of Don.

However, let me make my stance clear – I am neither fond of, nor in favor of, old classics remade in newer format with newer stars. It is simply unappealing, especially when the older versions usually reached perfection (perceived or otherwise) in terms of performance and direction. But this once, I am ready to give Dutta-Mallik team a clean chit, for two reasons – one, I feel that their effort is more honest in re-creating rather than just cashing in on the older success.

The second, and bigger reason, is that I am not emotionally attached to the older Umrao Jaan. Sometime back, in one of the comments, I had mentioned that I am not too fond of that film’s music. The ghazals are good. But somehow, they haven’t had the same gushing effect on me as they should have – except for ‘Yeh kya jagah hai doston‘. Hence, I approached the newer one with a totally fresh mind.

Coming back to the music, as I said, it is a bit early to write a comprehensive review. I haven’t been able to invest the requisite time to listen to it carefully. Yet, when a score leaves a few snatches attached to your soul after the first couple of listenings, you know that it demands coming back to it. In that respect, Mallik’s Umrao Jaan is surely on the right trail. After the first hearing, and switching off the system, I remained floating in its melody and effect, though I couldn’t recall the exact tunes.

From the bunch of solos (all Alka Yagnik barring two), I found ‘Salaam…Tumhari mehfil mein aa gaye hain to kyun na yeh bhi kaam kar len‘ particularly mesmerizing. A very subtle rhythm that supports a hummable tune keeps the song afloat. Alka’s rendition doesn’t move too much away from her flat intonations, yet they somehow suit the composition. The same goes for the second best number ‘Tum jo paas aa gaye, hum jo sharma gaye‘. It’s hookline lies in the charming ‘Tum bhi pahle pahal, hum bhi pahale pahal‘ line, and a mouthful interlude of ‘shehnais‘ topped with a single sarangi strain. A third song that perked my ears and plucked my heart was ‘Mai na mil sakoon jo tumse, meri justjoo na karna’ – a haunting number with tight violins that uplift the song to a dream level. Finally, ‘Jhoote ilzaam tum lagaaya na karo‘ is the fourth interesting solo – a bit slow and lengthy, but overall melodious. There is only one duet, unfortunately it didn’t cut much ice with me – and Sonu Nigam has sadly ‘oversung’ it. Passion can sometimes be understated, and not sighing overtly into the mic!

‘Agle janam mein mohe bitiya na kijo’ – in two parts – are the only numbers where Alka steps away. The song (in both versions) is a touching lament by a girl who doesn’t want to be a re-born in the same gender. However, I am a bit surprised at such a song in this film – as far as I know of Muslim religion, they do not have any concept of ‘re-birth’, hence the song is conceptually an anomaly in a film dealing with Muslim characters. But coming from Javed Akhtar, I am sure he would have done some research before penning it.

Somewhere I feel the weakest link has been Javed Akhtar’s lyrics that just do not sear with the burning pain that was Umrao Jan Ada’s life. Though one can find many scattered ‘quotable’ examples, overall the poetry is not the kind that one can hug and sob inconsolably to wet the pillows in the night. For example, in ‘Jhoote ilzaam’ a statement like ‘dil hai nazuk, isse dukhaya na karo’ is too bland and direct, and more suited to Sameer/Himesh combo of songs than in a film that talks about a courtesan who was exceptional in her poetry.

I am quite impressed by Mallik’s arrangements – he hasn’t done any unnecessarily experimentations, nor kept the sound cacophonously contemporary. He sticks to the era that the songs were meant to be and introduces now-forgotten Indian instruments like saarangi, sitar and tabla in full measure. Now that’s an achievement. Whether the current generation appreciates this is a million dollar question! But then, like the older generation, maybe they will reject it now but once they grow up, it is precisely this sort of music that they will like to come back to. Perhaps, this version might outlast every other contemporary composition and be a retro hit as well!

Overall- A Good Buy

I know an update on Random Expressions is long overdue; I have received subtle suggestions, information pills friendly reminders and even dire threats, buy more about which all proved the love and affection for this space. Thanks to everyone. And because of you all, just writing in to say I am fine, and alive – and so is this blog!

Needless to say, the past month has been tediously hectic – including, visits to far off places like Mainpuri, Bhongaon and Bewar and also a few more trips on that horrifying Agra-Aligarh stretch. But more than that it was an urge to prove something to superiors and get the sales figures correct that sort of doused the innate craving to write. So I kept focussed on the work, getting the act right and streamlining the processes as much as I could. Sadly, the end result was not all that encouraging – neither did the figures really shine, nor did this blog get any input. In short, a total failure!

In between, my speaker-set also conked off. Million complaints later, the service center of the obscure Korean brand agreed to rectify the same at home, obviously free of cost since it was well within the warranty period. The fault? Violently fluctuating voltage here – there, I add one more negative item from this city! The consequence? Lightened the wallet to purchase a voltage stabilizer.

Winters are lingering in, though the temperatures dropped precariously low for a couple of days in-between, but now they have clamboured upward. Another addition at home was a much-needed geyser.

Movie-watching and television-viewing were the only stable past-times. I havent yet entered any cinema hall here (waitng for Fun Cinemas to open up), but have put good use to the DVD player. The last few that I caught were the ominous Darna Zaroori Hai, the taut Deadline and the tastelessly dull Umrao Jaan! Television surfing has been massive, and I have to sheepishly admit I got hooked on to several programmes that I wouldnt have ordinarily watched. For example, Big Bosss! The shenanginans of drama-queen Rakhi Sawant and the antics of super-bitch Kashmira Shah kept the hands off the remote control.

The second programme I caught was Nach Baliye-2 – and the reason to get hooked to it was the extremely superb and scintillating performance by Manav and Shweta in that gold-outfit. They bettered it next week with the ‘bamboo dance’ – and I was sure that this pair could win. Sadly, Sweta let herself and us down with a limpid show of the mujra, though Manav more than made it up with his energetic ‘Mai deewana’ number. Still, personally I feel that combined they were far ahead of others in terms of grace, movement, choice and to top it all an endearing sang-froid and a thankful lack of melodrama or tears! Compare this with the eternal crybaby of tv, the other lady whose name I forget now (better known as Prerna of Kasautii Zindagii Kay), you will know what I mean. Their ousting section was the most tedious part of the entire show!

Of course cricket and bollywood both fed enough fodder for all news channels : the shameful South African tour debacle from the former and Sanjay Dutt , Aishwarya and Abhishek amongst the latter. So much so, that I can puke at the mere mention of the last two!

Beyond all this, there is really not much to write. So I will end here – with the same promise to be back soon, and definitely sooner than last time!  

 

There is a common English saying – “There are no free lunches in this world!” But I realized that there could be some free dinners sometimes!

It all started on Saturday. At office, this site we decided to try out the new Pizza Hut menu. The alluring leaflets, adiposity with discount coupons, search dropped at my place were added incentive.

However, what started off as a routine ‘order placement’ call, some five minutes later,metamorphosised into a full-fledged verbal duel. The reason being – their adamant refusal at delivering to our office, as it was beyond their ‘service area of four kilometers’. Now Pizza Hut outlet is very near my place so I was hundred percent sure that our office falls within their stipulated four kilometer radius; 3.8 kms, to be very precise- or probably lesser, as the outlet is some 500-700 meters away from my home.In any case, I argued, even if it wasnt within four kms, there is no reason why they cannot still service a kilometer or two extra, if the client is willing not to be bound by their time-frame clause. It’s not as if there is a ‘laxman rekha’ beyond which if Pizza Hut scooters cross, they’d be abducted by some horrifiying Ravans! But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. When the person on the other end (the shift manager) stopped harping on the four-kilometer clause, he started to give wishy washy arguments on how the area where we were didnt fall within ‘serviceable’ limit. Now, I really blew my fuse. Agreed, we fall within that area, but our office – a landmark on its own – is right at the edge, on the main road, and accessible through wide open roads (as wide as they can be in Agra!).

The heat in the arguments from both ends rose to a palpable limit, with lots of strong words deployed, till the time I banged the phone down, in anger and disgust. In the same stroke, I went to Pizza Hut’s website and registered a complaint, mentally swearing off Pizza Hut for lifetime (though, honestly, my stomach and taste buds grumbled their protests – I really like their pizzas, however un-Italian they be!)

Two hours later, when I was quite cooled down, and had been satiated with a heavy lunch from their rival Dominoe’s Pizza, I received a call from Pizza Hut. It was their Asst. Manager – and in a meek voice he apologized for all that had happened. We spoke for some twenty minutes, in which he must have used the word ‘sorry’ some twenty thousand times. He offered to rectify the error and send the order away immediately. But I politely declined, as I was already full – and moreover, on my way to Delhi. He also requested me to visit their outlet sometime, and I vaguely agreed.

I had totally forgotten about the incident by the time I returned from my short but extremely relaxing weekend. Amidst a pile load of work, I received yet another call from Pizza Hut – this time, from their Manager. Once again, there were several rounds of apologies and he insisted that I visit their outlet – anytime convenient. Since he was quite pressing, and since I like Pizza Hut pizzas, and since I live alone and don’t mind a dinner out sometimes, I agreed!

At the designated hour, I reached their outlet. From the moment I entered their restaurant till the time I left, it was an evening befitting a royalty. The manager was there to apologise ( we had a drink together), the shift manager (with whom I had the argument) did the same, and the waiters were all on call at the slightest turn of my head! After a delightful meal (their new Indian Menu is simply outstanding!), when I asked for the bill, they refused the same. ‘It’s complimentary from our side!’ they gushed.

Whether it was the slight intoxication of the smooth Forster, or the luxury of having being served with such impeccable finesse, or the sheer respect for someone who has apologized enough ( I am in sales, and have met enough rude customers to know!), or the effect of the aroma-rich, tasteful food, whatever it was at that time I was ready to do anything they asked for – and that was (as the shift manager meekly, hesitatingly and fearfully requested for) a mail to state that I had enjoyed the evening (which I understood was an euphemism to say that I no longer bore a grudge against them).

I am not entirely unfamiliar with the service standards offered by various organisations. But after yesterday, Pizza Hut’s service quality stands heads and shoulders above many of the bests! To say I am impressed with their service is an understatement! It is way beyond that. And now I have resolved to always be their loyal customer (and my stomach and taste buds gurgle in delight!)

Next Update: December 07th, 2006 at 1800 Hrs IST titled “Eight”

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No, viagra approved no, gastritis no – this is not a review of Karan Razdan’s yet another forgettable click Aath-Shani. This is a tag that Juneli gave me. In this I have to inform who tagged me (which I have done), decease say eight things about me (which I will do shortly) and tag six people (which I will refrain from doing).

So here are eight things about me:

• I have two arms, and use them quite a lot
• I have ten fingers – five on each hand
• I have two legs, and generally walk on them
• I have one nose, that can smell pretty well
• I have two eyes, both perfect till now
• I have one mouth, and I try to keep it shut
• I have one…err, let’s leave it here
• Voila, I look, sound and act like a human being!

😛

 

Next Update– On 09.12.06 at 1800 Hrs, IST – “Ten Things I Miss About Nepal”
Don’t miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700Hrs- only  on this blog!

In my farewell post from Nepal, decease I had said I will someday surely re-visit my Nepal memories. These few days, I have been regularly visiting those memories, viewing at the snaps taken there and remembering small details which normally I thought I had forgotten. It is difficult to write down all the things, so I will just mention the top ten things that I miss in Nepal.

1. Mountains – When one is in the Himalayan land, the mountains are aplenty to view. Admittedly, I have a strong affinity towards these sturdy natural beauties that can be both awesome and awe-inspiring. Kathmandu is surrounded by a lush and dark green ring of mountains that seemed to be a benign guardian for the valley. Click here to read the first post on this topic alongwith my favorite hill-stations. Other than the mountains, another eye-pleasing sight is that of clouds, which seem to acquire a magnificently creative instinct. I haven’t seen any more beautiful formations anyplace else. In fact, my love to watch the shapes and size of clouds began when I started to click their snaps.

2. Kathmandu – Well, as a whole there is a quaint attraction in the city; its ruggedy criss-cross mesh of streets and old-fashioned houses, peppered with some forward-looking architecture, is a unique blend of old-worldly charm and modern utility. The city – if it stops growing now – is neither too big nor too small, the right size! Of course, being there one has to be perennialy in holiday-and-relaxed mode.

3. Banchha Ghar – A delightful old restaurant serving some lip-smackingly delicious (and exotic) snacks. Their cultural show, performed every evening by nubile Nepali girls, showcases the various dance forms prevalant in the country. They serve ‘Raakshi’, the homemade rice wine, in miniature ‘kulhads‘ as a welcome drink. I would have loved to make ‘raakshi‘ as a separate entry, but due to lack of space will include it here.

4. Thamel – If I add up the hours I stayed in Kathmandu, the ones spent roaming in Thamel will by far exceed anything else. This was a favorite haunt, especially on weekends, when I used to visit a couple of quaint and charming pubs and lounge-bar. The effect in them is imprinted deeply in my mind. And I sorely miss having beer there – it just isnt same in the antiseptic modern bars of Delhi or Agra! Thamel carries a perennial festive look, always brightly lit and attractively colored.

5. Nagarkot – If you want to see the best sunrise, you have to head for this tiny hill-station, just 45 minutes drive from Kathmandu. The sun’s first appearance – a tiny blob of molten gold – is a jaw dropping sight!

6. Festivals – The Nepalis definitely know how to celebrate and revel in festivals, something that we seem to have forgotten (Festivals in Delhi are just formalities, rather excuses to show who is richer than whom, than any genuine urge to celebrate community togetherness, religious significance or simply to let your hair down to have fun. At corporate level, they are merely pieces meant to further the manipulation game of gaining brownie points or downsizing unwanted elements). Here, I saw a genuine desire to break free from the routine and indulge in the pure unadulterated joy of celebration. Bada Dashain (or Dushhera) is their biggest one, and the entire valley erupted in an unanimous call of joy and visually into a riot of colors!

7. Monuments – It’s not for nothing that Kathmandu is called a living museum; it is a World Heritage Site, and the proof lies in the sheer number of tourist sites to visit – Pashupati Nath Mandir, Buddhaneelkantha, three Darbar Squares, Syambhu Stupa, Boudhanath Stupa, Indra Chowk and many more!

8. Devghat /Chitwan – Both the places have their own beauties. Since I travelled to both in the same trip, their memories are tightly intertwined. I still recall fondly the ride on the River in that rickety narrow canoe! In Chitwan, sighting a rhinoceros was a huge accomplishment.

9. Jai Nepal Cinema Hall – Yes, I remember this also because there was a small slice of time when I must have watched a film there every Sunday.

10. Finally, the last thing I will mention is the amount of free time I had to write all those stories. I have now re-read most of them, and as I did so, I tried to recall the days and the ways I wrote at that time; also, I marvel as to how I managed to pen them. Reading those comments at that time is a wonderful experience.

I recall, on a particularly dull day, I had wondered whether those days will ever form ‘memories’. Pri had assured that sure they would. Pri, you were so correct!

Dont miss to read – “Favorite Songs of 2006” on 31.12.06 at 1700 Hrs, only on this blog!

First the Updates to set the background:

Ever since my holidays started, this 24-hour seem too less for me. The ‘deafening silence’ I mentioned here was short-lived. Overall, salve taking stock of the first quarter 2006, it has gone by in a blur of frenzied activities leaving behind small islands of quietitude.

Well, coming back to my trip – it was, to summarize it in two words: sheer fun! I have developed a new-found crush for Delhi So I roamed its wide roads like a smitten lover marveling at its infrastructural advancements and beauties. One reason is that since I didn’t have to go to office, I naturally avoided rush-hour traffic, which is the city’s biggest bane.

My parents had to go to Ludhiana, Punjab for a cousin’s wedding. So, for most parts I was again alone there. But there was a difference – living alone in spartan bachelor’s accommodation in Kathmandu is a far cry from staying in a full-fledged furnished house!

Meeting friends was the key highlight. From the bloggers met Anz. Ashish was leaving the day I reached there, hence couldn’t meet him, but had a word with him over telephone. Other than this, there was some personal work to be done, which took up considerable amount of time. I have set a few things rolling – do await a major announcement here soon.

On return to Kathmandu, I was caught up with the visit of our marketing guy, G. For the regular readers G is not an unknown name – remember the guy whom I took to Belly Dance Bar? This time round I told him I will take him to a better one – X-bar at Sundhara. From what I have heard, there are ‘topless’ performances there. He was so psyched and scared that every evening he would have headache/body-ache or some such excuse ready with him.

Anyways, we hardly had any time because planned a trip to Bhairawaha and Butwal – two neighboring towns in west Nepal plains – hence, we pushed X-bar trip to Friday evening which we had kept relatively free.

There was nothing great about Bhairawaha-Butwal, and the visit was wholly official, so will skip the details. But all through there also, kept joking and dropping hints about X-Bar! From Friday morning onwards, G kept his ‘not well’ raga on, and it kept increasing as the day progressed (LOL). By the time evening came, he was not ready to be seen with me even!

From all my colleagues, G is the most chilled out one and I couldn’t have taken this sort of liberty with any one else; we share a great rapport, and for that I will give him the maximum credit.

Nagarkot Sunrise

In any case, we didn’t end up at X-bar (or Fusion Bar, the other name that had cropped up with similar reputation). But we decided to view the sunrise from Nagarkot on Saturday early morning. This meant leaving

Kathmandu as early as 4 am, which in turn translated to getting up at 3 am.

Nagarkot sunrise is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I had seen the sunset earlier (It also finds mention in Naman Geeta), but the sunrise beats it any day! The weather there was cool, and we managed to find a strategic viewpoint to watch it. We were early. And had to wait some while to see nature’s magic show! But it was worth the wait, especially since the sun’s vanguard -the light itself- spread out with mesmerizing effect, especially as it reflected off the pristine white snow of Lamangthan peak!

How do I even describe the sight that is so enchanting? First, the rays shoot out. And then the sun peeps out from behind the mountains. When the first time it’s seen, it looks as if God has placed molten gold atop the hill. And then He pulls out the disc, which is bright red and looks moist and soft. (More pics can be seen here).

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

On our way back, we stopped at Bhaktapur. The Durbar Squareis more open and much cleaner than the ones in Patan(Lalitpur) or Kathmandu. I had been here once ealier, but this time it was the early morning and the effect was very pure and very devotional (since the square has maximum temples and the pujas were on at that time).

With the year almost to an end, medications there aren’t many biggies lined up for the winter. Due to lack of anything else interesting happening with me lately, stuff I decided to pre-pone this list to now.

So, here we go…with the movies I enjoyed watching this year, in no particular order, barring the first one:

Lage Raho Munnabhai – I guess it is not too difficult to guess why this film takes the top position. Raj Kumar Hirani has brought back the charmingly simple style of Hrishida movies, moulded it to the modern context, weaved in a thoughtful message and created a masterpiece that is magnificently delightful and cozily dreamy.

Krrish – Agreed as a Super-man sort of film, it sagged severely, especially in the middle. Yet I feel it was a very valiant effort by the Roshans – and one that was fairly entertaining, even though one might feel cheated about the low screen time given to the super-hero. In addition, bringing in Rohit (from the prequel Koi Mil Gaya) was a terrific twist (and a well guarded secret).

Fanaa – This film received a lot of flak, yet with every passing bad review it seemed to have added one more zero in the producer’s bank account. I saw it again – twice over. And each time, I found the movie endearing, especially its sensitively handled second half. Moreover, I loved its graceful pace. Kajol’s presence gave it the requisite fillip to make it reach this list!

Malaamal Weekly – This year’s darkest horse – I dont think even Priyadarshan had imagined it would be clear cut hit. But one view of the movie, it is not difficult to fathom why. The movie is unpretentiously entertaining; and whatever it’s foreign sources be (for the story), in the end, it delivers a hilarious package that makes it ‘paisa vasool’. Om Puri and Paresh Rawal give a splendid performance.

Corporate – Ok, this one is not upto Page 3′s level, but I found Madhur Bhandarkar’s attempt to show the ruthlessly cut-throat corporate world very engrossing. There were some subtle moments that looked straight from the offices I have worked in.

36 China Town – Blame it on my soft-corner for whodunnits, Akshaye Khanna’s performances and Abbas Mustan’s taut directions, to place this film here. The comedy track was good, even though the mystery per se wasnt. And for once, I found Shahid and Kareena bearable together.

Pyaar Ke Side Effects / Khosla Ka Ghosla – It’s quite a tie here, since both are essentially similar conceptually – interesting storyline, modern style, comic, small budget and essentially more enjoyable at home than in theaters.

Of the two, Khosla Ka Ghosla is superior. Anupam Kher and Boman Irani give a rock-solid performance. The plot is more intricate than PKSE, and its presented in such a way that at one point you feel like thinking – yeah, this can happen too!

Amongst these low-budget ‘multiplex movies’ Bas Ek Pal barely missed entering the list, primarily because of its utterly shoddy denouement. It’s as if the director had this brilliant concept, but just didnt know how to take it forward.

Dor / Yun Hota Kya Hota – Again I am clubbing the two because of some obvious similarities – they were made with small budgets, had serious undertones, displayed human sensitivity, demonstrated some wonderful acting, were more character-driven than story-centric and brought out the best in Ayesha Takia! Yes, this girl surely has it in her to race ahead past her rivals where acting is concerned, and come to think of it, she is quite a looker as well. In Dor, she holds the film together with her fragile hands. The film is a strong feminist statement, often irreverent in its social messags, and yet without hammering the message unnecessarily. Another masterpiece from Nagesh Kukunnoor.

My standing ovation to Naseerudin Shah for Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota – four different lives merge towards one shattering climax. But the film’s real power lies in the presentation of each story – you feel the reality in every emotional strand of each character. Once again, Konkona delights!

Golmaal / Tom Dick And Harry / Phir Hera Pheri– For their zany slapstick humor; remove your brains and just indulge in pure paagalpan, with dollops of double entendres (in the first two) and eye-catching visuals. Perhaps I am the only person who found Hera Pheri ordinary, and the sequel far superior!

Vivaah – The critics screamed ‘regressive’ and rejected it, the masses yelled ‘traditional’ and embraced it. End result? The film is this year’s biggest surprise success. In between, the confused multiplex audience simply squirmed in discomfort looking back at stuff that they would have given the thumbs up only a few years back! Personally, I loved the movie as it gave a very warm feeling which is otherwise lacking in the normal world. Moreover, it managed to moisten the eyes towards it climax. Sooraj Barjatya returned to his traditional roots after his warped modern outing in Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon, and it was a handsome comeback. Though it lacked a fulsome family/friends scenario as seen in HAHK and Hum Saath Saath Hain, still all the key Barjatya ingredients were available – family outings and functions, shy romance, a bit of ched-chhad , a slice of negativity (that gets conquered eventually)- and, ‘deals’ with ‘foreign collaborators’ that would establish the young hero in business! Amrita Rao looked bashfully ravishing ( I have yet to see someone so beautiful in Mathura, although one can sight even Chhotis there). Though one missed Salman’s presence, Shahid fitted the bill well. And, as a busy but benign brother, Sameer Soni effectively stepped into the shoes of Mohnish Bahl (who made a small appearance towards the end).

The film is additionaly special because it was the first movie I saw in Agra at the newly opened Fun Cinemas Multiplex.

The ‘Theek Thaak’ Films List:

Hum Ko Deewana Kar Gaye – Raj Kanwar’s attempt to do a Yash Chopra was redeemed by Katrina’s refreshing and effervescent presence; and her on-screen chemistry with Akshay Kumar rocked. Beyond that, the film was just an average time-pass. The music was above average, though.

Jaan – E – Mann – The film had everything going for it – huge star cast, lavish production, decent music and a tried-and-tested love triangle formula. Yet, Shirish Kunder couldnt just pull it off. The end result was an inordinately long and tedious film. If it doesn’t enter my ‘hall of shame’ , it’s only due to the actors, music and Anupam Kher’s comedy.

Omkara – Vishal’s attempt to re-do Othello was brave, but it lacked the punch that his previous film Maqbool did. Partly because Othello is not a very strong play as such. Partly also because of wrong casting – neither is Kareena a woman to die for, nor is Vivek a man to be jealous of. The film fell flat! Frankly, I am tired of Ajay’s dour look passed off as ‘acting’.

Ahista Ahista – A sweet romance set in the backdrop of Old Delhi. Soha Ali and Abhay Deol breathed life into their portrayals of people brought together under unusual circumstances, grappling to find meaning within their relationship. The film was shorn off any extraneous glamour and forwarded the story in lavishly languid pace. Only, it lacked the lavishness in its production. Himesh’s music was a bore and didnt gel with the story.

Dil Diya Hai – Ok, I saw it in sheer boredom. But still I feel the film deserved more eyeballs than what it received. Director Aditya (Ashiq Banaya Aapne) Dutt took hold off a ‘different’ story altogether – so different that it ended up looking bizarre. Still, there was enough panache to keep viewers interest. Himesh’s ‘Jab se aankh ladi tere naal’ was good.

Gangster – The songs were good (and majority copied), the movie had good moments, but overall it was just okayish. Emraan Hashmi was damn irritating. And Kangana Ranaut’s diction was horrible (hope she has worked on this now). The movie was neither hard-hitting nor thought-provoking. It ended up being a depressing and whining account without much sunshine.

Anthony Kaun Hai – The film was quite stylized and Arshad Warsi gave a credible performance – not moving too far off from his Munnabhai image, yet not being restricted within it. Having missed Yahan, and not impressed by her miniscule role in Corporate, this film was my revelation of Minisha Lamba – she came across bubbly and vivacious , and at times reminded me of Priety Zinta from her Dil Se days.

The Killer – Compared to Gangster, this was a better attempt (or, let’s say, a better rip-off). The sharp and suave Irrfan Khan and the bumbling and bleating Emraan complemented each other. Personally, I found Killer’s music better than Gangster.

Baabul – There was something grossly missing in the film, which couldnt shuttle the sensitive theme to the higher orbit where one can raise the hands in ecstacy. Neither does the joyful first half raise hearty chuckles, nor does the sad second part wring tears from your eyes. In short, very average film. Strangely, for a film that deals with widow-remarriage, the biggest disconnect is that the widows character just doesn’t simmer with that deadly loss she has to undergo. Perhaps, Ravi Chopra should have toned down the gloss, and worked more on emotions. Of course, it is absolutely delightful to watch Amitabh Bachhan’s performance. Rani is good, but I fear there is a repetitiveness creeping in. Hema Malini defies age, and becomes more beautiful with each passing year. In this movie, her role is on the side-lines, hence the chemistry seen between AB and her (as seen in Baghbaan ) is quite lacking.

Dhoom -2 – This was the most awaited movie, and a decided bumper-hit even before it hit the theaters. To this, there was the masala over Hritik-Ash’s kiss that was splashed over several news channels. My views? Yes, the action is great, the thefts more daring, the look splendid, the sound design awesome, the chases breath-taking; yet, overall it just doesnt add up. The film simply overdoes it – and spoils the entire spontaneous fun that one had while watching the prequel. So much time is spent on the villain, and his emotions, that Abhishek Bachhan (and family) should have worried more on his wimp-like role than Ash’s bewafaai due to the kiss (which is nothing much, and would have ordinarily gone unnoticed but for the lead pair involved). Which also brings in the more pricky question about today’s morality – why are villains getting shinier and brighter, so much so that when Hritik and Abhi have a face-off at the cliff, inthe climax, one almost wants the thief to win! (At least, in this film, there is some redemption, but in Don, even that is not given- which was not the case even in the angst-ridden, anti-hero studded seventies, when the original film was released.) The music was bad. And can someone tell me what Bipasha Basu was doing in this film -either as the cop, or as the Brazilian beauty!

The ‘Undecided List’ – As ever I have a couple of movies, that are so larger-than-life, that slotting them in any list doesnt work. So, I call them an undecided list, or rather an ‘extension’ of the ‘theek-thaak list’. This year, there are two such big films:

Umraao Jaan– Ok, the movie was way off the mark, especially in its authenticity. Agreed, Abhishek Bachchan looked bored and tired. Yes, Aishwarya Rai couldnt measure up to Rekha’s performance in the eighties version (Frankly, no one expected Aish to do so). So, why in this list, and not in the bad ones! Simply because, like when everything is right and the film doesnt do good, same is the reverse true – individually, everything is wrong, yet in entirety the film was quite watchable and didnt overtly bore me or make me run for the fast forward button. Thus, it’s here in the ‘theek-thaak’ list.

Don – Thank you Moon Cable and Sony, for showing the original days after the release of the newer version – you only helped me revive strong childhood memories associated with the older film; Amitabh Bachchan rocked in that film! The new version is suitably upgraded, with twists added, but wher ethe main character is concerned, sorry SRK, howsoever much I like you, AB’s Don was way way ahead of you. The only reason I am undecided and not immediately slotted it inthe ‘Hall of Shame’ is the immense praise that I have read about the film – so , I want to see it again and decide then, and I’ll watch it after some months, when the effect of AB’s superlative performance has worn off.

This is my list. So what’s yours?

Updated on 27.12.2006

Four films that I should have mentioned but missed out in the ‘theek thaak’ list are:

Taxi No. 9211 – A fairly entertaining and racy film by Milan Luthria. The story takes place in a day, and holds the audience attention. The short length was an added advantage.

Being Cyrus – A dark film made using the neo-modern grammar of film making. The film had a few good high points, including an interesting performance by Saif Ali Khan. However, sadly, Dimple disappointed with her hyper-act.

Zinda – Brutal and blunt, the film didnt bore, though of course it made you wince several imes during the show. Full review here.

Kalyug – Quite an insightful and interesting film. Kaushie did a nice review – read here.

Updated on 28.12.06

Kabul Express – Will go under ‘Movies That I Enjoyed’ – a new subject, a good treatment, and some delectable cinematography makes the film a winner.

Bhagam Bhaag – Will go under ‘Theek thaak list’ – masti with mystery, the film has all the Priyadarshan elements. Funny at places, a no-holds barred climax, and good acting by all. However, what it lacks is that punch which made Hungama a re-watchable film anytime. Wonder if Priyadarshan is losing his touch, or is the prolificity getting him!

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Yesterday, buy more about spent some more time on the rough and rugged Western U.P. roads – this time on the outskirts of Aligarh. The road from Agra to Aligarh seems to worsen with each visit (it seems they are re-building the road and replacing it with a cemented one; but by the way things are moving, it looks it would be another decade before they complete it!) The ride shook, stirred, moved, hurtled and swung me around in the terribly uncomfortable Maruti Van, which our taxi provider had sent in lieu of the usual (and more comfortable) Indica.

The list:

Palla Sallu – A small village, just outside of Aligarh city limits, on the main G.T. Road (leading to Delhi via Khurja, Bulandhshahar and Khurja).

Gabhana – A highway small town – dusty and dirty.

Chandaus – (Pron. – the ‘d’ is to be pronounced as in ‘dark’) – We nearly missed the turn here. Travelling on the smooth G T Road was a delight, but the passing milestones warned that we would be in Khurja (Distt. Bulandshahar) soon. Since we knew that Chandaus was in Aligarh distt. only, we tried to keep vigil. But the turn was extremely narrow and we missed it by a few meters. Thankfully, it was a signboard for Radha Saomi Satsang that gave us an inkling that we had crossed the crucial turn.

The road to Chandaus (turn left from G.T. Road at Duaraou) was bad. Nay, it was atrocious. A narrow single lane that curved its way through fields and shanties, full of bumps and potholes, animals straying and children playing, rushing cyclists and slowing bullock carts! A deemed semi-rural development block, the only noteworthy thing here was the presence of a cluster of mobile telephony towers.

Pisawa – This was our final destination – some nine kilometers ahead of Chandaus, on the same narrow road. Pisawa is a sandy, brown and dull kasba. Earlier on it was a ‘riyasat‘, and the fort still exists – now used by the descendants for their use of rearing racing horses (as told by a bunch of locals). Being a private property, obviously we had no access to it. Here, the mobile service also died.

The Breakdown 

On our return trip, from Aligarh to Agra, after crossing another hamlet (Sadabad), our car whined to a jerky halt. It was an LPG kit model, and the driver informed that ‘gas thandi pad gayi’. As expected, he had no reserve petrol, and we were in the middle of nowhere, with no petrol pump in visible sight. While the driver tried to heat up the dispassionate and cold gas and make it work, we stepped out into the pitch darkness. It was chilly. 

The driver’s attempt to revive the car was futile, and he seemed to have screwed the starter enough. Quite comically, he tried to shake and stir the cylinder – with so much of play, I am sure even Aishwarya Rai would have heated up, but not this car! So, he set out to a nearby village to get some petrol.

We stood in the darkness, shivering. I looked around. The fields lay open. An abandoned well was nearby. The road stretched endlessly on both sides. The traffic was low. The wind was picking up. The moon was missing. A dog howled nearby. It was the 13th, if not a Friday.

And the only song I could think of humming was the ominous ‘Gumnaam hai koi…‘

My colleague was ready to strangle me!

 

These are movies that either promised more, case or had huge budgets and big star-casts. I have purposely left out films like ‘Ek Se Mera Kya Hogaa’ that were doomed to bite the dust!

Rang De Basanti – The biggest disappointment. A patchy, uneven, disjointed, noisy, pretentious and juvenile film. It offered no tangible solution either for humanity (in general) or for India (in particular). In fact, it catered to the base and perverse human urge to kill someone who has wronged you. It’s ok to violently proclaim that ‘i will kill the person’ in a fit of anger, but that doesnt mean one executes the threat. This is not the behaviour what mature human civilized exhibit. The parallel to Indian freedom movement was ill-placed and utter nonsense. Anyways, I will refrain to say anything more here. Enough has been said, argued and counter-argued when I first wrote its review. Read it here. Sigh, another bad entry at the Oscars!

Kabhi Alvida Na Kahna – Karan Johar’s first self confessed attempt at ‘maturity’ was a dull, despondent and disastrous film, which dragged on and on endlessly. It resembled the serials prolifilating on television – bored housewives lusting after other’s husbands under the grand chhatrachhaya of Indian marriage and mangalsutra; wimpish men, who are either too bitter or too sweet;and, bucket ful of copious tears that drown the flimsy script; even the gawdy gloss matched. The music was boring. SRK lent some cheer as a character that could have been real, but was shunted irresponsibly by Karan to the other extreme from SRK’s otherwise screen-persona. The only bright sunshine remained Amitabh Bachhan, who lent grace and fun to this tedious affair.

Aap Ki Khatir – It’s like the rag the dog pulled out from a god-forsaken attic. Stale and tattered, the film was a big yawn evoking fare.

Ankahee – Enough of Bhatt-styled mentally disturbed and manic-depressed characters. Morose and melancholic, it lacks any escape for respite. For the same reason, I avoided Woh Lamhe! Both films have good music, though.

Utthaan – Another example of how to spoil a good story with indifferent direction. The twist could have been earth shattering bang, but is in reality a whimper not even loud enough to wake you up from the nap that you take during the film. Surprise factor? Neha Dhupia doesn’t bare at all, which makes you feel sad since it was better when she bared all!

Apna Sapna Money Money – I missed this on theatres; but didnt want to spoil it by watching only on small screen. So, with help of borrowed projector, I saw it at home deriving full theater benefits. I was expecting another Kya Kool Hai Hum; alas, the film is a gigantic bore – and only Riteish Deshmukh is the bright star that saves the film from total darkness. But still, the disappointment didnt fully dissipate, hence placed in this list.

Bas Ek Pal – I was in two minds about this film. It could have been placed in the ‘theek thaak’ list. But on second view I saw the glaring errors in its script – a loose and haphazard one, that moves from a compelling jail account to a wishy washy tale of love and betrayal, interspersed with notions of wife-bashing. The movie has a rivetting first half. But the second one wastes away the grand build-up. Director Onir (who made the sensitive My Brother Nikhil) doesnt live up to the expectations. As ever, Juhi Chawla and Sanjay Suri delight. Jimmy Shergill is good too. Urmila disappoints.

Chingaari – Umm, err… was this really a film? Crass, coarse and chaotic, the film was a long string of dreadful scenes put together. Sadly, it didnt nothing to alleviate the pain or elevate the stature of prostitutes.

Teesri Aankh – If you can take it as a laughter inducing exercise, enjoy the film. Per se, the movie had nothing going for it. Sunny Deol shouted his lungs hoarse, and only added to the pain. Full review here

Naksha – Another Sunny Deol flick that was outlandishly bizarre and bakwaas! As an actor, he needs to seriously re-think where he is headed.

Chup Chup Ke – Priyadarshan severely lost his touch with this one. The color coordinated costumes were eye pleasing; wish they had coordinated the script as well!

Jaane Hoga Kya – Even Bipasha Basu would burn this off with the next available beedi from her resume. The clone-saga provided inadvertant humor, but that’s about it. Original review available here.

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It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, and but some days back I was again on the drive. This time, prostate we were on the stretch between Agra and Firozabad, which falls within Agra District – or so we thought.

Just for formalities sake, allow me to list out the towns/villages we crossed; of course, interspersed with a few incidents that made it possible for this post to be written.

Kuberpur – Wherever the goddamn village is, the office we wanted to visit was thankfully on NH2, leading to Firozabad (yeah, the same place famous for its bangles and glass works). The cold cemented floor, and cobweb laden dirty walls inside the office werent much of a welcome anyways. But we panicked full time when we saw a thousand people (ok, I exaggerate – discount ten percent here or there) clamouring over one hapless employee, who was trying to do ten thousand things (I exaggerate again, but discount ten percent here or there) at the same time. Despite winters, the smell of sweat and human skin was overwhelming, but we managed a feeble smile towards the official, who tried to shake hands with us over the crowd and babel of voices; the official murmured a hundred thousand apologies (I exaggerate…but you get the point by now). We genuinely understood!

Etmadpur – This was just a few kilometers ahead on the highway. However, to enter the village, we had to get off it, on to a now-familiar dusty and narrow road. Our destination was bang in the middle of a crowded street, that lined odd shops, with cyclists covering the entire stretch. We parked my car, and got off.

Curious faces stared back at us, and I felt oddly uncomfortable to be looked at like this. “Why are they staring as if we had just escaped a zoo?” I murmured to my colleague. “Well, tie waale, patte-waale jaanwar kam hi dekhne ko milte honge yahan” he retorted wryly. I didn’t take off the tie, but discreetly placed the ‘patta‘ (our company’s ID-card) inside the pocket.

From this stretch began the real adventure. And thanx to Idea Mobile. Well, almost. It was Idea’s locator that flashed ‘Barhan Crssng’ on my cell-phone, which made me curious to ask about its distance from Etmadpur.

Barhan – To me now any road in U.P. interior is the same. The stretch to Barhan was no different, either in its ‘comfort’ or topography, to the ones that I had traveled earlier while going to Achnera, Kagarole or Kirawali. Barhan is a sandy village, with brown mud buildings – a small, rain-water-filled, by-default formed pond ran alongside the railway track, which pointed to something as high-sounding as ‘Barhan Junction’.

Khaanda – At Barhan, we had enquired on the few other places that we could visit on this route. Khanda was a bit further on and then there was Jalesar, our aquaintance informed. So off we were to Khaanda. The road was a bit better, but as often with these villages, they are never on the good roads. So, soon we had to depart the ‘highway’ and get onto a small road that led to this village.

“Err…I hope we are on track” I remarked, when we had been shaken enough. My colleague (let’s call him Ajeet, for nomenclature ease) tried to read some illegible address on a tin shanty.

“Why dont you ask her?” I teased, as a lady passed by.

“You want me to get killed! Dont you see the foot long ghoonghat she is in” Ajeet replied, visibly horrified at my suggestion.  

A few meters later, it was confirmed we were in Khanda – but whosoever we asked, gave a vague direction towards the office we had to visit. So as vaguely we got the instructions, so did we go. And ended up in a huge courtyard full of goats, and lazing elderly gentlemen, who viewed my dust-laden once-upon-a-white Santro disinterestingly.

“I am sure we are on the wrong way” I hissed beneath my breath, as the royal animals grazed the sides of my car and leisurely passed around it.

With difficulty, I managed to maneuver the car out from that sandy courtyard, and finally stopped a sensible-looking gentleman, and firmly asked for the directions.

“Galat ho” he said. “Main road se, bamba kinaare jaana tha.”

The man was gesturing back towards the highway again. Since Ajeet is from Agra, I thought he would have understood the local dialect, but after a few seconds to my dismay, I found him stammering, “B..bamba kinaare?”

“Jee, bamba kinaare!” The man asserted again.

“Ummm…err…yeh bamba kya hota hai?”

Now, the man was clearly lost. With his hands straight and moving in parallel motion, he said, “Bamba…yaani, paani…naala…naala kinare”

How simple! And we tucked away between us one new word in our vocabulary.

Jalesar – “It’s just 21 kilometers” I remarked, when we had finished off with Khaanda. Ajeet was apprehensive in going towards Jalesar. But I argued that we still had some time in hand, plus (as the official earlier had pointed out) there was a direct route back to Agra, and of course 21 kilometers is never ‘far away’ for us Delhiites. I shouldnt have spoken. Because, barely five kilometers on, the road vanished and all we had were potholes, and stones, and sand, and grime, as my poor Santro wove its way towards Jalesar – which wasnt (to our horrific discovery) in Agra even. It fell within Etah District.

At a particulary bad stretch, the car shook so hard that suddenly out from nowhere, Asha Bhonsle started to assert ‘Aaj main khush hoon’*.

Terrified, we both jumped out our skin! For that split second, when the silence was rudely cut by her voice, we were frightened.

Now, I admit I am a bigger fan of her sister’s but that didn’t give Ashaji the right to laugh at my plight, and get happy about it too.

Since Ajeet was shaken too, surely this wasn’t just my imagination. I eyed the culprit – the car stereo had switched on, on its own.

“Tera haath laga hoga,” I told Ajeet.

“Arre nahi baba. My hand was far off,” he defended himself.

The Mystery of Automatic Stereo Power On would have lingered on for sometime, but the road gave us ample opportunity to solve it. The bumps were so hard that they somehow started the power of the system!

We reached Jalesar in one piece, and almost at our wit’s end, and the day’s too.

Jalesar is a town, and a pretty large one, since we got quite lost in its maze of streets and alleyways, and an array of markets. If you care to ever go there, make sure you make the roundabout with a statue as your fulcrum point – everything seems to originate or end there.

(We were shattered to learn there was after all no direct route to Agra, and if we had to reach back home, there were only two alternatives available – either take the same road that we had come through, which wasn’t advisable from security point of view. Or, go through Sadabad – which is some 28 kms from Jalesar – and then move on to Agra. Anyone who has read these pieces earlier would know that Sadabad (in Hathras distt.) falls on the same ‘road-less’ Aligarh route, and is the biggest bane of my current travelling!)

*Aaj mai khush hoon lo tum hi bolo kyun, from Grahan; Music- Karthik Raja; Singers – Asha Bhonsle, Jolly Mukherjee

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Seven

I was a bit perplexed to hear the nurse announce Vineeta’s name. I was not mentally prepared to meet her, grip mainly because I had suspected her to be the enemy whereas she had proven to be an ally. Yet, buy information pills there was a curiosity to know how she had managed it. And where had I gone wrong in my judgment?

She entered the room with a strong whiff of perfume. Perhaps, unhealthy Chanel, I thought as she would have informed, had we been in college. But today, I found her very different from the air-headed fool that I believed her to be. For one, she wore a salvar suit. Having seen her mostly in low-waist jeans, this was a marked change but for the better. The suit made her look even more attractive, and it fit wonderfully on her tall and lissome frame.

She walked across the room, hesitant and unsure, and I pointed towards the chair next to the bed, for her to sit. She sat gingerly, groping to begin the conversation. In that moment, I looked at her closely, and felt horrified at my own self for hating her so much.

“I am sorry,” she began.

“I should be sorry,” I interrupted. “And honestly, I am sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s nothing. Anyone would have thought what you did about me and Ashish,” she said, with a tinge of contempt at the name. “And that exactly was my plan!”

“But when did all this start? And why?”

“It started when Vasu spread the news about Smita’s pregnancy with obvious glee and malice,” she started.

But I stopped her mid-way. “Vasu?” I asked, shocked. So Vasu was the traitor in the class; that unknown friend of Ashish.

“Yes, Vasu,” she reiterated. “From then on, I don’t know why but I really felt bad for Smita and angry at Ashish. It wasn’t fair. So, I thought of getting back on Ashish… no clear plan to send him to jail, but at least to humiliate him enough so that he doesn’t play around again with a girl’s emotions. I knew he had flipped for me long time back. He had also sent some feelers through a common friend even as he was going around with Smita. He had been two-timing her for a long time. Anyways, I had ignored him then and had tried to drill some sense into Smita, but she took it otherwise and thought I was jealous of her. Also, just before this thing spread, and probably even before you came to know of it, one day I overheard Vasu and Ashish talking in the auditorium. They thought they were alone, but I heard them full and clear. Ashish was jittery about Smita’s pregnancy, and was asking a solution from Vasu. So, Vasu advised him to flatly deny his involvement, refuse to acknowledge Smita and devised this huge plan of spreading the rumor in the class, to humiliate Smita and drop enough hints to implicate you.”

“But why would Vasu want to humiliate Smita?”

“Remember the huge misunderstanding they had some months back. Apparently, Vasu hadn’t forgotten that and wanted to get back at her. It sounds silly alright, but that’s what he told Ashish. I think he is not the kind who can easily forgive or forget. Since, Vasu was never really pally with me, so I guess it was easy for him to pass the blame of ‘rumour-monger’ on to me.”

I was aghast and speechless.

“It was easy to make Ashish fall for me. He was already interested, plus he has an overactive libido, which I used to my full advantage. When things started getting a bit serious, I panicked. At that point, I took my mamaji, who is in police, in confidence. The day you beat Ashish up was an ideal day to execute the small plan we had made. I took him to our Mehrauli farm-house, and ensured that mamaji was fully informed. By the time we reached the place, I could see two familiar policemen, in plain-clothes near the farm. Ashish was terribly wounded you really beat him to a pulp, so he couldn’t have seen anything or anyone. There, I nursed him, and when, in the evening, he tried to be overtly romantic, I raised an alarm. The police rushed in, and nabbed him.”

There was a certain amount of maturity and intelligence on her face, which had otherwise always been quite expressionless. The softness had given way to determination, which lent an elderly hue to her face. Or perhaps, my eyes had always been curtained by silly enmity, which had blinded me to her obvious positives. I was dumbfounded at what she had done, the enormity of the act and the courage in going through with it.

“You are a genius, Vineeta!” I gushed, “you really bit him like a scorpion.”

“Don’t forget, I am a Scorpio by Zodiac,” she laughed. And I found the soft stream like naughtiness in the laughter very assuring and endearing.

“Vasu, Vasu! I can’t believe he was such a bastard! But what should he have against me?”

She shrugged. “Really can’t say. I guess he dislikes you because you are so close to Smita.”

“And the other day, I was at his place, asking for his help to sort out this mess.” I remembered what he had said that day, ‘Accept the child’ and when I had asked about Ashish, he had replied, ‘Leave him’. Of course, he wanted me not to mess with Ashish, and accept the child so that his friend could be free from blame. Damn sweet of him , indeed, I thought sarcastically! Only, I was thinking of accepting the child with another motive. He had wonderfully played on my emotion.

“Appearances can be deceptive,” remarked Vineeta.

“I wish people would show their enmity right at your face, rather than attacking from behind. It hurts.”

“I know. You were pretty open in showing your enmity towards me.”

“I am sorry,” I said, sheepishly.

“It’s ok, I know where you were coming from, and you are right it is the clarity in emotions while dealing with people that is important,” she said. She turned her attention to the flowers on the side table. “These are so awesome and wonderful!”

She raised her arm to touch them. “Yep. Smita got them,” I informed. For a sliver of a second, I thought I saw her arm hesitate, before touching them tenderly. I felt warmth exuding from her, something that I hadn’t expected to feel, at least not from her.

****************************************

I was to stay under observation for a few more days in the hospital, Dr. Chatterjee informed. I groaned. I was sick of being there, and wanted to move out. There was nothing to do, except read magazines, which dad had brought, and sleep. The routine was awfully boring. It was terrible to be fooling around in the hospital bed when the whole world was on the move. All that while, what I could really do is think, think and think more, till the time my mind was sore. I wanted to move out and do something – something that the world would be proud of, something that my parents could be proud of. Honestly, I had no idea what it would be. But I thought, let me first get out of this goddamn room!

Vishal, Sugandha, Saina and Shilpa came to meet. But the most surprising visit was of Prof. Arora. It was an awkward meeting, but this time the tables had turned. He was the one who was nervous and kept on repeating his apology. I believed him when he said that ‘family ties had blinded my eyes’. It was expected, and I held no grudge against him. “And yes, you are on for my tutorial class,” he offered, as a parting gift. I was pleased.

I had realized the hard way that all of us make mistakes, misunderstanding each other due to various circumstances and guises. Smita couldn’t see through Ashish. Hell, I couldn’t understand the people I met daily – Vasu and Vineeta!

Smita and Vineeta made a second round of visits a couple of days later together. It was odd seeing them enter like old friends. All this while, an invisible wall of rivalry had kept the two apart. Perhaps, some good had come from all the scandal in college: it broke the ice between them.

Smita looked relaxed and much better than she had been. She sat on the chair, while Vineeta moved towards the window.

“Wow, the lawn is so wonderful and awesome!” remarked Vineeta. It was. But since I had seen it enough, I was pretty bored with it.

“Tomorrow I will be free from this,” Smita said, her eyes pointing towards her abdomen.

Vineeta looked at her and then at me, and with a reassuring smile said, “Don’t worry. It will be fine. I will go with her.”

Smita smiled back. “Thanks a bunch.”

“But have you thought of what to do after that,” Vineeta asked her, and her eyes indicated me. I was very uncomfortable, and wished she hadn’t brought it up. But in a way, I was happy. Maybe Smita would have reached a positive decision.

Smita didn’t reply immediately. “Yes. I have thought a lot but couldn’t reach any decision,” she replied eventually. I saw my hopes crumble. Turning to me, she said, “Dinesh, you are a great friend. But anything more would just be a compromise.”

“At least it will be with a person who loves you,” whispered Vineeta, her eyes lowered, and she turned away to look out of the window.

Smita nodded, but didn’t say anything. Vineeta had to meet her Mamaji regarding some affidavits about the case, and she left soon. Smita stayed on.

“You know she has feelings for you,” she said. My eyes bulged out, my jaw landed on the bed and I nearly toppled from the bed.

“What?”

“Yes. She just told me while coming here.”

My mind was whirring and in a turmoil. “But… but I haven’t thought about her like that!”

“Neither have I thought about you like that,” said Smita, quietly.

I started to speak, but became conscious that I had nothing to say. In any case, I think it was best to keep quiet, for a change!

“It’s ok, Dinesh. I think Vineeta was sort of correct. I might accept the compromise. But allow me some more time, please. Maybe it will work out.”

When she had left, I was again left with my thoughts a new set of them, pouncing and prancing on my innards. This was impossible. Had Smita been mistaken? But no, she said that Vineeta had herself expressed her feelings. In all this, I finally realized how Smita must have felt when I proposed to her.

Suddenly, I was unsure. And more than Smita, I realized I had to make one firm and final decision.

****************************************

Today, fifteen years have passed since that scandal in college. In these fifteen years, I didn’t get time to think much about it. You know, how it is – college was over soon, and then MBA, then the jobs. Time became a casualty, friends drifted apart, and over the years, even that incident looked so trivial and blown out of proportion. It seemed we had nothing better to do than think about romantic liaisons and got serious about the slightest things.

However, last night I saw a new Bollywood release – very maudlin one, but there was one thought in it, which stuck on and pried open the entire can of memories. In the film, the heroine states “Mai rishton mein milawat nahi karrti” ; loosely translated it means that ‘she didn’t adulterate her relationships’- a friend and a lover are two different entities . So much like Smita, no?

Hence, all the past skeletons came crashing out. I came home from the multiplex, and immediately started to pen this story.

Like what happened to the film’s characters, sometimes circumstances and destiny force you to mix emotions. And often, the result can be extremely satisfying. That’s my personal experience. I wish I could meet Vishal again and tell him that my bookish philosophy has also worked very well.

As for me, let me sign off now – life has been great, or as my wife would say, it has been ‘wonderful and awesome’!

The End

Edited By Priyangini Mehta
Disclaimer – The story is a work of fiction; all characters and events are imaginary; any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Every year there are some innovative and hilariously titled films released; when Filmfare releases the list for its award nominations, treat I always go through the list to have a hearty laugh at them. This year, hair these are the titles that caught my attention, alongwith some of my comments.

Abhi Toh Raat Hai – Okay, I reckon a lot will happen in this night
Bajrang – He Man – Uh oh, where are the Bajrang Dal and VHP people?
Bepardah – Cover it up fast!
Betrayal – That was a name of my story once. I disown the title now!
Bheega Badan – Source of wet wet wet dreams!
Bikaau – Doesn’t seem to have sold anywhere
Bipasha- The Black Beauty – I wonder if Bipasha Basu should be amused or angry at this one!
Ek Se Mera Kya Hoga – With that DVD cover, Payal Rohtagi, I believe you – ek se tera vaakay kya hoga! Gets my ‘Most Outlandish Title Award’
Ek Zakham-The Blast – Get a Hindi-English lexicon, dude!
Galtiyan-The Mistake – Perhaps the film itself is one big mistake!
Free Entry – I’d stick to No Entry only.
Haseena – Smart, Sexy, Dangerous – Bizarre and Weird, as well.
Hot Girl – Ouch! Call the Burnol guys fast!
Hot Malaika – I can almost feel Arbaaz getting heated up in anger!
Iqraar – By Chance – No chance of watching this one, for sure!
Kaamwaali – ‘maid’ for disaster!
Love in Japan – Hope Sonu Nigam is not in this one too, after his outing in Nepal!
Madhubala – Ho hum, they don’t leave the yesteryear actresses as well, do they!
Maharani – Very very ‘queen’-y!
Main Hoon Rakhwala – but I ain’t trusting him!
Manoranjan-The Entertainment – Not too difficult to imagine of what sort!
Men Not Allowed – I bet only men would have gone to see this one (If I am not too mistaken, his too starred Payal Rohatgi)
Naughty Boy – get disciplined soon, buddy!
No Parking – What’s with these traffic sign named films!
Radha Ne Mala Japi Shaam Ki – And SDB squirmed in his grave, or wherever he is, at this!
Shaitan Ki Premika– LOL, this one takes the cake and the bakery! Wish they had added a tagline to the effect “A Sublime Love Story” 😛
Tera Pati Mera Pyaar – How bold – Ekta Kapoor take note, your ideas are getting stolen!
The Angrez – deport him fast!
The Real Dream Girl – Poor Hema Malini, there is a contender for her title as well!
Yeh Hai U Turn – Err, is the traffic department sponsoring films these days?

So, how many of these have you seen?

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!
So, buy more about
2006 slipped into posterity and the New Year greets us with the same characteristic cheer and good-will as each new year does – till the time it settles into its own routine, beyond the flurry of congratulatory SMS’s, emails, phone-calls and messages.

 

Taking stock of the past year, I can safely conclude it was very average – nothing spectacular, but not humdrum either. From Kathmandu to Delhi to Agra, for me the year was neatly divided into three equal and distinct phases. For the world in general, it held sorrows and happiness, catastrophes and cheer in equal measure. In the larger context of time, it was just another year, and it is over and done with – and time to move ahead.

My new year’s eve was pleasant and enjoyable, spent in the comfortable confines of parental love and care.

On Saturday, I had decided not to go home, since I had gone there only a week back – and the drive, though only 200 kms seemed an arduously difficult task. That evening I had a couple of drinks, surfed mindlessly at the local internet café, drove around a bit, saw a few happy sights – and yet, the time didn’t seem to move at all. I was feeling extremely lonely and bored. The thought of my parents being alone as well, huddled in the increasing chill, without any excitement or cheer pricked my conscience hard. On Sunday morning, when I woke a voice within me was urging me to go home. Immediately, I dressed up hurriedly, packed a jeans and a couple of shirts and started off for Delhi.

It was a very wise decision. The look of sheer joy on my parents’ faces was a delight. In the evening, we went to Connaught Place for dinner, and thereafter took a walk in the newly renovated central park. The place is very well done up, with land-scaped gardens, an amphi-theater and full-on lighting. Needless to say, it was crowded. Delhi administration had made the entire inner circle a vehicle-free zone that evening, which made walking there a joy. We rounded the evening off with a softy from McDonald’s. I couldn’t recall a much better new year eve spent – even though on paper it sounds dull, I can guarantee it was much better than the biggest party I have ever attended. I guess, there comes a time in life when booze and brashness loses its value.

As such, there isn’t any expectation from the new year. I am not looking forward to anything exciting. Hence, there are no new resolutions, no plans and no dreams. Yet, paradoxically, it is a new beginning – so there is some hope.

An additional jubilation in this trip was meeting Ashish Dange – after a long long time. It was fun catching up with him – on life, career, music and movies! Since our meetings in the past have been a series of coffee outlet promotions, it was befitting that we met again at Café Coffee Day! There, I had my first ‘blogger-meet’ on the first day of the year (even though he is no longer blogging these days). He sends his hello to all his erstwhile readers (and we do have a lot of them in common), though there is no immediate plan of returning to the webspace. But then, as he averred, you never know!

The sun looked as if it was readying for the party on the other end of the globe, and hence chose to stay away from this side. While the sun was away, the fog had a field day scaring off the flights and Delhiites.

For Random Expressions readers, I have a brand-new story ready. Many months have passed since I wrote any fresh fiction. (The last story was Tapish, in Hindi, on my older blog, but that too was a re-hash of one of my own old stories).

So what’s it about? I can’t even remotely claim it is ‘different’. All I can say is that it is an emotional tale of love, losing and longing; it is typical DJ-ish (which means, it is pretty ‘filmi’); it has the heroine in a peach chiffon sari cavorting in the rains; and yes, I promise it is fairly entertaining. The only difference is that it is a very short story and will be over in a single episode.

The story is called Ambadeep, and it completes my trilogy after Suryakiran and Indraprakash (all three named after three high-rise buildings in Connaught Place; all linked in some-way to my previous organization).

Excited enough to read it? If yes, then be here on Thursday 4th January 2007, at 1700 Hrs IST to catch a glimpse of one day in the lives of Pooja and Vishwas.

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!
So, buy more about
2006 slipped into posterity and the New Year greets us with the same characteristic cheer and good-will as each new year does – till the time it settles into its own routine, beyond the flurry of congratulatory SMS’s, emails, phone-calls and messages.

 

Taking stock of the past year, I can safely conclude it was very average – nothing spectacular, but not humdrum either. From Kathmandu to Delhi to Agra, for me the year was neatly divided into three equal and distinct phases. For the world in general, it held sorrows and happiness, catastrophes and cheer in equal measure. In the larger context of time, it was just another year, and it is over and done with – and time to move ahead.

My new year’s eve was pleasant and enjoyable, spent in the comfortable confines of parental love and care.

On Saturday, I had decided not to go home, since I had gone there only a week back – and the drive, though only 200 kms seemed an arduously difficult task. That evening I had a couple of drinks, surfed mindlessly at the local internet café, drove around a bit, saw a few happy sights – and yet, the time didn’t seem to move at all. I was feeling extremely lonely and bored. The thought of my parents being alone as well, huddled in the increasing chill, without any excitement or cheer pricked my conscience hard. On Sunday morning, when I woke a voice within me was urging me to go home. Immediately, I dressed up hurriedly, packed a jeans and a couple of shirts and started off for Delhi.

It was a very wise decision. The look of sheer joy on my parents’ faces was a delight. In the evening, we went to Connaught Place for dinner, and thereafter took a walk in the newly renovated central park. The place is very well done up, with land-scaped gardens, an amphi-theater and full-on lighting. Needless to say, it was crowded. Delhi administration had made the entire inner circle a vehicle-free zone that evening, which made walking there a joy. We rounded the evening off with a softy from McDonald’s. I couldn’t recall a much better new year eve spent – even though on paper it sounds dull, I can guarantee it was much better than the biggest party I have ever attended. I guess, there comes a time in life when booze and brashness loses its value.

As such, there isn’t any expectation from the new year. I am not looking forward to anything exciting. Hence, there are no new resolutions, no plans and no dreams. Yet, paradoxically, it is a new beginning – so there is some hope.

An additional jubilation in this trip was meeting Ashish Dange – after a long long time. It was fun catching up with him – on life, career, music and movies! Since our meetings in the past have been a series of coffee outlet promotions, it was befitting that we met again at Café Coffee Day! There, I had my first ‘blogger-meet’ on the first day of the year (even though he is no longer blogging these days). He sends his hello to all his erstwhile readers (and we do have a lot of them in common), though there is no immediate plan of returning to the webspace. But then, as he averred, you never know!

The sun looked as if it was readying for the party on the other end of the globe, and hence chose to stay away from this side. While the sun was away, the fog had a field day scaring off the flights and Delhiites.

For Random Expressions readers, I have a brand-new story ready. Many months have passed since I wrote any fresh fiction. (The last story was Tapish, in Hindi, on my older blog, but that too was a re-hash of one of my own old stories).

So what’s it about? I can’t even remotely claim it is ‘different’. All I can say is that it is an emotional tale of love, losing and longing; it is typical DJ-ish (which means, it is pretty ‘filmi’); it has the heroine in a peach chiffon sari cavorting in the rains; and yes, I promise it is fairly entertaining. The only difference is that it is a very short story and will be over in a single episode.

The story is called Ambadeep, and it completes my trilogy after Suryakiran and Indraprakash (all three named after three high-rise buildings in Connaught Place; all linked in some-way to my previous organization).

Excited enough to read it? If yes, then be here on Thursday 4th January 2007, at 1700 Hrs IST to catch a glimpse of one day in the lives of Pooja and Vishwas.

Madhur Bhandarkar attempts a true blue musical in his film on glamour and the glamorous; for this, viagra 40mg
he has unexpectedly chosen a relatively new Shamir Tandon, page
rather than rely on an established name in the industry. Tandon has earlier given us a few bloopers in Rakth.

The cover proudly proclaims ‘a complete album’ and gives us the photos of the singers, instead of the in-film stills as is norm. On the first, I have my reservations. On the second, it is justified; especially, if you have singers ranging from Lata Mangeshkar to Asha Bhosle to Adnan Sami to Suresh Wadkar…the cover asserts that it is a singer dominated album- and that makes Tandon’s life considerably easier!

Well, to be honest, the album is good in parts. And, the best parts are the opening and the closing tracks! No, this is not meant to be a funny line thrown in, but a genuine fact.

Let’s start from the end: Asha Bhonsle’s Huzoor – e- aala is smooth and silky, and the crooner sounds young, hot and in the groove. Of course, the ditty is built around the old OP Nayyar songs, but thankfully, is not a rehash or remix or an absolute copy! It is original in its own right, and very hummable. One thing though, the song is labeled as ‘Bonus track’- when Yash Chopra gave those two numbers in Veer Zaara CD, the songs parted ways from the film’s music while retaining the same
flavor; unfortunately, Huzoor-e-aala sounds too situational to be a stand-alone number.

Amit Kumar (bless him, where has he been all these years?) croons Filmi very filmi with full verve and vivaciousness that would make his father proud! Like the Naseeb song (John Jaani Janardhan), lyricist Sandeep Nath has fun in weaving in names of today’s top notch stars. He is accompanied (rather, irritated) by Blaaze and Taanishta Chatterjee.

Though Adnan Sami has started to sound the same with the trademark curls and curves (I am talking about his voice, sillies) the song Mere wajood mein is quite well tuned and well orchestrated too. Unfortunately, the song is too ‘masculine’ in its composition for Sadhna Sargam to do any justice in the female version. The inlay card tells us this song is not there in the film; if so, then, why did they make her sound like twisted kurkures?

The two rock and growl numbers Lets Dance and Jhoot Boliyan are best enjoyed in the discotheques, so suffice to say they are foot tapping but no paths broken by them! These are ‘tired’ and tested numbers and will scuttle up and down the middle orders of the charts.

So, I shall jump straight on to the top of the heap, and the best part of the album, which makes spending Rs 100 on the CD absolutely worthwhile – Lata Mangeshkar’s Kitne ajeeb rishte hai yahan pe… of course, Lata, as ever, sounds marvelously mellow and syrupy sweet; especially, it is (once more) a revelation to hear her go base at the beginning of each antara taking it steadily up to a breathtaking crescendo. This one song in itself can serve a lesson to all aspiring singers. Sounding a bit like a seventies
creation, the song is easy on the lips (such philosophical theme songs can often be too heavy to digest) with good music and rhythm. The backup vocals (not credited in this version, but done so in the male one) are by Vivienne Pocha and Pankaj Saroagi, and provide able support. I have not stopped humming it since the day I heard it. And, it does have poignant and meaningful lyrics. In all, a very satisfying song!

The sad version (Lata Mangeshkar) is well…sad! Too bad Tandon botched up completely there. The male version by Suresh Wadkar is redundant; more so, as the cover tells us, sadistically again, that it is not there in the film.

Before ending, one small note: Sapna Awasthi springs up from oblivion and raucously threatens Kuan ma kood jaaoongi…my suggestion: by all means, help yourself, lady! Who’s stopping you?

Overall: A Good Buy

The Times of India (Dated 17.12.06) carried a full page article on how music has returned in Hindi films. It praised the new sounds, prostate and even commended on the use of Urdu in few songs.

I disagree.

Yes, what is ed the sounds are new, the rhythms are different, but what happens to listeners like me who still prefer their Bollywood music to sound ‘filmi’ and traditional, and who still swear by the grammar promoted by Shankar-Jaikishan and Madan Mohan? I want to hear music that sounds like Hindi film soundtrack, and not a clone of Indian/South Asian/Arabian/Malaysian pop album!

Today’s music is so ‘youth-centric’ that I feel cheated and sorely left out. To this, I feel it is more ‘metro youth-centric’ than representing the whole strata of that generation. A few years back the films began to be so NRI and metro-centric, that an entire (and a profitable) belt in Bihar felt embittered, and turned to Bhojpuri films (and led to its revival). Perhaps, such a churning is now required in Hindi songs (and films).

Another disturbing fact is the songs’ low shelf life. Last year’s chart-scorcher, ‘Kajra re‘, is already on its way to ‘Bhoole Bisre’ Songs. ‘Dus Bahane’ is passé. ‘Ankhiya na maar bairi‘ is tossed in time’s cruel rubbish bin.

The same holds true for the composers. Shankar-Ehsan-Loy came with a bang, yet a few years in the industry, they are able to proffer only dull recycled tunes in KANK and Don. Vishal-Shekhar, whom the music know-alls crowned the new face of Indian film music, and a successor to R D Burman’s throne, are already wash-outs. And does anyone even remember Sandeep Chowta and Anand Raj Anand now?

As for the Urdu sprinkled in between the song, it is nothing but to encash on ‘unfamiliar’ words/sounds rather than any genuine love for the language. Else, whether it is ‘hibakki’ or any other Urdu (or Hindi, Tamil, Arabic) word it doesn’t make any difference to the so called composers, as long as it fits into their rhythm and can be repeated with ease!

My next big complaint against today’s music is that why have a celebrated wordsmith (for example Gulzar in Guru) when the singers end up chewing the lyrics and the music drowning the thoughts with their din! It’s ok to experiment with new voices, but at least ensure they know basic Hindi. In Maiya maiya from this film, what is that whiny foreign voice singing? I can’t make head or tail of it!

Of course, in the larger context, the singers themselves are to be blamed too – most have wrong dictions and awful pronunciations. There was a time when Lataji , Ashaji or Rafi saab and Kishore da sang and each word was crystal clear – often, they made a terrible lyric sound grand. But now, the reverse is happening. Even good lyrics are pulled into mediocrity by erroneous singing.

2006 was a musically dull year because of another fact – Lata Mangeshkar didn’t have a single release (Rang De Basanti’s audio was out in 2005). As a corollary, the list which you see below is devoid of any personal bias, and perhaps the best that I could do, given the dry and arid times.

So here are the few songs which I liked, in no particular order:-

Mujhe haq hai (Vivaah) – I am not fond of Ravindra Jain’s music; it lacks the punch that makes the heart flutter. So I was very wary of Barjatya’s choice of composer for what can be called his ‘come-back’ film, after the massive disaster Mai Prem Ki Deewani Hoon. Though Vivah’s music is overall average, ‘Mujhe haq hai’ is outstandingly shimmering. The naturally flowing tune ripples over the effortless lyrics with spontaneous ease. The tight arrangements and the flowing counter-music convincingly capture the urgency of lovers meeting in shy hesitancy on the roof-tops, away from the elders’ prying eyes. The pace and rhythm is extremely soft and sensitive. Both Udit and Shreya excel (This was Shreya Ghoshal’s year, having bagged many prestigious projects including Krrish, Vivaah, Woh Lamhe, Babul and other assorted songs) . As a stand-alone song, this is my most favorite duet this year.

Two other songs that I enjoyed were the energetic ‘Hamari shaadi mein abhi hai baaki hafte chaar’ and the dulcet ‘Milan abhi aadha adhura hai’– in the latter, I had my reservations towards the use of words like ‘prem madhuri’ and ‘divya vataavaran’ (this is film lyric, not Hindi poetry competition!), but in the film’s context it is very well-placed. In fact, the music grows on you once you view the film.

So jaaoon main tum agar mere khwaabon mein aao (Woh Lamhe) – The Bhatt productions continued to be musically the best this year also. Though the sound has changed in them too, still there was enough meat to sink one’s teeth into. From their doomed Woh Lamhe, my pick is this anguish laden love call, to which Shreya Ghoshal gives a mind-blowing rendition. She re-creates the magic that wowed the audience in ‘Jaadoo hai nasha hai’ – her voice permeates pain and passion, soaked in the alcohol of unrequited romance. The other good song from the film is Glenn John’s ‘Tu jo nahin hai kuchh bhi nahin hai’, though the tune gave a strong déjà vu feeling. ( It is a lift of an old Pakistani film song – but I have this uncanny feeling that it was used elsewhere in some other Hindi film too). Glenn’s voice has close proximity to Roop Kumar Rathod’s. I didn’t care much for James’s horribly Anglicised accent in Chal chalein. KK’s Kyun aajkal neend kam khwaab zyaada hain is the third wonderful number from this film (and a chartbuster as well – but is this a lift too??!!).

Chaand sifarish (Fanaa) – Admittedly, I loved the entire score from this film. Jatin-Lalit gave warm, lilting and mellifluous music, devoid of any inappropriate trappings and sans any pretensions. The music, like the film, was straight off the heart, and that’s where it gets placed. Mere haath mein and Chanda chamke were the two other delicious numbers. The songs gave Sunidhi Chauhan a much-needed break from her item numbers, and her voice rose to the occasion, especially in the warm and sensitive Mere haath mein tera haath ho. It would have been a befitting farewell score from the duo before their split, if only something unspeakably repulsive like Mera Dil Leke Dekho hadn’t come along a few months later!

More naina neer bahaye (Water) – I should have covered this last year, since I believe the music was out in 2005 itself. But as they say, better late than never! Water is a stupendous score from A R Rahman, and vastly different from what he creates now. Each number is an aural pleasure – and a showcase for Sadhna Sargam’s voice quality and singing capability. Detailed review here.

Salaam (Umrao Jaan) – The third album I enjoyed in its entirety. Industry’s maverick and maligned music maker Anu Mallik tried to snatch back his lost ground, and does so convincingly in both his scores this year (more on Jaan-E-Man later). However, both his lyricist and singer disappoint. Today, Alka Yagnik stands at a curious cusp in her career – she is experienced, has sung enough of the ‘young’ numbers and is therefore facing stiff competition in the music room from upstarts; and yet, she isn’t really old enough to be thrown aside. So, this could have been a landmark album where she could have provided that solid punch to competition proving that she is the ‘woman’ amongst the ‘girls’! Sadly, she chose to waste this opportunity, and the end-result is that her voice sounds dull, tired and forced. Umrao Jaan is most certainly Alka Yagnik’s waterloo. As far as lyrics are concerned, Javed Akhtar only confirmed my long-lasting impression about him – that he is the most over-hyped and over-stated lyricist around.

As regards Salaam, the mukhda tune is as old as the hills – used by C.Ramachandra first in Woh humse chup hai (Sargam) , then by L-P in Suni jo unnki aane kii aahat (Satyam Shivam Sundaram) and finally by Nadeem Shravann for Machi hai dhoom hamare ghar mein (Ansh).

Full album review here

Abhi nahi jaana / Pyar ne tere pyar ko mere (Mr. Khujli) – Good Heavens, how did these two beauties end up in this obscure and lunatic-titled film! Both these Udit-Shreya duets are tender, sober and fragile. They are sweet and fluffy like candy, but not vacuous or flirty. They are exactly the way I like my music. Both have one of the best interlude music this year! It’s indeed serendipity that I found them.

Meri aankhon mein ho tum / Bhoolna nahin / Tune mujhko deewana kiya iss qadar (Yaqeen) – Another last year album that I discovered in 2006. This small time Sudhanshu Pandey-Priyanka Chopra-Arjun Rampal film came and went without any one noticing it. A chance view of the film on Sahara Filmy introduced me to the songs (the film was okayish, though it could have been more taut) and I am thankful for it. Easy flowing songs, soft rhythms, fantastic interludes and natural tunes make all these numbers a delight to hear. This is the same old Himesh Reshammiya style that I loved in Aitraaz, Kyunki, Vaada, Julie, Tarzan, etc (which he has abandoned now). I love these kind of love duets that are so enticingly simple, with some cottony choral riffs. My strong recommendation for Meri aankhon mein ho tum – especially for that lip-smacking piano leitmotif.

Tose naina laage (Javeda zindagi) (Anwar)- Mithoon is the new kid on the block, having rocked the charts with Tere bin (Bas Ek Pal). In Anwar, he composes two songs, and both are pleasurable. From the two, I have a soft corner for ‘Tose naina laage‘ – it’s semi-classical hues and fluttering tabla-base are enchanting. I didn’t like its lack of structure or symmetry (for example, the lyrics are repeated randomly without a proper organization). If Mithoon had worked on those two aspects, ‘Tose naina laage‘ could have been ‘the’ song of 2006 – for me! The second number ‘Maula mere maula‘ is more in sync with today’s times, and Roop Kumar Rathod atypical voice charms.

Naina thug lenge / Beedi jalai le /Namak issak ka (Omkara) – An unconventional album from an unconventional composer (and director). Omkara was a surprise hit, since the music is not composed with an eye on the charts. Perhaps, that’s why the music hit bull’s eye – it was an honest, raw and direct score. My pick from this album is the lesser heard ‘Naina thug lenge’ sung with fervor by Shafqat Ali Khan. Gulzar’s legendary poetic visualizations never fail to enthrall. In Naina thug lenge, look at what he creates – nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahi aata , likhat padat raseed na khaata… Simply wow – and deserves a standing ovation! Of course, the two ‘item’ numbers rocked!

Jab se aankh ladi tere naal (Dil Diya Hai) / Tere sang ishq hai (Tom Dick and Harry) / Kitne armaan jaage tere vaaste (Phir Hera Pheri)/ Zikra karein jo tera (Aksar)/ Aa aa ashiqui mein teri (36 China Town) – Himesh Reshammiya continued his dream run for most part of this year. From his similar sounding, beat-induced, one-hook techno-music, these five are my picks.

From these five, I liked the construction of ‘Jab se aankh ladi’ – with Jayesh Gandhi coming in at the antara’s tip to repeat the mukhda in a stylized high-pitch. Of course, Alisha’s vivacious vocals helped a lot. Where beats are concerned, it’s ‘Kitne armaan’ all the way – firm and unyielding, they pound you to move your feet. 36 China Town was a pretty good score overall – I thoroughly enjoyed Rock your body and Mujhe tujhmein badi dilchaspi hai as well. I still maintain that Himesh is a good composer – if only, he would chuck his singing career aside.

Aksar‘s music was a hit in a big way – so much so that even the ghosts in Gujarat responded to the call of Jhalak dikhlaa jaa. But all said and done, there is some attraction in these numbers that compels you to hum along. From this film, I liked Zikra karein jo tera (loot jaayenge mar jaayenge) the best; Kunal Ganjawala’s singing added luster.

Mausam hai bada qaatil (Chup Chup Ke) – No one wanted to hear this number – not even the director/producer, since only a part of it is used in the film. Yet, I found this song pretty endearing, and Sonu Nigam well restrained (else, he often has a tendency to over-sing). The tune flows effortlessly, and the piano riffs are great.

Kitna pyaar kartein hai (Banaras) – What a non-Himesh sounding score from the man! And this love ballad was right up there in high echelons in terms of quality and tune. Even Himesh sounded less nasal and pleasing to the ear, but I think the female version by Alka Yagnik was the best. Poorab se is a high-quality bhajan; Shreya Ghoshal sings with appropriate devotion. Yeh hai shaan Banaras kii is a great percussion pleasure – listen to it on full volume on a good stereo system!

Tooteya na tooteya dhaaga yeh pyaar ka (Shaadi Se Pahle) – Another fine song that slipped into oblivion without causing many ripples. Daler Mehndi side-stepped his ‘balle balle’ image to render a tense and intense touching number about losing and longing. Other bearable numbers were Bijuria and Ankhiyon se gal kar gai.

Ya ali (Gangster) – As a composer, 2006 was most definitely Pritam’s year. He filched tunes from all across the globe, dressed them up attractively in bright sounds and presented the numbers with perfect panache. By the year end, his list at itwofs.com (the site which captures Indian songs copied/inspired/borrowed/stolen from abroad) had grown impossibly long – and even he himself admitted that he is a better designer than composer (to which I agree). Ya Ali is lifted from an Arabian Band Guitara’s Ya Ghali, and reportedly, they have also sued Preetam for using their tune without a thank you note. I found Ya Ali – part Sufi, part filmi – a very nice number – though, again somewhere within me, I do wish there were more ‘filmi’ songs released this year. However, considering today’s tastes, Gangster‘s score was overall pretty neat. Unfortunately, by the year end, the music suffered from a ‘hearing over-kill’. Perhaps, I should return to it after some months to fully appreciate it.

Phirta rahuun mai dar-badar (The Killer) – Whatever Hibbaki meant, it surely was on my lips for quite long. But the real killer melody was Phirta rahuun mai dar-ba-dar. Of course, the brief given by Bhatts to composers was clear and concise – the song had to be easy on lips, resemble Paki pop-music and have a deep meaning as well. On all fronts, Sajid-Wajid delivered. In Dil ko churaya, the whistle was infectious. And even the bump-and-grind (to which Nisha danced buoyantly) Yaar mila mujhe pyaar mila was fairly hummable. In total, a much-above-average score – and let me add, better than Gangster (comparisons done because they come from the same production house, with the same hero)!

Ankhon mein (Ankahee) – Soft as butter, these Pritam songs melted into the ears with wispy warmth. Though too much Anglicised in design, still they managed to stir the heart. Only problem? They all sounded similar!

Baazi lagaa (Guru) – When Udit Narayan throws up his voice with the clarion call Baazi lagaa, one only laments why is he keeping so low-profile these days! The song has propinquity to Rahman’s own Humrahi jab ho mastaana from Pukar.

Jaane ke jaane na (Jaaneman) – The purists fumed at Gulzar’s use of Hinglish, but I found it very sweet and endearing – and more importantly, making perfect sense. In Jaane ke jaane na, he writes a beautiful imagery – Piya ki judaii mein chaand ka gubaara hai, raat ko chadaya hai, din mein uttaara hai. Now comparing a moon to a balloon – only Gulzar saab could have done it! The strings leitmotif in the number is contagious. Kubool karle – a choral and compositional curry- is my next favorite. Humko maloom hai and its sorrowful counterpart Sau dard hai are the other good songs that complete Anu Mallik’s second straight musically successful itinerary this year!

Signaal pyaar ka signal (Bhagam Bhaag) – With a tune more infectious that dengue, Pritam created another superb chart-rocker. The traditionalist within me wants to mock the number, but then my lips and hips are both hooked on to it. A mad-cap song, sung with mad-cap energy by Remo Fernandes. Signal stops you right on tracks – and perhaps should be used by transport department to monitor the worsening traffic situation in the country!

Baanwri piya kii (Baabul) – A delicate classical music based number, and quite a surprise from Adesh Srivastav. A gentle tabla accompanies with subtlety. Sublime in its construction, the number evokes instant romance. Unfortunately, this number was the only gem in a can full of trash that also included the hopelessly boring Come on come on and a mundane Kah raha hai dil deewana (which seems a reprise of Adesh’s Pahle kabhi mera from the same director’s previous film Baaghbaan).

The only other number that generates some interest is Kahta hai babul, supposedly composed by Big B himself, sung by him in the film, and by Jagjit Singh in the album.

Dekha jo tujhe yaar / Gustaakh nigah ( Apna Sapna Money Money) – If I have to genuinely praise Preetam for one solid aspect, then it has to be his re-discovery of Amit Kumar. Listening to the singer’s deep throated voice in Dekha jo tujhe yaar is bliss; and since the song has a version by a diluted voiced Mika Sika as well, the comparison all the more proves that Amit Kumar is way ahead. I found the tune having traces of Pakistani pop hit from eighties Hawa hawa. But in reality, it is inspired by the song, ‘Sheloha shela’ by the Middle Eastern group, Miami Band! (Source: Karthik’s brilliant site, ITwoFs). Gustaakh nigaah is quite a typical item number, on the lines of ‘O saaqui saaqui’ (Musafir), and the Middle Eastern tune could have been borrowed from some Arabian band.

Dil dhak dhak karne lagaa ( Jaane Hoga Kya) – What a leisurely languid pace! I fell for the song instantly when I saw the crappy film. Its unhurried tempo, coupled with a tranquil tune and easygoing beats, make the song delightful. The picturisation (on Bipasha and Aftab) was quite efficient.

Also partially held my attention were these songs :

Aao sunaaoon pyaar ki ek kahani / Dil na diya (Krrish) – Surprisingly, Krrish‘s music was very routine and dull. Considering the amount Roshans spent on the FX, they could at least have ensured a better investment on its music as well. While Aao sunaoo pyaar ki kahani was quite lovable for its old-wordly charm, and Dil na diya made you swing, the rest of the songs didn’t register anywhere – either on the charts or on the hearts!

Tere bin main youn jiya (Bas Ek Pal) – Too much influence of Aadat in this one. I am getting bored of this stretched out singing style.

Lamha lamha zindagi (Corporate) – Could have been as shining as Kitne ajeeb (Page 3), but falls short due to mediocre music. The lyrics are banal, with no inter-connectivity in the thought of each preceding lines – it’s as if the lyricist had a bunch of thoughts that he has placed without any sense of form or construction.

Crazy kiya re (Dhoom2) – The song merits attention for its catchiness. Like it or hate it, but you can’t just ignore it. The music of Dhoom2 was far below its prequel (which to my taste wasn’t anyways that great!)

Chhori ki aankhein meethi chhoori hain (Fight Club) – Just for Amit Kumar! The tune? It’s Dhanno ki aankh by RD Burman all the way!

Humko deewana kar gaye / Mere saath chalte chalte /Fanaa / For Your Eyes Only (Humko Deewana Kar Gaye)- The entire album was passable, and warranted a few hears. However, the songs melted into oblivion and out of memory too soon.

Sini ne (Jawani Diwani) – Average, very average, the hookline caught my attention for a short span.

Bole toh bole woh kaisi hogi haaye / Pal pal pal (Lage Raho Munnabhai) – Both the Munnabhai movies didnt boast of great music. In the present version, Pradeep Sarkar simply went with the notion that director sambhaal lega – which Hirani did, since the music only caught on after the film’s release. BTW, how come no critic/reviewer has mentioned that Bande mein tha dam is nothing but a rehash of Hemant Kumar’s Aao bachhon tumhe dikhayein jhaanki Hindustan kii from the Gandhian oldie Jaagruti.

Yun hota toh kya hota – Since the song keeps playing in the film, it forces you to hum along. Had a few good thoughts in its lyrics.

That’s all from me this year.

Wishing all readers of Random Expressions a Very Happy, Musical and Prosperous New Year!

Previous years collections:

Top Songs – 2003
Top Songs – 2004
Top Songs – 2005

A chance mention of the film to a colleague made him bring the VCD (yes, page
he had bought it!). Since I had secretly wanted to watch it all along, I grabbed the opportunity eagerly. It adds to my list of B-and-C-grade films like AK-47, Hottest Mail.com and Fun. While taking the VCD from him, in a mock leering voice I said, ‘Ek se mera kya hoga’, and immediately my colleague stated, “Precisely why I got you two films” and fished out something called Jangli Pyaar as well. (Yet to see, but keep watching this space).

Coming back to ESMKH, the movie is directed by TLV Prasadh, who, for long, had made those third-rate Mithunda films (Hitler, Hatyara, Jurmana etc) which we all love to ridicule. A few years back he changed track, and started making these Payal Rohatgi-starrer sleaze fests – including Tauba Tauba, which I had viewed (and reviewed) while in Nepal.

My enormous disappointment is that the film title doesn’t refer to the lady’s state of mind! So what’s the story about? A Muslim lady Rukaya accuses one Altaf Bashir for marrying and deserting her. Soon, a Christian girl Maria also does the same, claiming the person to be Peter D’Costa. A film heroine Roshni comes along pointing at the same man to be Tinnu Kapoor. Later, a fourth one also lands up (direct from Bihar, called Laalli Yadav!) Lawyer Supriya Pathak (Payal Rohatgi) is out to prove that Altaf/Peter/Tinnu is the same man, who now stands in the court proclaiming that he is a renowned philanthropist Prem Bajaj. Is she correct, or is Prem Bajaj really innocent? What is the truth behind those multi-identities – that is the crux of the tale, and I will leave the ‘suspense’ for you to find it yourself!

The story is intelligently constructed to include as much sordidness as it can. Hence, each lady testifies, and the film moves into flashback showing elaborate scenes of their meeting-and-mating with the fraud man, along with ample close shots of cleavage-and-legs. It’s here that the script seems to pause and say, ok let’s get into the real thing for what the audience is watching. The balance is merely a filler to get down to the next such flashback!

The first half is entirely left to this – and it is pretty funny to see the way every flashback is designed to increase the steam. The shots are so corny that they evoke laughter rather than lust! And since all the girls seem to be more than willing to sleep with the man, words like ‘abla naari’ and ‘majboor aurat’ bandied in the court, are uproarious.

While promoting Corporate for her ‘important role’ (she had an item number and played a whore in a two-minute appearance!), a smug Payal Rohatgi had excitedly chirped that she was getting ‘good’ and ‘interesting’ roles now. Perhaps she was referring to her ‘lead’ role in this film where she gets to don full robes (lawyer’s, at that!) for most part of the film (if only she could wear some expressions, other than looking like some stuck up sex-doll!). But of course, the director realized that a fully clad Payal would hardly sell a film, so in the second half, she gets into the act, removes the robes, sings utterly rubbish sexy songs, wears outlandish clothes (which the dress designer looks to have snipped and cut randomly at all the vantage points of her anatomy) and tries to ensnare the real man behind the multiple identities. Incidentally, her voice is dubbed by some shrilly dubbing artiste, making her sound more like a banshee than a bomb.

All other girls required only bosom-and-bum to display, which they do in good measure. Acting? Ha ha ha, they wouldn’t even know the word, leave alone the meaning! I am always amazed as to how such films manage to get these similar looking and sounding, largely unattractive females (curvaceous and flabby, with no expressions or intonation and zilch screen presence) in abundance? The hero (one Sameer Kochhar) enjoys all the smooches, and is more wooden than the toughest ply available in market.

The script is designed to milk the maximum mileage from the girls. Which it does. Else, it has holes big enough for a jet plane to pass through! The dialogues are stock phrases. The production is tacky. The cinematography is shaky. But then why am I getting into all these details, which even the producer/director never went into. The basic purpose is to titillate – which it didn’t to me, but then I guess I wasn’t meant to be the target audience. For all those morning shows, the film has enough strategic points for the exhibitor to add his own bit of additional footage, to make the film overall ‘paisa vasool’ (One day, I promise I will muster up enough courage to actually watch a film in a morning show!)

Even the VCD was intended for such an audience since there were trailers of more such films – Rosy and Dhandha! And when it showed one of an A-grade film (Page 3), it only concentrated on the raunchy item number ‘Kuaan maa kood jaaoongi’!!!

For those who asked me whether I had seen any movie from this list – well, you have your answer now!

Overall – Ha ha ha, Watch it, if only to learn that these films also exist!
So, buy more about
2006 slipped into posterity and the New Year greets us with the same characteristic cheer and good-will as each new year does – till the time it settles into its own routine, beyond the flurry of congratulatory SMS’s, emails, phone-calls and messages.

 

Taking stock of the past year, I can safely conclude it was very average – nothing spectacular, but not humdrum either. From Kathmandu to Delhi to Agra, for me the year was neatly divided into three equal and distinct phases. For the world in general, it held sorrows and happiness, catastrophes and cheer in equal measure. In the larger context of time, it was just another year, and it is over and done with – and time to move ahead.

My new year’s eve was pleasant and enjoyable, spent in the comfortable confines of parental love and care.

On Saturday, I had decided not to go home, since I had gone there only a week back – and the drive, though only 200 kms seemed an arduously difficult task. That evening I had a couple of drinks, surfed mindlessly at the local internet café, drove around a bit, saw a few happy sights – and yet, the time didn’t seem to move at all. I was feeling extremely lonely and bored. The thought of my parents being alone as well, huddled in the increasing chill, without any excitement or cheer pricked my conscience hard. On Sunday morning, when I woke a voice within me was urging me to go home. Immediately, I dressed up hurriedly, packed a jeans and a couple of shirts and started off for Delhi.

It was a very wise decision. The look of sheer joy on my parents’ faces was a delight. In the evening, we went to Connaught Place for dinner, and thereafter took a walk in the newly renovated central park. The place is very well done up, with land-scaped gardens, an amphi-theater and full-on lighting. Needless to say, it was crowded. Delhi administration had made the entire inner circle a vehicle-free zone that evening, which made walking there a joy. We rounded the evening off with a softy from McDonald’s. I couldn’t recall a much better new year eve spent – even though on paper it sounds dull, I can guarantee it was much better than the biggest party I have ever attended. I guess, there comes a time in life when booze and brashness loses its value.

As such, there isn’t any expectation from the new year. I am not looking forward to anything exciting. Hence, there are no new resolutions, no plans and no dreams. Yet, paradoxically, it is a new beginning – so there is some hope.

An additional jubilation in this trip was meeting Ashish Dange – after a long long time. It was fun catching up with him – on life, career, music and movies! Since our meetings in the past have been a series of coffee outlet promotions, it was befitting that we met again at Café Coffee Day! There, I had my first ‘blogger-meet’ on the first day of the year (even though he is no longer blogging these days). He sends his hello to all his erstwhile readers (and we do have a lot of them in common), though there is no immediate plan of returning to the webspace. But then, as he averred, you never know!

The sun looked as if it was readying for the party on the other end of the globe, and hence chose to stay away from this side. While the sun was away, the fog had a field day scaring off the flights and Delhiites.

For Random Expressions readers, I have a brand-new story ready. Many months have passed since I wrote any fresh fiction. (The last story was Tapish, in Hindi, on my older blog, but that too was a re-hash of one of my own old stories).

So what’s it about? I can’t even remotely claim it is ‘different’. All I can say is that it is an emotional tale of love, losing and longing; it is typical DJ-ish (which means, it is pretty ‘filmi’); it has the heroine in a peach chiffon sari cavorting in the rains; and yes, I promise it is fairly entertaining. The only difference is that it is a very short story and will be over in a single episode.

The story is called Ambadeep, and it completes my trilogy after Suryakiran and Indraprakash (all three named after three high-rise buildings in Connaught Place; all linked in some-way to my previous organization).

Excited enough to read it? If yes, then be here on Thursday 4th January 2007, at 1700 Hrs IST to catch a glimpse of one day in the lives of Pooja and Vishwas.

Madhur Bhandarkar attempts a true blue musical in his film on glamour and the glamorous; for this, viagra 40mg
he has unexpectedly chosen a relatively new Shamir Tandon, page
rather than rely on an established name in the industry. Tandon has earlier given us a few bloopers in Rakth.

The cover proudly proclaims ‘a complete album’ and gives us the photos of the singers, instead of the in-film stills as is norm. On the first, I have my reservations. On the second, it is justified; especially, if you have singers ranging from Lata Mangeshkar to Asha Bhosle to Adnan Sami to Suresh Wadkar…the cover asserts that it is a singer dominated album- and that makes Tandon’s life considerably easier!

Well, to be honest, the album is good in parts. And, the best parts are the opening and the closing tracks! No, this is not meant to be a funny line thrown in, but a genuine fact.

Let’s start from the end: Asha Bhonsle’s Huzoor – e- aala is smooth and silky, and the crooner sounds young, hot and in the groove. Of course, the ditty is built around the old OP Nayyar songs, but thankfully, is not a rehash or remix or an absolute copy! It is original in its own right, and very hummable. One thing though, the song is labeled as ‘Bonus track’- when Yash Chopra gave those two numbers in Veer Zaara CD, the songs parted ways from the film’s music while retaining the same
flavor; unfortunately, Huzoor-e-aala sounds too situational to be a stand-alone number.

Amit Kumar (bless him, where has he been all these years?) croons Filmi very filmi with full verve and vivaciousness that would make his father proud! Like the Naseeb song (John Jaani Janardhan), lyricist Sandeep Nath has fun in weaving in names of today’s top notch stars. He is accompanied (rather, irritated) by Blaaze and Taanishta Chatterjee.

Though Adnan Sami has started to sound the same with the trademark curls and curves (I am talking about his voice, sillies) the song Mere wajood mein is quite well tuned and well orchestrated too. Unfortunately, the song is too ‘masculine’ in its composition for Sadhna Sargam to do any justice in the female version. The inlay card tells us this song is not there in the film; if so, then, why did they make her sound like twisted kurkures?

The two rock and growl numbers Lets Dance and Jhoot Boliyan are best enjoyed in the discotheques, so suffice to say they are foot tapping but no paths broken by them! These are ‘tired’ and tested numbers and will scuttle up and down the middle orders of the charts.

So, I shall jump straight on to the top of the heap, and the best part of the album, which makes spending Rs 100 on the CD absolutely worthwhile – Lata Mangeshkar’s Kitne ajeeb rishte hai yahan pe… of course, Lata, as ever, sounds marvelously mellow and syrupy sweet; especially, it is (once more) a revelation to hear her go base at the beginning of each antara taking it steadily up to a breathtaking crescendo. This one song in itself can serve a lesson to all aspiring singers. Sounding a bit like a seventies
creation, the song is easy on the lips (such philosophical theme songs can often be too heavy to digest) with good music and rhythm. The backup vocals (not credited in this version, but done so in the male one) are by Vivienne Pocha and Pankaj Saroagi, and provide able support. I have not stopped humming it since the day I heard it. And, it does have poignant and meaningful lyrics. In all, a very satisfying song!

The sad version (Lata Mangeshkar) is well…sad! Too bad Tandon botched up completely there. The male version by Suresh Wadkar is redundant; more so, as the cover tells us, sadistically again, that it is not there in the film.

Before ending, one small note: Sapna Awasthi springs up from oblivion and raucously threatens Kuan ma kood jaaoongi…my suggestion: by all means, help yourself, lady! Who’s stopping you?

Overall: A Good Buy

A Story By Deepak Jeswal

The serpentine road, see
with bumps and warts, wound its way through cornfields and stretched beyond the horizon. The car rode over the bumps and warts on the road that the government had forsaken as soon as it had built it. At places, it narrowed to a treacherous single lane, which was so constricted that in case two cars passed that stretch from opposing ends, a non-verbal tussle, fought with blinking dippers, ensued. Almost always the one who lost would let out his futile fury with a string of expletives, which in any case the opponent would not have heard, and even if he did, it hardly mattered.

Over the heated tar, the sky was ready to shower its blessings. Rains, that hadn’t reached there till then, were impending to unzip their black bags over the parched fields.

From Agra to Jagner, this journey of fifty kilometers is ordinary except for the subtle change in landscape beyond Kagarole, a village en route. Vishwas wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary either. In fact he never expected anything beyond ordinary from life now. At 33, he was well settled in life – a cushy job in a multi-national and a mundane but sweet family life. His only worry was to complete the task assigned to him and reach home fast, as his wife had asked him to. The navratras were on, and today was the seventh day, she had kept a fast and an elaborate pooja of Goddess Amba at their house and he was to reach there to light the lamp for the Goddess. He had no interest in the pooja, but he would have to go out of duty. He didn’t believe in prayers. Nor did he expect them to work.

Yet, that day somewhere within he had his dead hope resurrecting itself from the burnt ashes from his life long back. It’s strange how coincidences pile upon each other. Just the previous weekend a long-lost friend from Delhi had mentioned Pooja and informed that the last he had heard her banker husband was posted in the far-off Jagner. At that time the place’s name had barely registered in his mind. Today, unexpectedly his boss had given him an important assignment to be completed there.

That night, after his friend had left, and his wife had drifted off to sleep, for a long time he sat on his fifth floor balcony eyeing the Taj Mahal, accompanied by four empty beer bottles and a half finished plate of chicken-tikka. The yellowing Taj, whose dome and the four minarets were clearly visible from where he sat, was ‘just another building’ , as he often mocked at it to his friends. But deep within, he knew it was a symbol of love and passion.

Nay, he didn’t think so! Those were exactly Pooja’s thoughts, an ultra romantic girl whom he had befriended, loved and lost when he was young. It amazed him as to how much she cared for the Taj! But adamantly refused to visit it – “No, it’s a symbol of marriage, and we shall go there only after we are married!” That was Pooja – always finding meaning into the most commonplace things. “Love is a prayer – which is what my name means!” she would joke – only that when she said it, it didn’t sound like a joke at all.

Those were the heady college days – carefree, wild and enjoyable. He didn’t realize when Pooja transformed from being just a friend to a very good one and eventually his lover. The affair spanned three years of college, two years of MBA and one year into his first job. Six beautiful years spent with Pooja, which he had often tried to erase but couldn’t really do it.

A sudden speed-breaker bumped him out of his reverie. He cursed within his breath, and shuffled in his seat uncomfortably, straightening his blue suit’s arm a little. The suit seemed impossibly incongruous in the rural surroundings he was driving to but then he hadn’t known he would have to leave for Jagner when he dressed up that morning. Another bump, and this time he cursed aloud. The road itself wasn’t all that great, and the innumerable breakers added to the woes. He looked upwards – the clouds had thickened, and soon the tip-tap of raindrops lashed on his windscreen. With his left hand permanently on the gear, he maneuvered his bruised white Santro over the potholes. He looked at his watch. He had to return home soon.

The fields gave way to open plains. Beyond the rain, he saw a few solitary hills, part of the Aravalli range. Jagner was the last point on this stretch of Uttar Pradesh, after which Rajasthan began.

So engrossed was Vishwas in eyeing the hills, he missed seeing the oncoming vehicle, till it was barely a hundred meters away. In a quick reflex action he jammed his foot over the brake, while his hand changed the gears. The car screeched to a halt.

“Bastard!” he exclaimed. He reversed the car in order to make for him to pass it. But before he could do so, his jaw dropped. From the oncoming red Maruti Swift, he saw a lady’s face peeping out of the window, an apologetic smile on her face.

Even through the haze of the rain and the years between them, he recognized her instantaneously.

“Pooja!”

He brought his car parallel to hers, and lowered his tinted glass. “Pooja, hi! You remember me?”

Her brows knitted questioningly for a brief second but recognition swept over it alongwith the rain instantaneously. “Of course, Vishwas I remember you”

Excited, he let out a volley of questions, “How have you been? Where have you been? Why didn’t you call? Do you know I am in Agra now?”

She let out a short laugh. Just like old times. And even after all these years, his heart skipped a beat. Her round and fair face held the power to make him jelly-kneed and even though they were shorter now, he could perceive the luster and fragrance of her auburn hair.

“Wait a second, Vishwas. Let me just park this damn thing,” she said, and immediately turned the ignition on and swept the car aside on the edge of the highway. He did the same, leaving enough gap between the two vehicles lest some one did cross this god-forsaken place.

She wore a light peach chiffon sari with almost no jewelry except for a slim gold necklace and matching earrings – tiny little jhumkas that dangled impishly as she moved towards his car. Her hands clutched a beige purse. Gingerly she rounded his car, and entered through the passenger side.

“Damn this rain,” she murmured, wiping off her face. Vishwas smiled – nothing had changed, not even her ‘damns’ or sudden impulsiveness in disregarding the rain and crossing the road before he could make any move. Age had settled so gracefully on her persona that it held an exquisiteness of its own. In comparison, he eyed his beer-belly with disgust and to his own self he felt conscious of his haggardness.

“How have you been, Pooja? It seems so long ago, no?”

“Well, it has been quite a while now. And I have been perfect. At least, I think so,” she replied, settling down on her seat. “You tell me? What’s up?”

“Nothing much, really” and he gave an elaborate description of his job and his reason to be on this road. There was a brief awkward pause between them. He cleared his throat. And let out another “So what’s new?” Extremely maudlin, he thought! But then, so many years had passed, there wasn’t much in common left. It wasn’t really like old times.

“Just the same. Routine,” she sighed. “Ajay works as branch manager with the State Bank at Jagner, we prefer staying there rather than traveling daily up and down from Agra as many do.”

Of course he knew Ajay Ranawat – the business card was in his coat’s pocket, given to him by his boss. That’s exactly where he was headed to.

“Oh ok,” he replied lamely and after an almost imperceptible cough he asked, “Ajay?”

“My husband,” she said in a low voice.

He knew she was married, yet hearing it from her sounded rather unreal. Seeing her alight from her car running towards him, had made him forget that years had flown past them. It still looked as if she had just jumped from an auto towards his bike, as she did in college. Together, they would then just roam about or sit in the canteen. At that time, they were never short of words, and he tried to pressurize his brain to whip out what they talked about. There wasn’t any memory left. In fact, as he thought it just struck him that he didn’t even remember the reason for their break up. Why had they separated?

It was the second year in his job, when office time began taking precedence over their meetings. Then, voila the most prestigious project doing the rounds landed on his lap. He was so taken up by the motivational talk by his then boss that he completely forgot Pooja’s existance. It was in that hazy period, amidst a slew of meetings, and buried beneath a plethora of late-nights, sprinkled with short telephonic conversations, that Pooja had dropped the bomb. Her parents had selected a match for her. It all came back to him in an instant. He was in the midst of a presentation when his newly acquired cell-phone had beeped a message. It took five more hours before he could yank himself from the office to meet her at Connaught Place’s Nirula’s – their favorite haunt. “But how could you even agree to see that man and display yourself like a mute ware in some shop!” he had demanded angrily. She simply smiled and said, “Let’s say it is my duty towards my parents.” And then sarcastically she added, “If this is the trailer to the damn life that is to follow, I am definitely better off with that man” His blood sizzled in anger, but she simply walked out of the restaurant, and eventually his life, in spite of Vishwas’s attempts to make amends.

“These rains here are scary, they make the road so damn treacherous,” she was saying, and Vishwas came back to the present. “And they never come on time. This year too they are delayed!”

“Yep, you are right, but some of these roads are not even worth calling roads,” he laughed. “You should someday do the Hathras-Aligarh stretch. The road just doesn’t exist.”

She laughed along with him, and he felt a strange satisfaction. With her fingers, she started to wipe off the water from her face. He eyed her intently, watching her slim fingers’ futile attempt to remove the raindrops from her face. He bent forward, picked up a light blue towel lying on the dashboard, and handed it over to her. She smiled and accepted it and continued to wipe her neck.

One arrogant droplet slithered down defiantly from her hair onto her silky smooth neck, slipping down towards the gold chain. Vishwas felt a perplexing tingle in his fingers to touch her. But reason took the better of his emotions, and he held back.

Their conversation continued in fits and starts – first the horrid roads, then the poor infrastructural development, and then about Jagner’s poor social life. It was as if two strangers had met in a boring cocktail party and were trying to pass time.

After a brief pause he said, “So you finally did see the Taj?”

She smiled wryly, “Yeah, you can’t damn avoid it, being so close to Agra!”

“Nice, no?”

“It is – but not really as I had imagined it. After all, it’s just stones stuck together in a damn neat design”

Vishwas laughed. “What a change in thought!”

Ruefully she said, “Yes, time changes, people change. So have I.” After a hesitant pause, she placed the towel back on the dashboard, and sighed, “It could have been different with you. I am sorry Vishwas…”

“No no, Pooja, don’t start off on that…”

But Pooja raised her hand, and said, “No let me say it – maybe then I can get my peace. I am sorry Vishwas I let you down” Their eyes melted and intermingled into a warm pool of love and longing.

Vishwas felt a lump in his throat. “I missed you Pooja.” On impulse, he pulled her and gave a tight hug. She didn’t resist, and clung to him, gently sobbing.

“So did I,” she said, tearing herself apart unwillingly. “It’s not the same with Ajay – though he is nice and caring, in his own way. But somewhere deep within I feel that life could have been…” She bit her lower lip and didn’t complete the sentence. But he understood. Just the same way as he felt.

“I am meeting Ajay today,” he said, out of the blue. And explained how he was to get an agreement signed with State Bank, Jagner for a financing of a project that his company was to undertake in that region.

They sat for a few more minutes, talking generalities but soon Pooja said that she had to leave.

“Will we meet again?” he asked hopefully, his heart beat rapidly pounding his ribs at the thought.

“Cant say,” she responded. And added, “When you meet Ajay, tell him I am fine, and no need to worry about me. He gets worked up when I drive out in the damn rains” she said. Vishwas’s smile froze on his lips as a pang of jealousy stabbed his gut. Of course, Ajay had the right to get worried.

“Do visit us at Agra,” he said as she closed the door, and immediately bit his tongue. The ‘us’ obviously included his wife – a standard sentence that he spoke to many colleagues and friends, without giving any thought to it.

“Let’s see,” she replied and rushed towards her car.

He admired her grace in entering the vehicle, turning on the ignition and driving off with a wave. Sighing, he turned his gaze ahead; he saw the towel lying on the dashboard. Instinctively he picked it up and felt it with his hand hoping to feel the touch of her skin once more. It held faint traces of her fragrance. He took a deep breath and clutched the towel tightly; his mind was playing an old film when she would place her head on his shoulders, and the same fragrance would give him a giddy intoxicated feeling. As he fingered the towel, he felt a small lump within its fold. He opened it and found Pooja’s jhumka entangled between the sky blue strands of the towel.

Immediately, he grabbed it and stuck his head out to call her. However, by then her car was a tiny speck in the misty distance. Tenderly he circled the gold in his palms and placed it in his coat pocket.

Vishwas sat in his car for sometime looking through the rains at the spot where her car had been. After a while, he pushed the gear and started onwards. The mud and the rain only made the onward journey tougher. At Jagner, the road seemed to vanish leaving behind a sticky residue of wet earth and floating cow dung. Thankfully, it wasn’t tough to locate the State Bank there – barely a few hundred meters into the village, a derelict rusty signboard pointed to an inner road. He turned into the narrow lane, surrounded with shops covered with blue tarpaulin to protect from the rain. The second building housed the bank, on the first floor. The road continued ahead only to end at a tent which was set up and decorated with idols of the Goddess in gaudy colored clothes and accessories. A pooja, here too! A huge, tackily painted banner proclaimed in bold blue color “Sponsored by State Bank of India, Jagner.”

The meeting went as expected, interrupted by innumerable phone calls. At every given pause, Vishwas would scrutinize Ajay’s face and the roots of jealousy grew deeper. From the moment he entered the spartan office, he knew Ajay was a man of few words, and fewer needs. The large desk was piled up with files, broken only by an array of telephones. Behind Ajay stood a dirty Godrej almirah, and the walls were all covered with wires and cobwebs. Obviously, State Bank’s renovation drive hadn’t reached the smaller branches.

When he had got the requisite documents signed, he shuffled uneasily on his seat as Ajay turned his attention towards other documents. Vishwas’s hand was in his pocket, encircling the jhumka. How could he begin conveying Pooja’s message – without offering to explain how he knew her.

Ajay signed the last file, placed it on the side and rang a bell beneath his table. He looked up quizzically. Immediately, Vishwas dropped his stare to the contract in front of him, acting to read the same.

“I hope everything is in order?” asked Ajay. “Is there anything else that we can do?” he added, with an intent to convey that the meeting was all but over, and Vishwas should leave. When Vishwas didn’t budge or answer, Ajay said directly, “If you would excuse me, I will have to leave – the pooja down the road is about to begin. I have to attend it, though my wife should…” he rang a bell beneath his desk. “It becomes impossible to leave work mid-way, but sometimes one has to,” he murmured.

Vishwas understood the importance of work taking precedence over such things. He wondered if Pooja did too. “Sure, Mr Ranawat, I’ll take leave” began Vishwas, but was interrupted. A peon, in a white stained uniform, entered the room. Ajay pointed to the pile of files. The man took them away and dragged himself out of the office.

Vishwas reluctantly pulled himself up to go while his mind searched for a suitable excuse to convey Pooja in the conversation. After all, it was in years that she had asked him to do something, even if it was just a small message to be conveyed to her husband.

And then Vishwas found it – in the opening just cleared from the files, he noticed a small frame on the desk. It was Pooja’s photograph smiling in a light yellow dress. It looked as if it was taken at their home.

He nodded towards the photograph, “Bhabhiji…” he forced himself to bring the word out and let it trail, waiting for Ajay’s reaction. Strangely, and thankfully, Ajay didn’t take it as an intrusion of his privacy, which might have been more acceptable to Vishwas, since what he came up instead was a very fond look.

“Yes…Pooja, my wife,” answered Ajay, “She died in a car accident last year,” he added in an emotionless straight voice.

Ajay’s words knocked Vishwas like a solid punch on his solar plexus. Blood receded from his face, and he sat there eyeing Ajay blankly, his hand tightening the grip around Pooja’s earring in his pocket.

Outside, Vishwas stood in the rain watching Ajay leave towards the pandal down the road. Along side him, in the haze, he saw a faint peach reflection. She turned for a brief while to look at him – a look of deep love, but in the next instant she turned back to walk beside her husband into the shamiana, where the head-priest lit a lamp to the Goddess.

THE END

Special Thanks to Priyangini Mehta for editing the story.

The story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are imaginary, and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. State Bank of India is a well known government entity. Jagner, Agra, Delhi, Connaught Place etc are actual places.

Today morning, psychiatrist I heard Yaara seeli seeli for the umpteenth time -  a very satisfying and fulfilling number that is a As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, opisthorchiasis I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, website like this stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadnt done any post on Lataji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying. 

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!) 

My collectionMy urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off with a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya – with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice of purchase. 

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off with a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya – with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice of purchase. Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or ‘google’ search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs).  Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keeper’s goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated as I would ask for various names. 

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection – so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection. 

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I must admit it gave me a giddy high in just looking through album covers, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops. 

I recall how desperate I was when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna played out at a shop when she had gone shopping that day. Eagerly I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight of seeing the name of Lata Mangeshkar listed in all the songs was immeasurable. 

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe – and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag – definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself into the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun and Mohe chhedo na on my walkman! 

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years time. I made the best of the ‘clearance sale’ that the owners held. 

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two points – either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent was a great selection. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several ‘Anmol Rattan’ series that HMV had brought out on Lata Mangeshkar. When the money was lean, Bhaskar and I would split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other. 

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled ‘Lata-Songs from 1990-91’ that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman). 

When I started earning, a large part of it was invested in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi, by now! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system – and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever! 

I still recall the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD ‘Legends’ series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 – and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!! 

TravelAlongside music, my other interest is to travel and explore new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky enough to visit several of them in India. 

Alongside music, my other interest is to travel and explore new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky enough to visit several of them in India. Instead of buying some souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during one autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram there. 

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to the famous Manali hill-station in Himachal Pradesh. 

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar – I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!  

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka RajaOnce, a class-mate – who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel – told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with same title was constantly in news for its big budget and money spent. The classmate also mentioned that the music of the older film was by Shankar Jaikishan and had all songs by Lata Mangeshkar, which made my curiousity all the more strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films and bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Once, a class-mate – who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel – told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with same title was constantly in news for its big budget and money spent. The classmate also mentioned that the music of the older film was by Shankar Jaikishan and had all songs by Lata Mangeshkar, which made my curiousity all the more strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films and bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album. 

The soundtrack eluded me for several years. 

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops. 

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an ‘Archies’ kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement of that moment when I held the cassette in my hand. I still recall I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette and took it to the counter for paying the money – the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for! 

Bountiful Joys Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song ‘Neelaam ghar mein’ from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club there – a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place – it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group. 

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song ‘ from that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club there – a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place – it is like a small , with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group. Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I go looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching ‘Ek baat poochhti hoon’ when I was searching for a similar worded ‘Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon’ (Black Cat). 

Now, with the rampant usage of, internet finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort. 

Rare?! Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction. 

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction. These can be dividided into two categories – one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting digitized versions. 

In this, I have been aided by friends from the Yahoo Group – several have gifted me these songs, recognizing that my need for them is not because I am a ‘hoarder’ (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps these rare numbers for ‘selling’ purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi. 

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’. These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now – but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that one day they would be a treasure to behold. 

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav! 

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out – but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song – Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline, recently when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays). 

Last Saturday. 

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate to buy it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained ‘Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge’ from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram! 

Yet, Lata didi’s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi – since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan – which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us. 

One other such song is ‘Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon’ from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t give me any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film – Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me – and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it! 

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, I was immediately curious. The only hitch was that the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher.

But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this, but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. I was quite scared to note that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen was showing some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes of the film. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door from outside, forgetting that there was a sole patron sitting inside.

During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were still ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with lines of over-use visible. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, my only concern was that I should have come to the correct film, and that it would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would get to lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspect, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that looked live a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, so that there wasnt any chance of leaving immd. after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Latadi’s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good i was alone there!

The film had one interesting Shailendra Singh solo – ‘Shaayad woh mujhse pyaar karti hai, lekin zamaane se darrti hai’ and one okayish Asha Bhonsle- Mohd Aziz duet ‘Teri jawaani ka charcha karrti hai kudiyan gali gali’, and of course there was a Mithun-da dance number ‘Aage jo ho London mein wahi toh Ludhiane mein’

The film was a typical eighties potboiler, mindless, senseless, far removed from reality, larger than life, with many intertwining threads and themes, and essentially a bakwaas! The film stars Mithun Chakravorthy, Padmini Kolhapure, Rishi Kapoor, Mandakini, Shatrughan Sinha, Anita Raj, Amrish Puri, Gulshan Grover, Dilip Tahil and Seema Deo.

I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

Powered by Zoundry

Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

Powered by Zoundry

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

Powered by Zoundry

The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

Powered by Zoundry

The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

Powered by Zoundry

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

Powered by Zoundry

Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

Powered by Zoundry

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

Powered by Zoundry

Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

Powered by Zoundry

Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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Repeat of movie names is not a new phenomenon. And with the volume of our Hindi film industry’s output, there it sometimes becomes a necessity as well.

In the age of FM, the announcers (or better known as RJ’s) hardly inform the film’s names of the song playing, let alone any other detail. But when I grew up listening to the ever dependable Vividh Bharti, the entire music credits were often mentioned including the always sidelined lyricists’ names. Then, it used to be disappointing to hear for example – the announcer speak out the name of Mahal, only to hear a song from the newer one (starring Dev Anand).

Blame it on my penchant for old songs, usually I prefer the older titled film’s numbers. Here is a list of films that have had similar names – again in no specific order:

Barsaat – There are three of them that I know of: 1949 film, which skyrocketed Lata Mangeshkar ‘s career to the zenith of success, established Raj Kapoor as a director par excellence and introduced Shankar Jaikishan one of the finest composers ever, in my opinion; 1990’s version which was the debut for Twinkle Khanna and Bobby Deol, and had music by the then kings Nadeem Shravan; the new millennium film which also starred Bobby Deol and had same music composers, albeit now beyond their prime time. Unarguably, the music standard declined progressively with each era’s film. The first Barsaat had such beauties like Chhod gaye baalam, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan, Patli kamar hai and Hawa mein udta jaaye. The second one was quite above average, and I quite like Teri adaayon pe marrta huun and Humko sirrf tum se pyaar hai. The last Barsaat hardly has anything worthwhile to mention.

Andaz – Four of them! And the first three starred one member of the Kapoor khandaan. 1949- Raj Kapoor and Nargis whipped up the passion along with the thespian Dilip Kumar; Naushadsaab composed nuggets like Tu kahe agar jeevan bhar gaata jaaoon and Hum aaj kahiin dil kho baithe. And Latadi found a toe-hold in the industry, giving stiff competition to Shamshad Begum (who sang alongside her in Darrna mohabbat karle).

The second came in or around 1972 and it starred Shammi Kapoor in the lead, but the reigning superstar Rajesh Khanna’s vivacious guest appearance stole the thunder. Shankar Jaikishan composed the bumper hit Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana (often taken as Jaikishan’s swan song, though technically and factually it isn’t true).

1994 Andaz saw the Gennext from Kapoor family Karisma starring in this David Dhawan double-entendre laden remake of Sundar Kaandam. Bappi Lahiri commandeered the music room and gave us bloopers like Khada hai khada hai and Tu maal gaadi mai driver tera!

The fourth one is the most recent one with Akshay Kumar, but better known as the debuts for Priyanka and Lara raising the mercury in their tight and tiny clothes. Nadeem Shravan s music was just about bearable.

Chori Chori -Three films! The first one is the fifties comedy based on It Happened One Night. Raj Kapoor and Nargis the industry s First Romantic Pair tickled the funny bone. And Shankar Jaikishan s music was simply scintillating. Just look at the lavish fare they gave: the eternally romantic Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, the joie-de-vivre charged Panchhi banoon uddti phiroon, the chirrupy Jahan mai jaati hoon wahiin chale aate ho, the heart-wrenching Rasik balmaa dil kyun lagaya, the silly but nevertheless funny All line clear and the syrupy Aaja sanam madhur chaandni mein hum. In the seventies, there was one more Chori Chori again with compositions by Shankar Jaikishan, but I haven’t heard any number from this film.

The last Chori Chori is the Milan Luthria flop in the nineties starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukerji. Sajid-Wajid’s music was despondently dull.

Seema – Two, which I know of. The first is the exceptional social drama starring power-house performers Balraj Sahni and Nutan. Again, Shankar Jaikishan gave some shimmering melodies the serene prayer Tu pyaar ka saagar hai , the hurt Kahaan jaa raha hai, the classical Manmohana bade jhoote and the optimistic Baat baat mein rootho na. It also had one of my most favorite Latadi solo Suno chhotisi gudiya kii lambii kahanii. The second Seema came in the seventies and once again had music by Shankar Jaikishan. From this Rafisaab s Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai (penned by Gulzar) is exceptional.

Kathputli /Kattputli – I adore the music of the fifties version Bol ri kathputli dori kaun sang baandhi is such a marvelously magnificent number that I can hear it anytime; and a song that I fell in love with when I was a kid and had heard it on Chitrahaar. Once more, it was Shankar-Jaikishan’s creativity at its peak. And Latadi sounds so soft and sublime. There was another Kathhputli in the seventies as well, this time music by Kalyanji Anandji. Details not available with me. The last is a recent flick, produced by and starring Mink Singh, with a little twist in the title s spelling musically, it was a complete washout!

Karm/ Karam – The seventies film (starring Vidya Sinha and a rapidly losing popularity Rajesh Khanna) was an interesting critique on astrology. The music wasn t that great but Asha Bhonsle s Samay tu dheere dheere chal (with a sad version that went Samay tu jaldi jaldi chal) was a nice song. The newer Karam had the current poster boy John Abraham playing a hit-man. Musically, it was a zilch except for Alisha Chinai s effectively sung Tinka tinka zara zara.

Saajan – I grew up listening to Latadi s Saajan saajan pukaaroon galiyon mein, a typical Laxmikant Pyarelal ditty, picturised on Asha Parekh it was quite a staple on Chitrahaars. I haven’t yet seen this film. The second Saajan was a phenomenal hit, and Nadeem Shravan gave some hummable chart-busters. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Madhuri starred in this fluke Sudhakar Bokade love triangle hit.

Baharon Ki Manzil / Baharon Ke Manzil – Both the films are not very well known. And I have seen both! The first one stars Meena Kumari and is a whodunit. Laxmikant Pyarelal gave the music in which Lata Mangeshkar was the sole singer (no male songs in this film!), of which Nigaahen kyun bhatakti hai is quite well known. However, despite no Latadi, I find the second film s music really appaudable and better. Raamlaxman scored some excellent numbers in the voices of Poornima, Udit Narayan and Amit Kumar. Meri jaan dua karna is a towering duet with lip-smacking interludes and fine singing. The film was a miserable flop and was the debut for Mona Singh (in case you don t know her, she played the wet nurse in Mangle Panday oops, Mangal Panday).

Khel – I recall two of them. The first is a decent Anil-Madhuri 1992 film, directed by Rakesh Roshan, but unfortunately was a dampener at the box-office. The music by brother Rajesh Roshan was exceptionally good. Latadi‘s duet with Mohd. Aziz Khat likhna hai par sochti huun is a hot personal favorite. Sister Asha Bhonsle displayed immense vocal virtuosity in the cabaret number Ek baat maan lo tum (with a cutely reversed and suitably toned down bhajan version as well!). And Amit Kumar’s pathos-laden Soone shaam savere is superb (though having a pretty funny picturisation). The newer Khel (Suniel Shetty, Celina Jeitly) was a musical disaster.

There was the oldest Khel as well with music composed by Sajjad Hussain. Latadi‘s Jaate ho toh jaao is a heart-achingly beautiful number. [Thanks to Madhu for the tip]

Julie – Again, I recall two of them. The first is a musical hit. Bhool gayasab kuchh is an ardent love duet and Dil kya kare jab kisise kisiko pyaar ho jaaye builds up a zealous steam. The debut heroine Laxmi might have bloated to a shrill matron (Hulchul) and the hero Vikram is lost in the annals of cinematic history, but Rajesh Roshan’s score continues to be still dew drop fresh and is remembered fondly by music-lovers. The newer Julie is more known for Neha Dhupia s bare-dare act than for its songs, but I found Himesh Reshammiya’s score very mellifluous and deserving. Ae dil yeh bataa kyun hone laga is the best number, followed by Dhadkan ho gayii tumse aashna and Hum tumse dil laga baithe.

Waqt / Waqt Race Against Time – I admit I don’t like the older film s songs too much, though Ae meri zohra jabeen is a retro-hit, and a source of many-a-remix. The philosophical title song by Rafisaab Waqt ke din aur raat is , in my opinion, the best number. Let me not beat the bush, the rest of the songs by Ravi were marred by Asha Bhonsle’s voice, which in that era had assumed a strange phlegmatic thickness, which I don’t quite appreciate.

But cut to the present times and the newer film help! The raucous Anu Mallik warbled Do me a favor let s play holly {sic} no, no, no!!! God save my ears from this painful assault!

Aankhen – Four films but again the best music is from the two oldest version (that I know of). In 1950, Madan Mohan made his debut with Aankhen that had Mukesh’s Preet lagake maine yeh phal paaya. For some reason, Latadi couldn’t sing in this one, but MM didn’t make this an ego issue, and got her on-board with the next few films (Adaa , Madhosh) – and what a team it turned out to be!

In the second film, composer Ravi gave very melodious music in this Dharam-Mala Sinha thriller. Milti hai zindagi mein mohabbat kabhi kabhi and Gairon pe karam apnon pe sitam belong to my childhood memories and are firmly etched as beautiful songs. The nineties Aankhen was a super-duper Govinda-David Dhawan combine hit; Bappi Lahiri s score was strictly functional and in sync with the film’s mood. Laal dupatte waali tera naam toh bata was the biggest hit from this film.

The fourth Aankhen (starring Amitabh Bachhan and a posse of supporting cast) hardly had any song worth mentioning – unless you prefer tepid tapori numbers like Phatela jeb sil jaayega!

Charas – After Aankhen, this is another Ramanand Sagar-Dharamendra combination thriller whose name got stolen. In the seventies film, Laxmikant Pyarelal whipped up a frenzy with the naughtily vivacious Kal ki haseen mulaqaat ke liye (Lata-Kishore) and the tranquil Ke aaja teri yaad aayi (Lata-Rafi-Anand Bakshi). There were other good numbers too Raja na jaa (Lata) and Mai ladki badnaam ho gayii (Lata). The newer film by Tigmanshu Dhulia was a cropper where music was concerned. I haven t heard a single good song from this film.

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja – Shankar Jaikishan’s music in the older film (Dev Anand- Waheeda Rahman) was a delight. Latadi s Tum toh dil ke taar chhed kar is pure gold (with a tandem by Hemant Kumar), and the title song is quintessential S-J. Cut to the nineties film, and L-P try hard to match their senior s orchestral wizardry, but only end up with a cacophonous din. Add to this Kavita Krishnamoorthy’s shrill singing and the consequence is highly distasteful. Incidentally, both the films were huge flops!

Masoom – Now who can ever forget Gulzar s introspective lyrics in Tujhse naraaz nahii zindagi set to a terrific tune by R D Burman? Flash forward a couple of decades, and Ayesha Julka-Indra Kumar starrer is an ugly blot to the older film s title. It s only when one comes across such blasphemous use of older titles that one wishes there was a legislation stopping the re-cycling of the titles!

Golmaal – Latadi sounds ethereal in Ek baat kahuun gar maano tum, and Kishoreda makes us think in Aane waala pal jaane waala hai. Hrishida kept the funny bone forever tickled in this moustache-mania. It is a sin to even mention the recent gol-maul in the same breath as the older film. Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are just no-where remotely close to Panchamda s skill.

Geet – Kalyanji Anandji created an extraordinary love duet Mere mitwa mere meet re in the older film starring Rajendra Kumar and Mala Sinha. And then there was Latadi consoling tenderly Tere naina kyun neer bahaaye. Zoom to the nineties, and Latadi still held control in the newer Divya Bharti film, with Aap jo mere meet na hote. Regrettfully, the rest of this Bappi Lahiri album didn t have any other geet worth remembering.

Diwana / Deewana – The former is a slightly less known Raj Kapoor film with a bouquet of incredibly fragrant Mukesh melodies, composed by Shankar Jaikishan. The fare includes the bagpiper blast Taaron se pyaare armaan hamaare (Aana hi hoga tujhe aana hi hoga), the spectacularly plush Hum toh jaate apni gaaon, the brilliant Tumhari bhi jai jai humaari bhi jai jai, the lavish title song Diwana mujhko log kahein and the thought provoking Pate kii baat kahega kahega jab bhi deewana. Absolutely A-class music having flawless rhythm, interludes and singing! The second film is the nineties one, and brought current box-office badshah Shahrukh Khan into limelight. The music by Nadeem Shravan, though not matching SJ s work, is very respectable and I am very fond of Teri ummeed tera intezaar karte hain and the title song.

Dhanwaan – The criminally neglected Hridayanath Mangeshkar composed a chocolaty sweet duet Yeh aankhen dekh kar hum saari duniya bhool jaatein hain for the seventies Rajesh Khanna starrer (though picturised on Reena Roy and Rakesh Roshan). In the nineties, Anand Milind gave an energetically charged Holi song Rang di rang di preet ne rang di.

[Update on 29.01.07]

Milan – Three that I recall. The first one was in the fifties with music by Hansraj Bahl. Latadi plucked the heartstrings with Haaye jeeya roye. However, it was some two decades later that Laxmikant Pyarelal scorched the charts and stomped the hearts with bumper hits like the celebratory Bol gori bol tera kaun piya, the Madan Mohanesque Aaj dil pe koii zor chalta nahi, the melodious Saawan ka mahina pawan kare sor and the monumental Hum tum yug yug se geet milan ke – stuff that legends are made of, and remembered for yug yug! But a few more decades down the line Anand Milind’s vapid score in Mahesh Bhatt’s flop Jackie-Manisha starrer by the same name couldn’t last beyond the month the film was released in, leave alone a yug!

Gumnaam – Shankar Jaikishan gave haunting melodies in the old Agatha Christie-inspired film. Turn the century, and Nadeem Shravann come up with haunted wrecks in the lying-in-cans Dino Morea starrer. In the old film, Rafi’s Jaan pehchaan ho and Hum kaale hai toh kya hua kept the charts rocking and rolling, while Latadi‘s title number raised the goosebumps. Helen gave the requisite glamor with Iss duniya mein jeena ho toh sunlo meri baat.

Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya – I remember two films : in the first one, erstwhile Madan Mohan assistants Sonik Omi composed some sublime beauties, which bordered on their mentor’s style. While Suman Kalyanpur got the touching title song, Latadi bagged the best and the most splendid solo – Aaja re pyaar pukaare naina toh ro ro haare. More than three decades later, Latadi was still there in the newer film (Govinda, Tabu in a remake of Ramesh Talwar’s Doosra Aadmi) serenading Uttam Singh’s fluffy orchestra in Saare shahar mein charcha yeh aam ho gaya. Sadly, the rest of the score (by Aadesh Srivastava) was just average.

Saathi – I have no clue about the first one, which had music by Gulshan Soofi, lyrics by Wali Sahab and songs sung by Shamshad Begum. However, I have strong memories of the second one. Naushadsaab went western in sound with this Simi Garewal-Rajendra Kumar-Vyjanthimala film, which had the awesome Mere jeevan saathi kali thii main toh pyaasi in Latadi’s soft-as-silk voice. Then there was Yeh kaun aaya roshan ho gayi mehfil jiske naam se , Mai toh pyaar se tere piya and Aaina hoon mai tera! Mukesh and Suman Kalyanpur created romance and rhythm with Mera pyaar bhi tu hai yeh bahaar bhi tu hai. A very sensible score, indeed. Which is what I personally feel about the newest Saathi as well. Inspite of Anuradha Paudwal’s pathetic pronunciations, Saathi koii bhoola yaad aaya and Aaj hum tum o sanam are decent compositions (by Nadeem Shravan).

Guru – The older Guru starred Mithun Chakraborthy as well – at that time, in the lead role, with his then love interest Sridevi. Their ‘kiss’ at that time created quite a flurry, equivalent to the present day Guru‘s heroine’s lip lock with Hrithik in Dhoom-2. The older movie had some typical eighties cacophonous Bappi Lahiri music with songs where the heroine profoundly proclaimed I am a bad girl.But don’t hasten to write off the film just yet – because Bappida also surprised all with a very sensitive love duet Jaiiyo na jaiiyo na humse door sajan jaiiyo na (Lata Mangeshkar-Shailendra Singh). And linking up with the new age Guru is another common thread: Bappi-da returns as a playback singer for the tipsy but enjoyable number Ek lo ek muft! [Thanks to Anz for the tip]

Bees Saal Baad – After a serious bout of throat problem, which nearly rendered Lataji voice-less, she returned to the studios with a bang, hitting the soul directly with the call that defines ‘horror’ film genre songs in Kahiin deep jale kahiin dil. The song is so irrevocably stamped in every music lover’s psyche that it is impossible to imagine that there could be a newer film by the same name. But, there was! Mithun Chakraborty and Meenakshi Sheshadri tried to raise the spooks again, with Dimple floating in white amidst haunted havelis singing in a horrifying Anuradha Paudwal’s voice Kitne saawan beet gaye.

Jurmana – Hrishikesh Mukherjee created two very sensitive films with the trio of Vinod Mehra-Amitabh-Raakhi. Of these two, Bemisaal is the more known one. But Jurmana had its own strengths. One of which was RD Burman’s music. Latadi got two magnificent solos – Chhoti si ek kali khili thi and the better known Saawan ke jhoole pade. The new Jurmana is a TLV Prasadh- Mithun Chakroborty combined B-grade flick, with mu-sick by Dilip Sen Sameer Sen.

Boyfriend – The older film is a lesser known Shankar Jaikishan film, wherein Latadi did the coquettish Aise na jaao o beraham (with an ultra cute Aadab arz hai thrown in between). The newer film has the in-your-face Jatin Lalit composition Kahdo toh duniya mein aaj baja doon band!

Samundar – Three of them – the first one had music by S.Purushottam, but I have not heard any songs from this film (reportedly with songs by Asha Bhonsle). It is the second one that interests me a lot. Madan Mohan composed the classically handsome Lata Mangeshkar solo Chain nahin aaye kahan dil jaaye – in this, her rendition of the leitmotif sajanwa ho balamwa ho is exceedingly enchanting. Another fascinating solo by the diva was Aaja kahiin se aaja mere dil ka qaraar leke. Jump decades, and Latadi continued to regale under Panchamda’s baton for Rahul Rawail’s Sunny Deol-Poonam Deol film. The peppy Ae saagar kii lahron hum bhii aatein hai thehro (with Kishoreda) was the highlight song. Asha Bhonsle whipped up a creamy lather in the sensuous Yeh rang-e-mehfil badal raha hai, and Kishore Kumar naughtily charmed with Yeh kori karaari kanwaari nazar. Another unsung eighties RD Burman score, which needs to be resurrected.

Elaan– Again, three that I know of. In the seventies, Vinod Mehra starred with a podgy and dusky Rekha in this FC Mehra production about ‘invisible man’ (yes, the idea was used way before Mr. India). Shankar Jaikishan’s music didn’t cut much ice with music lovers, but there is a cute charm in Sharda’s Aath ko aath se jama karo and the duet Aap ki raay mere baare mein kya hai. In the nineties, Akshay Kumar and Madhoo romped on screen to Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s risque Tu ru tu ru kahan se karuun main pyaar shuru. But the biggest delight in this film was Lata Mangeshkar’s breath-taking Naino ko baatein karne do – a mature and mellow duet with Kumar Sanu, which had shades of L-P’s Badalte Rishtey song Meri saanson ko jo mahka rahii hai! The last Elaan is a boring Vikram Bhatt film starring Arjun Rampal, Rahul Khanna and Lara Dutta. The music had some Anu Mallik monstroties like Aandarlu baandalru, et al.

Kartavya – L-P were at their peak in 1979, when they composed the sultry and sizzling solo Doorie na rahein koi aaj itne kareeb aao, sung splendidly by Lata Mangeshkar and picturised on the verge-of-blooming Rekha. Other solos by her included Koii aayega and Chhaila babu tu kaisa dildaar nikla. In the newer film, the perpetually wooden Sanjay Kapoor starred opposite Juhi Chawla. Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s music was good, but just about so.

Hawas – Saawan Kumar’s take on lust consisted of Mohd. Rafi’s towering solo Teri galiyon mein na rakhenge qadam. The newer Hawas (Meghna Naidu in yet another Unfaithful remake) had two good songs – Mai yun miloon tujhe and Tera naam leke marne lenge.

[Update on 31.01.07]

Shola Aur Shabnam – In the old black-and-white film Latadi and Rafisaab sweetly acknowledged hesitant love in Jeet hi lenge baazi hum tum, under Khayyam’s baton. The song is one of the most shimmering duets from this prolific but perfect pair. Leap-forward, and in the nineties we have Govinda croaking Gore gore under Bappi Lahiri’s tutelage. What a comedown! I haven’t seen the older film, but the newer one was, otherwise, a typical David Dhawan dhamaal, with lots of slapstick humor in the first half, and ‘action-packed’ emotions in the second one.

Mohabbat – I don’t have any idea about the first Mohabbat, made by Phani Majumdar, starring the Marathi doyen Shanta Apte. However, the second one is part of my growing up years, and I will,this once, root for the much-maligned composer Bappi Lahiri. Largely for two beautiful songs in the Anil-Vijeta starrer: Kishoreda’s Saanson se nahin kadmon se nahin and Latadi’s Naina yeh barse milne ko tarse. The nineties version has Akshaye-Madhur-Sanjay Kapoor in a trite love triangle, with not-so-brilliant score by Nadeem Shravan. Worse, they blindly aped Stereo Nation’s Don’t break my heart – the original of which was in any case running simultaneously on the charts.

Chor Machaye Shor – Le jaayenge le jaayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge is a cult number, a very peppy and unlikely number from Ravindra Jain. The spectre of this mammoth melody loomed so large that Jatin Lalit confessed that they couldn’t come up with a better number when they did Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Kishore Kumar tugged the heart with Ghoongroo ki tarah bajta hi raha hun ( a song, which I recall reading, he had confessed looked easy, but was otherwise tough to sing). Skip decades, and we have Vinod Rathod and Anuradha Sriram locking tonsils in the terribly written Tum Tata ho ya Birla, under Anu Mallik’s command, in the David Dhawan flop by the same name.

Loafer – When Rafisaab languidly remarked Aaj mausam bada baimaan hai, the clouds drooped in appreciation; the warm L-P melody hugs you with its sensuous allure. In the newer version, we had to content with Anand Milind’s atrocities like Aao karein hum tum kahiin nain-matakka. However, from this Anil-Juhi starrer, the number Teri tirchhi nazar mein hai jaadoo was very catchy and likeable.

Love Marriage – Now what to say of this outstandingly magnificent Shankar Jaikishan score! Every song is the most supreme aural delight, tickling the heart, touching the soul, stirring the hips and hugging the lips. From the romantically romantic Dheere dheere chal chaand gagan mein to the bashful Kahe jhoom jhoom raat yeh suhani to the playful Dil se dil takraaye to the cutting critque of Teen kanastar peet peet kar gala phaar ke chillana, every number is a well polished pearl. However, the same cannot be said about L-P’s boring music in the eighties film of the same name. In this sort of sex-comedy (wherein the lovers are desperate to consummate their marriage), the only number that could be said average is the title number.

Dastak– Quality peaked when Madan Mohan sored. And in Dastak even he surpassed his own tough standards. This small budget Sanjeev Kumar-Rehana Sultana film had a big score. Lataji was ever the heart and soul – her solos Baiyyan na dharo, Hum hai mata-e-kucha-o-bazaar ki tarah and Maai ri main kaase kahuun rank amongst the best from her own mammoth ouvre. And Rafisaab did his own bit in the almost whispered Tum se kahuun ek baat paron si halki. This is an album that you can keep on listening without tiring even once. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Rajesh Roshan’s music in Sushmita Sen’s debut film, carrying the same title. Even though Rajesh Roshan’s score cannot be really termed ‘bad’ (and I quite like Abhijeet’s Tumhe kaise yeh bataaon and Alka’s Pal beet gaya yeh pal), but it cannot match up to the standards set by Madan Mohan!

Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai – Now this is one title where I can strongly say I love both the scores equally well. While S-J gave their own stamp with the frisky Jiya ho jiya kuchh bol do, Jatin Lalit held their own with the frothy O jaana na jaana yeh dil tera deewana.

Anari – Three of them, again – and like Andaaz, with some scion of Kapoor khandaan starring in them! But the most famous musically is, of course, the Shankar-Jaikishan one, starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. Released in 1959, it boasted of such phenomenal songs like Tera jaana dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana, Sab kuchh seekha humne na seekhi hoshiyari, Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, Woh chaand khila woh taare hanse and Dil ki nazar se. The second Anari starred brother Shashi Kapoor, but was a total washout. Music was by Laxmikant Pyarelal, but not a single song seems to have survived. The last Anari had Karisma Kapoor alongside South India superstar Venkatesh. Anand Milind’s music had one good number: Kya mausam aaya hai.

Junoon – Three, once more – and in quite a short span of time. The first is the seventies Shyam Benegal classic based on Ruskin Bond’s Flight of Pigeons. As a art-house movie, it didn’t have music the way we understand it in films, but Vanraj Bhatia’s Phir aayi kaari ghata matwaari was nice. The second Junoon was Mahesh Bhatt’s disastrous horror (more horrifying) film starring his daughter Pooja with his protege Rahul Roy and the wooden Avinash Wadhawan. This early nineties flick comprised of some ‘Gulshan Kumar-type’ music by Nadeem Shravan, with Anuradha Paudwal hogging all the limelight. Still, I would say the music was good – and O meri dilruba tu dil ke kareeb hai is a song that I love immensely. The last Junoon is a super-flop Shilpa Shetty starrer, released in 2002. Adesh Srivastava composed the score.

Lawaaris – Agreed that Kalyanji Anandji’s music in the Amitabh starrer can hardly be termed ‘great’. Yet, because of the overall cult status surrounding Big B movies of that time, we all remember the songs like Kaahe paise pe itna guroor kare ho, Apni toh jaise taise and that super-hit fun-filled number Mere angne mein tumhara kya kaam hai. In 1999, there was one more Lawaaris, and this time the score was handled by another seventies composer – Rajesh Roshan, but there wasn’t any strength in it. The film and the music were miserable flops.

Vishwaasghaat – I admit I am not aware of RD Burman’s music in the seventies Mahesh Bhatt film (Kabir Bedi, Shabana Azmi). But I am simply, madly and crazily in love with Shyam Surender’s score in the nineties flop (Suniel Shetty, Anjali Jathar) having the same name. Lata Mangeshkar sang four songs in this one and each is a complete beauty : the best is a solo Intezaar hai tera intezaar hai – an even paced song, with neat arrangements. The duet Yeh dil kyun dhadakta hai is fast but not furious. It has a loveable rhythm. Unfortunately, the music was released on a now-defunct music company, and perhaps is lost forever. I have a surviving audio cassette, and like to listen to it quite often.

Chaalbaaz – Obviously, Sridevi’s film in the eighties is a better known one. The twin-sisters-separated-at-birth saga inspired from Ram aur Shyam/Seeta aur Geeta was an absolute entertainer. However, I don’t like its loud music (Laxmikant Pyarelal). For that, I would turn to Madan Mohan’s posthumously released small-budget flop. It’s tour-de-force was Latadi’s Raat ujiyaari din andheraa tu jo sajan nahin mera hai. Jaaiye humse khafaa ho jaayiye was another wonderful song. In the fifties, there was one more film having same name, starring Nirupa Roy, but I don’t have any idea about it.

Rajkumar – Another name whereby L-P hopelessly botched up the score, and couldn’t live up to the high standards set by Shankar Jaikishan in the sixties Shammi Kapoor film. The older film had the terrific Aaja aayi bahaar, the steamy Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa and the energetic Jaane waalon zara hoshiyar, alongwith the now-almost-a-maxim Tumne pukara hum chale aaye. And the new one? Well, Payal meri tumko bulati was okayish, but I’d any day prefer to listen to the older one.

Suhaagan – Four of them – with two starring Mala Sinha-Guru Dutt! The first is a 1942 film – details unavailable. The second one released in 1954, and starred Mala Sinha. Again, I am not too aware about Vasant Desai / C Ramachandra’s music. Exactly a decade later, in 1964, Mala Sinha acted as yet another Suhaagan (once more with Guru Dutt) and this is the whose music I have. Rafisaab’s Tu mere saamne hai is a great melody, alongwith Bheegi chandni chhayi bekhudi aaja daal de baahon mein baahon ka haar. But the most remembered number is Latadi‘s Tum hi to meri pooja ho. The last Suhaagan is an eighties tearjerker starring Jeetu-Sridevi. Bappi Lahiri composed the music, and though the words slip me, it had one nice duet by Latadi.

Patita – Two films: in the fifties one Shankar Jaikishan gave great music; the duet Yaad kiya dil ne kahan ho tum is a hot romantic favorite till date, and Mitti se khelte ho baar baar kis liye was heart-wrenching. S-J also composed the most optimistic number Kisi ne mujhko apna bana ke muskurana sikha diya in Latadi‘s voice. Two decades later, Latadi was again at her sun-shine best in another happy number Baithe baithe aaj aayi mere mann ko (composed by Bappi Lahiri).

[Update on 02.02.07]

Karz / Karz -The Burden of Truth – The theme music strummed its way into your hearts – never mind if it was copied. Latadi and Kishoreda, well past their fifties, tucked their tongues firmly in cheek and giggled Mai solah baras ki/Mai satarah baras ka; Asha Bhonsle and Kishoreda raised the storm with Ek haseena thi ek deewana tha – unarguably, Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in Subhash Ghai’s take on Reincarnation of Peter Proud was an immense hit. The newer one (Sanjeev Darshan) was – like the illogical tagline – burdensome and cumbersome score!

Talaash – Remember Rajendra Kumar questioning a wide eyed Sharmila Tagore with Palkon ke peeche se kya tumne kah daala phir se toh farmaana? Spice it up more with the folksy Khai hai rah humne qasam sang rahne kii and the sparkling choral riff of Aaj ko juneli raat ma. And we had a stupendous SD Burman score. The magic was hopelessly lost in Sanjeev Darshan’s score in the newer Akshay Kumar -Karisma starrer.

Saudagar – The new generation danced to the remix of Sajna hai mujhe sajna ke liye. And the older generation loved Tera mera saath rahe. The film was a sensitive and sensible one. In the new one, the budget was upped and the screen widened, but the music didn’t lose its charm. Teri yaad aati hai is a towering duet, and one of the finest from Laxmikant Pyarelal. The common link in both was Lata Mangeshkar’s effusive voice.

Kaali Ghata – The first is a fifties Kishore Sahu film, music by Shankar Jaikishan. The centerpoint of the album was Latadi’s Humse na poochho koi pyaar kya pyaar kya hai. Other pleasures included Madhur milan hai and Ille belle aare. The newer one is not so new – early eighties. And starred Rekha and Shashi Kapoor. I recall only one song – the two part title song Kaali ghata chhayi prem rut aayi, aayi aayi aayi teri yaad aayi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal. Nice song.

Baazigar / Bazigar – Believe it or faint, there are actually four of them! The first came as early as 1938 and starred Trilok Kapoor. Other details unavailable – music could be by Gyan Dutt. The next was a Nirupa Roy starrer, though again the details are not too forthcoming on this one. I suspect this is the one that has music by Chitragupt. The next one released in 1972, probably with music by Sapan Jagmohan. (Details awaited from readers). The last one is, however, the most known one which spiralled Shah Rukh Khan’s career to a dizzying height. Anu Mallik gave some nice tunes.

[Courtesy – Madhu and Juneli, for pointing out to some titles featured in the updates]

Now on to the films which are essentially legendary stories or based on the same literary source, hence forced to have same title:

Devdas – I love the newer film, but prefer the songs of the older one. S D Burman’s composition in the Dilip Kumar version had such shimmering beauties like Jisse tu qabool kar le and O aane waale. In between, there was another version that never got completed, but Latadi’s Ku hu kuh bole koyaliya is outstanding.

Sohni Mahiwal – I think there are more, but I recall two versions strongly. One, is a fifties film with music by Naushadsaab, and was (IIRC) the debut for singer Mahendra Kapoor (Chand chhupa taare doobe raat gazab kii aayii). He got the theme song, while the lion’s share went to Rafisaab. However, it is Latadidi‘s Tumhare sang mai bhi chaluungi and her duet with Rafisaab Aane waale ko aana hoga, jaane waale ko jaana hoga that are the most luminescent numbers. Overall, the music is wonderful.

However, the eighties version (Sunny Deol and Poonam Dhillon) is in my honest opinion an extremely interesting score, composed by a still-struggling Annu Mallik. In this, Anupama Deshpande won the Filmfare Best Singer Award for Sohni chenaab de kinaare. However, it was otherwise Asha Bhonsle s film, and songs like Sohni sohni meri sohni aur nahi koi honi , Bol do meethe bol sohniye and Mujhe dulhe ka sehra gaane do are steeped in Punjabi ethos, have hummable tunes, and hold pleasurable interlude music. (I love Annu Mallik’s music from this era perhaps will do a separate post on this someday).

I have yet to hear the songs of the oldest film by the same name that had music by Lal Mohammad and songs by Zohrabai Ambalewali and G M Durrani, amongst others.

Heer Ranjha – Nothing, absolutely nothing, can surpass the melodies created by the ingenious Madan Mohan in the older version (which I suspect is the middle version ). From the near whisper intonations of Meri duniya mein tum aayi to the pain lashed Do dil toote do dil haare to the effervescent Milo na tum toh hum ghabraaye to the truth-seeking Yeh duniya yeh mehfil mere kaam ki nahi – each composition is a nugget to be savored, to be enjoyed and to immerse in its deep richness. The newer film had a horribly made up Anil Kapoor romancing the talented but ill-cast Sridevi with Rab ne banaya tujhe mere liye under Laxmikant Pyarelal s musical direction. But, clearly they were past their prime. And this Latadi-Anwar duet is the only good song in the entire album.

Umrao Jaan – I have said enough here

Don – Uh oh! Too bad that they had to remix and recycle Kalyanji Anandji’s original score (which in any case wouldn t ever get placed in the top best of the duo). Still, as a stand-alone, the old film s Arre diwaanon and Jiska mujhe tha intezaar are nice numbers. And Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana was a rocking item number when the phrase hadn’t even been created. There was a Mithun starrer The Don as well, but let’s not even talk about it!

Taj Mahal – Despite veteran Naushad at the helm of the affairs, the new film’s music was very ordinary. Music afficiandos will never forget Roshan’s luminous score that included Paaon chhoo lene do, Jo waada kiya and Jurm e ulfat pe humein log sazaa denge.

[This is an open post, and titles will be added to it as and when I remember them or get inputs from readers. Three updates available above]

Related readings – Lata Mangeshkar and Debut Heroines, Madan Mohan and Lata Mangeshkar

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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Repeat of movie names is not a new phenomenon. And with the volume of our Hindi film industry’s output, there it sometimes becomes a necessity as well.

In the age of FM, the announcers (or better known as RJ’s) hardly inform the film’s names of the song playing, let alone any other detail. But when I grew up listening to the ever dependable Vividh Bharti, the entire music credits were often mentioned including the always sidelined lyricists’ names. Then, it used to be disappointing to hear for example – the announcer speak out the name of Mahal, only to hear a song from the newer one (starring Dev Anand).

Blame it on my penchant for old songs, usually I prefer the older titled film’s numbers. Here is a list of films that have had similar names – again in no specific order:

Barsaat – There are three of them that I know of: 1949 film, which skyrocketed Lata Mangeshkar ‘s career to the zenith of success, established Raj Kapoor as a director par excellence and introduced Shankar Jaikishan one of the finest composers ever, in my opinion; 1990’s version which was the debut for Twinkle Khanna and Bobby Deol, and had music by the then kings Nadeem Shravan; the new millennium film which also starred Bobby Deol and had same music composers, albeit now beyond their prime time. Unarguably, the music standard declined progressively with each era’s film. The first Barsaat had such beauties like Chhod gaye baalam, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan, Patli kamar hai and Hawa mein udta jaaye. The second one was quite above average, and I quite like Teri adaayon pe marrta huun and Humko sirrf tum se pyaar hai. The last Barsaat hardly has anything worthwhile to mention.

Andaz – Four of them! And the first three starred one member of the Kapoor khandaan. 1949- Raj Kapoor and Nargis whipped up the passion along with the thespian Dilip Kumar; Naushadsaab composed nuggets like Tu kahe agar jeevan bhar gaata jaaoon and Hum aaj kahiin dil kho baithe. And Latadi found a toe-hold in the industry, giving stiff competition to Shamshad Begum (who sang alongside her in Darrna mohabbat karle).

The second came in or around 1972 and it starred Shammi Kapoor in the lead, but the reigning superstar Rajesh Khanna’s vivacious guest appearance stole the thunder. Shankar Jaikishan composed the bumper hit Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana (often taken as Jaikishan’s swan song, though technically and factually it isn’t true).

1994 Andaz saw the Gennext from Kapoor family Karisma starring in this David Dhawan double-entendre laden remake of Sundar Kaandam. Bappi Lahiri commandeered the music room and gave us bloopers like Khada hai khada hai and Tu maal gaadi mai driver tera!

The fourth one is the most recent one with Akshay Kumar, but better known as the debuts for Priyanka and Lara raising the mercury in their tight and tiny clothes. Nadeem Shravan s music was just about bearable.

Chori Chori -Three films! The first one is the fifties comedy based on It Happened One Night. Raj Kapoor and Nargis the industry s First Romantic Pair tickled the funny bone. And Shankar Jaikishan s music was simply scintillating. Just look at the lavish fare they gave: the eternally romantic Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, the joie-de-vivre charged Panchhi banoon uddti phiroon, the chirrupy Jahan mai jaati hoon wahiin chale aate ho, the heart-wrenching Rasik balmaa dil kyun lagaya, the silly but nevertheless funny All line clear and the syrupy Aaja sanam madhur chaandni mein hum. In the seventies, there was one more Chori Chori again with compositions by Shankar Jaikishan, but I haven’t heard any number from this film.

The last Chori Chori is the Milan Luthria flop in the nineties starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukerji. Sajid-Wajid’s music was despondently dull.

Seema – Two, which I know of. The first is the exceptional social drama starring power-house performers Balraj Sahni and Nutan. Again, Shankar Jaikishan gave some shimmering melodies the serene prayer Tu pyaar ka saagar hai , the hurt Kahaan jaa raha hai, the classical Manmohana bade jhoote and the optimistic Baat baat mein rootho na. It also had one of my most favorite Latadi solo Suno chhotisi gudiya kii lambii kahanii. The second Seema came in the seventies and once again had music by Shankar Jaikishan. From this Rafisaab s Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai (penned by Gulzar) is exceptional.

Kathputli /Kattputli – I adore the music of the fifties version Bol ri kathputli dori kaun sang baandhi is such a marvelously magnificent number that I can hear it anytime; and a song that I fell in love with when I was a kid and had heard it on Chitrahaar. Once more, it was Shankar-Jaikishan’s creativity at its peak. And Latadi sounds so soft and sublime. There was another Kathhputli in the seventies as well, this time music by Kalyanji Anandji. Details not available with me. The last is a recent flick, produced by and starring Mink Singh, with a little twist in the title s spelling musically, it was a complete washout!

Karm/ Karam – The seventies film (starring Vidya Sinha and a rapidly losing popularity Rajesh Khanna) was an interesting critique on astrology. The music wasn t that great but Asha Bhonsle s Samay tu dheere dheere chal (with a sad version that went Samay tu jaldi jaldi chal) was a nice song. The newer Karam had the current poster boy John Abraham playing a hit-man. Musically, it was a zilch except for Alisha Chinai s effectively sung Tinka tinka zara zara.

Saajan – I grew up listening to Latadi s Saajan saajan pukaaroon galiyon mein, a typical Laxmikant Pyarelal ditty, picturised on Asha Parekh it was quite a staple on Chitrahaars. I haven’t yet seen this film. The second Saajan was a phenomenal hit, and Nadeem Shravan gave some hummable chart-busters. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Madhuri starred in this fluke Sudhakar Bokade love triangle hit.

Baharon Ki Manzil / Baharon Ke Manzil – Both the films are not very well known. And I have seen both! The first one stars Meena Kumari and is a whodunit. Laxmikant Pyarelal gave the music in which Lata Mangeshkar was the sole singer (no male songs in this film!), of which Nigaahen kyun bhatakti hai is quite well known. However, despite no Latadi, I find the second film s music really appaudable and better. Raamlaxman scored some excellent numbers in the voices of Poornima, Udit Narayan and Amit Kumar. Meri jaan dua karna is a towering duet with lip-smacking interludes and fine singing. The film was a miserable flop and was the debut for Mona Singh (in case you don t know her, she played the wet nurse in Mangle Panday oops, Mangal Panday).

Khel – I recall two of them. The first is a decent Anil-Madhuri 1992 film, directed by Rakesh Roshan, but unfortunately was a dampener at the box-office. The music by brother Rajesh Roshan was exceptionally good. Latadi‘s duet with Mohd. Aziz Khat likhna hai par sochti huun is a hot personal favorite. Sister Asha Bhonsle displayed immense vocal virtuosity in the cabaret number Ek baat maan lo tum (with a cutely reversed and suitably toned down bhajan version as well!). And Amit Kumar’s pathos-laden Soone shaam savere is superb (though having a pretty funny picturisation). The newer Khel (Suniel Shetty, Celina Jeitly) was a musical disaster.

There was the oldest Khel as well with music composed by Sajjad Hussain. Latadi‘s Jaate ho toh jaao is a heart-achingly beautiful number. [Thanks to Madhu for the tip]

Julie – Again, I recall two of them. The first is a musical hit. Bhool gayasab kuchh is an ardent love duet and Dil kya kare jab kisise kisiko pyaar ho jaaye builds up a zealous steam. The debut heroine Laxmi might have bloated to a shrill matron (Hulchul) and the hero Vikram is lost in the annals of cinematic history, but Rajesh Roshan’s score continues to be still dew drop fresh and is remembered fondly by music-lovers. The newer Julie is more known for Neha Dhupia s bare-dare act than for its songs, but I found Himesh Reshammiya’s score very mellifluous and deserving. Ae dil yeh bataa kyun hone laga is the best number, followed by Dhadkan ho gayii tumse aashna and Hum tumse dil laga baithe.

Waqt / Waqt Race Against Time – I admit I don’t like the older film s songs too much, though Ae meri zohra jabeen is a retro-hit, and a source of many-a-remix. The philosophical title song by Rafisaab Waqt ke din aur raat is , in my opinion, the best number. Let me not beat the bush, the rest of the songs by Ravi were marred by Asha Bhonsle’s voice, which in that era had assumed a strange phlegmatic thickness, which I don’t quite appreciate.

But cut to the present times and the newer film help! The raucous Anu Mallik warbled Do me a favor let s play holly {sic} no, no, no!!! God save my ears from this painful assault!

Aankhen – Four films but again the best music is from the two oldest version (that I know of). In 1950, Madan Mohan made his debut with Aankhen that had Mukesh’s Preet lagake maine yeh phal paaya. For some reason, Latadi couldn’t sing in this one, but MM didn’t make this an ego issue, and got her on-board with the next few films (Adaa , Madhosh) – and what a team it turned out to be!

In the second film, composer Ravi gave very melodious music in this Dharam-Mala Sinha thriller. Milti hai zindagi mein mohabbat kabhi kabhi and Gairon pe karam apnon pe sitam belong to my childhood memories and are firmly etched as beautiful songs. The nineties Aankhen was a super-duper Govinda-David Dhawan combine hit; Bappi Lahiri s score was strictly functional and in sync with the film’s mood. Laal dupatte waali tera naam toh bata was the biggest hit from this film.

The fourth Aankhen (starring Amitabh Bachhan and a posse of supporting cast) hardly had any song worth mentioning – unless you prefer tepid tapori numbers like Phatela jeb sil jaayega!

Charas – After Aankhen, this is another Ramanand Sagar-Dharamendra combination thriller whose name got stolen. In the seventies film, Laxmikant Pyarelal whipped up a frenzy with the naughtily vivacious Kal ki haseen mulaqaat ke liye (Lata-Kishore) and the tranquil Ke aaja teri yaad aayi (Lata-Rafi-Anand Bakshi). There were other good numbers too Raja na jaa (Lata) and Mai ladki badnaam ho gayii (Lata). The newer film by Tigmanshu Dhulia was a cropper where music was concerned. I haven t heard a single good song from this film.

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja – Shankar Jaikishan’s music in the older film (Dev Anand- Waheeda Rahman) was a delight. Latadi s Tum toh dil ke taar chhed kar is pure gold (with a tandem by Hemant Kumar), and the title song is quintessential S-J. Cut to the nineties film, and L-P try hard to match their senior s orchestral wizardry, but only end up with a cacophonous din. Add to this Kavita Krishnamoorthy’s shrill singing and the consequence is highly distasteful. Incidentally, both the films were huge flops!

Masoom – Now who can ever forget Gulzar s introspective lyrics in Tujhse naraaz nahii zindagi set to a terrific tune by R D Burman? Flash forward a couple of decades, and Ayesha Julka-Indra Kumar starrer is an ugly blot to the older film s title. It s only when one comes across such blasphemous use of older titles that one wishes there was a legislation stopping the re-cycling of the titles!

Golmaal – Latadi sounds ethereal in Ek baat kahuun gar maano tum, and Kishoreda makes us think in Aane waala pal jaane waala hai. Hrishida kept the funny bone forever tickled in this moustache-mania. It is a sin to even mention the recent gol-maul in the same breath as the older film. Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are just no-where remotely close to Panchamda s skill.

Geet – Kalyanji Anandji created an extraordinary love duet Mere mitwa mere meet re in the older film starring Rajendra Kumar and Mala Sinha. And then there was Latadi consoling tenderly Tere naina kyun neer bahaaye. Zoom to the nineties, and Latadi still held control in the newer Divya Bharti film, with Aap jo mere meet na hote. Regrettfully, the rest of this Bappi Lahiri album didn t have any other geet worth remembering.

Diwana / Deewana – The former is a slightly less known Raj Kapoor film with a bouquet of incredibly fragrant Mukesh melodies, composed by Shankar Jaikishan. The fare includes the bagpiper blast Taaron se pyaare armaan hamaare (Aana hi hoga tujhe aana hi hoga), the spectacularly plush Hum toh jaate apni gaaon, the brilliant Tumhari bhi jai jai humaari bhi jai jai, the lavish title song Diwana mujhko log kahein and the thought provoking Pate kii baat kahega kahega jab bhi deewana. Absolutely A-class music having flawless rhythm, interludes and singing! The second film is the nineties one, and brought current box-office badshah Shahrukh Khan into limelight. The music by Nadeem Shravan, though not matching SJ s work, is very respectable and I am very fond of Teri ummeed tera intezaar karte hain and the title song.

Dhanwaan – The criminally neglected Hridayanath Mangeshkar composed a chocolaty sweet duet Yeh aankhen dekh kar hum saari duniya bhool jaatein hain for the seventies Rajesh Khanna starrer (though picturised on Reena Roy and Rakesh Roshan). In the nineties, Anand Milind gave an energetically charged Holi song Rang di rang di preet ne rang di.

[Update on 29.01.07]

Milan – Three that I recall. The first one was in the fifties with music by Hansraj Bahl. Latadi plucked the heartstrings with Haaye jeeya roye. However, it was some two decades later that Laxmikant Pyarelal scorched the charts and stomped the hearts with bumper hits like the celebratory Bol gori bol tera kaun piya, the Madan Mohanesque Aaj dil pe koii zor chalta nahi, the melodious Saawan ka mahina pawan kare sor and the monumental Hum tum yug yug se geet milan ke – stuff that legends are made of, and remembered for yug yug! But a few more decades down the line Anand Milind’s vapid score in Mahesh Bhatt’s flop Jackie-Manisha starrer by the same name couldn’t last beyond the month the film was released in, leave alone a yug!

Gumnaam – Shankar Jaikishan gave haunting melodies in the old Agatha Christie-inspired film. Turn the century, and Nadeem Shravann come up with haunted wrecks in the lying-in-cans Dino Morea starrer. In the old film, Rafi’s Jaan pehchaan ho and Hum kaale hai toh kya hua kept the charts rocking and rolling, while Latadi‘s title number raised the goosebumps. Helen gave the requisite glamor with Iss duniya mein jeena ho toh sunlo meri baat.

Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya – I remember two films : in the first one, erstwhile Madan Mohan assistants Sonik Omi composed some sublime beauties, which bordered on their mentor’s style. While Suman Kalyanpur got the touching title song, Latadi bagged the best and the most splendid solo – Aaja re pyaar pukaare naina toh ro ro haare. More than three decades later, Latadi was still there in the newer film (Govinda, Tabu in a remake of Ramesh Talwar’s Doosra Aadmi) serenading Uttam Singh’s fluffy orchestra in Saare shahar mein charcha yeh aam ho gaya. Sadly, the rest of the score (by Aadesh Srivastava) was just average.

Saathi – I have no clue about the first one, which had music by Gulshan Soofi, lyrics by Wali Sahab and songs sung by Shamshad Begum. However, I have strong memories of the second one. Naushadsaab went western in sound with this Simi Garewal-Rajendra Kumar-Vyjanthimala film, which had the awesome Mere jeevan saathi kali thii main toh pyaasi in Latadi’s soft-as-silk voice. Then there was Yeh kaun aaya roshan ho gayi mehfil jiske naam se , Mai toh pyaar se tere piya and Aaina hoon mai tera! Mukesh and Suman Kalyanpur created romance and rhythm with Mera pyaar bhi tu hai yeh bahaar bhi tu hai. A very sensible score, indeed. Which is what I personally feel about the newest Saathi as well. Inspite of Anuradha Paudwal’s pathetic pronunciations, Saathi koii bhoola yaad aaya and Aaj hum tum o sanam are decent compositions (by Nadeem Shravan).

Guru – The older Guru starred Mithun Chakraborthy as well – at that time, in the lead role, with his then love interest Sridevi. Their ‘kiss’ at that time created quite a flurry, equivalent to the present day Guru‘s heroine’s lip lock with Hrithik in Dhoom-2. The older movie had some typical eighties cacophonous Bappi Lahiri music with songs where the heroine profoundly proclaimed I am a bad girl.But don’t hasten to write off the film just yet – because Bappida also surprised all with a very sensitive love duet Jaiiyo na jaiiyo na humse door sajan jaiiyo na (Lata Mangeshkar-Shailendra Singh). And linking up with the new age Guru is another common thread: Bappi-da returns as a playback singer for the tipsy but enjoyable number Ek lo ek muft! [Thanks to Anz for the tip]

Bees Saal Baad – After a serious bout of throat problem, which nearly rendered Lataji voice-less, she returned to the studios with a bang, hitting the soul directly with the call that defines ‘horror’ film genre songs in Kahiin deep jale kahiin dil. The song is so irrevocably stamped in every music lover’s psyche that it is impossible to imagine that there could be a newer film by the same name. But, there was! Mithun Chakraborty and Meenakshi Sheshadri tried to raise the spooks again, with Dimple floating in white amidst haunted havelis singing in a horrifying Anuradha Paudwal’s voice Kitne saawan beet gaye.

Jurmana – Hrishikesh Mukherjee created two very sensitive films with the trio of Vinod Mehra-Amitabh-Raakhi. Of these two, Bemisaal is the more known one. But Jurmana had its own strengths. One of which was RD Burman’s music. Latadi got two magnificent solos – Chhoti si ek kali khili thi and the better known Saawan ke jhoole pade. The new Jurmana is a TLV Prasadh- Mithun Chakroborty combined B-grade flick, with mu-sick by Dilip Sen Sameer Sen.

Boyfriend – The older film is a lesser known Shankar Jaikishan film, wherein Latadi did the coquettish Aise na jaao o beraham (with an ultra cute Aadab arz hai thrown in between). The newer film has the in-your-face Jatin Lalit composition Kahdo toh duniya mein aaj baja doon band!

Samundar – Three of them – the first one had music by S.Purushottam, but I have not heard any songs from this film (reportedly with songs by Asha Bhonsle). It is the second one that interests me a lot. Madan Mohan composed the classically handsome Lata Mangeshkar solo Chain nahin aaye kahan dil jaaye – in this, her rendition of the leitmotif sajanwa ho balamwa ho is exceedingly enchanting. Another fascinating solo by the diva was Aaja kahiin se aaja mere dil ka qaraar leke. Jump decades, and Latadi continued to regale under Panchamda’s baton for Rahul Rawail’s Sunny Deol-Poonam Deol film. The peppy Ae saagar kii lahron hum bhii aatein hai thehro (with Kishoreda) was the highlight song. Asha Bhonsle whipped up a creamy lather in the sensuous Yeh rang-e-mehfil badal raha hai, and Kishore Kumar naughtily charmed with Yeh kori karaari kanwaari nazar. Another unsung eighties RD Burman score, which needs to be resurrected.

Elaan– Again, three that I know of. In the seventies, Vinod Mehra starred with a podgy and dusky Rekha in this FC Mehra production about ‘invisible man’ (yes, the idea was used way before Mr. India). Shankar Jaikishan’s music didn’t cut much ice with music lovers, but there is a cute charm in Sharda’s Aath ko aath se jama karo and the duet Aap ki raay mere baare mein kya hai. In the nineties, Akshay Kumar and Madhoo romped on screen to Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s risque Tu ru tu ru kahan se karuun main pyaar shuru. But the biggest delight in this film was Lata Mangeshkar’s breath-taking Naino ko baatein karne do – a mature and mellow duet with Kumar Sanu, which had shades of L-P’s Badalte Rishtey song Meri saanson ko jo mahka rahii hai! The last Elaan is a boring Vikram Bhatt film starring Arjun Rampal, Rahul Khanna and Lara Dutta. The music had some Anu Mallik monstroties like Aandarlu baandalru, et al.

Kartavya – L-P were at their peak in 1979, when they composed the sultry and sizzling solo Doorie na rahein koi aaj itne kareeb aao, sung splendidly by Lata Mangeshkar and picturised on the verge-of-blooming Rekha. Other solos by her included Koii aayega and Chhaila babu tu kaisa dildaar nikla. In the newer film, the perpetually wooden Sanjay Kapoor starred opposite Juhi Chawla. Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s music was good, but just about so.

Hawas – Saawan Kumar’s take on lust consisted of Mohd. Rafi’s towering solo Teri galiyon mein na rakhenge qadam. The newer Hawas (Meghna Naidu in yet another Unfaithful remake) had two good songs – Mai yun miloon tujhe and Tera naam leke marne lenge.

[Update on 31.01.07]

Shola Aur Shabnam – In the old black-and-white film Latadi and Rafisaab sweetly acknowledged hesitant love in Jeet hi lenge baazi hum tum, under Khayyam’s baton. The song is one of the most shimmering duets from this prolific but perfect pair. Leap-forward, and in the nineties we have Govinda croaking Gore gore under Bappi Lahiri’s tutelage. What a comedown! I haven’t seen the older film, but the newer one was, otherwise, a typical David Dhawan dhamaal, with lots of slapstick humor in the first half, and ‘action-packed’ emotions in the second one.

Mohabbat – I don’t have any idea about the first Mohabbat, made by Phani Majumdar, starring the Marathi doyen Shanta Apte. However, the second one is part of my growing up years, and I will,this once, root for the much-maligned composer Bappi Lahiri. Largely for two beautiful songs in the Anil-Vijeta starrer: Kishoreda’s Saanson se nahin kadmon se nahin and Latadi’s Naina yeh barse milne ko tarse. The nineties version has Akshaye-Madhur-Sanjay Kapoor in a trite love triangle, with not-so-brilliant score by Nadeem Shravan. Worse, they blindly aped Stereo Nation’s Don’t break my heart – the original of which was in any case running simultaneously on the charts.

Chor Machaye Shor – Le jaayenge le jaayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge is a cult number, a very peppy and unlikely number from Ravindra Jain. The spectre of this mammoth melody loomed so large that Jatin Lalit confessed that they couldn’t come up with a better number when they did Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Kishore Kumar tugged the heart with Ghoongroo ki tarah bajta hi raha hun ( a song, which I recall reading, he had confessed looked easy, but was otherwise tough to sing). Skip decades, and we have Vinod Rathod and Anuradha Sriram locking tonsils in the terribly written Tum Tata ho ya Birla, under Anu Mallik’s command, in the David Dhawan flop by the same name.

Loafer – When Rafisaab languidly remarked Aaj mausam bada baimaan hai, the clouds drooped in appreciation; the warm L-P melody hugs you with its sensuous allure. In the newer version, we had to content with Anand Milind’s atrocities like Aao karein hum tum kahiin nain-matakka. However, from this Anil-Juhi starrer, the number Teri tirchhi nazar mein hai jaadoo was very catchy and likeable.

Love Marriage – Now what to say of this outstandingly magnificent Shankar Jaikishan score! Every song is the most supreme aural delight, tickling the heart, touching the soul, stirring the hips and hugging the lips. From the romantically romantic Dheere dheere chal chaand gagan mein to the bashful Kahe jhoom jhoom raat yeh suhani to the playful Dil se dil takraaye to the cutting critque of Teen kanastar peet peet kar gala phaar ke chillana, every number is a well polished pearl. However, the same cannot be said about L-P’s boring music in the eighties film of the same name. In this sort of sex-comedy (wherein the lovers are desperate to consummate their marriage), the only number that could be said average is the title number.

Dastak– Quality peaked when Madan Mohan sored. And in Dastak even he surpassed his own tough standards. This small budget Sanjeev Kumar-Rehana Sultana film had a big score. Lataji was ever the heart and soul – her solos Baiyyan na dharo, Hum hai mata-e-kucha-o-bazaar ki tarah and Maai ri main kaase kahuun rank amongst the best from her own mammoth ouvre. And Rafisaab did his own bit in the almost whispered Tum se kahuun ek baat paron si halki. This is an album that you can keep on listening without tiring even once. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Rajesh Roshan’s music in Sushmita Sen’s debut film, carrying the same title. Even though Rajesh Roshan’s score cannot be really termed ‘bad’ (and I quite like Abhijeet’s Tumhe kaise yeh bataaon and Alka’s Pal beet gaya yeh pal), but it cannot match up to the standards set by Madan Mohan!

Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai – Now this is one title where I can strongly say I love both the scores equally well. While S-J gave their own stamp with the frisky Jiya ho jiya kuchh bol do, Jatin Lalit held their own with the frothy O jaana na jaana yeh dil tera deewana.

Anari – Three of them, again – and like Andaaz, with some scion of Kapoor khandaan starring in them! But the most famous musically is, of course, the Shankar-Jaikishan one, starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. Released in 1959, it boasted of such phenomenal songs like Tera jaana dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana, Sab kuchh seekha humne na seekhi hoshiyari, Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, Woh chaand khila woh taare hanse and Dil ki nazar se. The second Anari starred brother Shashi Kapoor, but was a total washout. Music was by Laxmikant Pyarelal, but not a single song seems to have survived. The last Anari had Karisma Kapoor alongside South India superstar Venkatesh. Anand Milind’s music had one good number: Kya mausam aaya hai.

Junoon – Three, once more – and in quite a short span of time. The first is the seventies Shyam Benegal classic based on Ruskin Bond’s Flight of Pigeons. As a art-house movie, it didn’t have music the way we understand it in films, but Vanraj Bhatia’s Phir aayi kaari ghata matwaari was nice. The second Junoon was Mahesh Bhatt’s disastrous horror (more horrifying) film starring his daughter Pooja with his protege Rahul Roy and the wooden Avinash Wadhawan. This early nineties flick comprised of some ‘Gulshan Kumar-type’ music by Nadeem Shravan, with Anuradha Paudwal hogging all the limelight. Still, I would say the music was good – and O meri dilruba tu dil ke kareeb hai is a song that I love immensely. The last Junoon is a super-flop Shilpa Shetty starrer, released in 2002. Adesh Srivastava composed the score.

Lawaaris – Agreed that Kalyanji Anandji’s music in the Amitabh starrer can hardly be termed ‘great’. Yet, because of the overall cult status surrounding Big B movies of that time, we all remember the songs like Kaahe paise pe itna guroor kare ho, Apni toh jaise taise and that super-hit fun-filled number Mere angne mein tumhara kya kaam hai. In 1999, there was one more Lawaaris, and this time the score was handled by another seventies composer – Rajesh Roshan, but there wasn’t any strength in it. The film and the music were miserable flops.

Vishwaasghaat – I admit I am not aware of RD Burman’s music in the seventies Mahesh Bhatt film (Kabir Bedi, Shabana Azmi). But I am simply, madly and crazily in love with Shyam Surender’s score in the nineties flop (Suniel Shetty, Anjali Jathar) having the same name. Lata Mangeshkar sang four songs in this one and each is a complete beauty : the best is a solo Intezaar hai tera intezaar hai – an even paced song, with neat arrangements. The duet Yeh dil kyun dhadakta hai is fast but not furious. It has a loveable rhythm. Unfortunately, the music was released on a now-defunct music company, and perhaps is lost forever. I have a surviving audio cassette, and like to listen to it quite often.

Chaalbaaz – Obviously, Sridevi’s film in the eighties is a better known one. The twin-sisters-separated-at-birth saga inspired from Ram aur Shyam/Seeta aur Geeta was an absolute entertainer. However, I don’t like its loud music (Laxmikant Pyarelal). For that, I would turn to Madan Mohan’s posthumously released small-budget flop. It’s tour-de-force was Latadi’s Raat ujiyaari din andheraa tu jo sajan nahin mera hai. Jaaiye humse khafaa ho jaayiye was another wonderful song. In the fifties, there was one more film having same name, starring Nirupa Roy, but I don’t have any idea about it.

Rajkumar – Another name whereby L-P hopelessly botched up the score, and couldn’t live up to the high standards set by Shankar Jaikishan in the sixties Shammi Kapoor film. The older film had the terrific Aaja aayi bahaar, the steamy Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa and the energetic Jaane waalon zara hoshiyar, alongwith the now-almost-a-maxim Tumne pukara hum chale aaye. And the new one? Well, Payal meri tumko bulati was okayish, but I’d any day prefer to listen to the older one.

Suhaagan – Four of them – with two starring Mala Sinha-Guru Dutt! The first is a 1942 film – details unavailable. The second one released in 1954, and starred Mala Sinha. Again, I am not too aware about Vasant Desai / C Ramachandra’s music. Exactly a decade later, in 1964, Mala Sinha acted as yet another Suhaagan (once more with Guru Dutt) and this is the whose music I have. Rafisaab’s Tu mere saamne hai is a great melody, alongwith Bheegi chandni chhayi bekhudi aaja daal de baahon mein baahon ka haar. But the most remembered number is Latadi‘s Tum hi to meri pooja ho. The last Suhaagan is an eighties tearjerker starring Jeetu-Sridevi. Bappi Lahiri composed the music, and though the words slip me, it had one nice duet by Latadi.

Patita – Two films: in the fifties one Shankar Jaikishan gave great music; the duet Yaad kiya dil ne kahan ho tum is a hot romantic favorite till date, and Mitti se khelte ho baar baar kis liye was heart-wrenching. S-J also composed the most optimistic number Kisi ne mujhko apna bana ke muskurana sikha diya in Latadi‘s voice. Two decades later, Latadi was again at her sun-shine best in another happy number Baithe baithe aaj aayi mere mann ko (composed by Bappi Lahiri).

[Update on 02.02.07]

Karz / Karz -The Burden of Truth – The theme music strummed its way into your hearts – never mind if it was copied. Latadi and Kishoreda, well past their fifties, tucked their tongues firmly in cheek and giggled Mai solah baras ki/Mai satarah baras ka; Asha Bhonsle and Kishoreda raised the storm with Ek haseena thi ek deewana tha – unarguably, Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in Subhash Ghai’s take on Reincarnation of Peter Proud was an immense hit. The newer one (Sanjeev Darshan) was – like the illogical tagline – burdensome and cumbersome score!

Talaash – Remember Rajendra Kumar questioning a wide eyed Sharmila Tagore with Palkon ke peeche se kya tumne kah daala phir se toh farmaana? Spice it up more with the folksy Khai hai rah humne qasam sang rahne kii and the sparkling choral riff of Aaj ko juneli raat ma. And we had a stupendous SD Burman score. The magic was hopelessly lost in Sanjeev Darshan’s score in the newer Akshay Kumar -Karisma starrer.

Saudagar – The new generation danced to the remix of Sajna hai mujhe sajna ke liye. And the older generation loved Tera mera saath rahe. The film was a sensitive and sensible one. In the new one, the budget was upped and the screen widened, but the music didn’t lose its charm. Teri yaad aati hai is a towering duet, and one of the finest from Laxmikant Pyarelal. The common link in both was Lata Mangeshkar’s effusive voice.

Kaali Ghata – The first is a fifties Kishore Sahu film, music by Shankar Jaikishan. The centerpoint of the album was Latadi’s Humse na poochho koi pyaar kya pyaar kya hai. Other pleasures included Madhur milan hai and Ille belle aare. The newer one is not so new – early eighties. And starred Rekha and Shashi Kapoor. I recall only one song – the two part title song Kaali ghata chhayi prem rut aayi, aayi aayi aayi teri yaad aayi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal. Nice song.

Baazigar / Bazigar – Believe it or faint, there are actually four of them! The first came as early as 1938 and starred Trilok Kapoor. Other details unavailable – music could be by Gyan Dutt. The next was a Nirupa Roy starrer, though again the details are not too forthcoming on this one. I suspect this is the one that has music by Chitragupt. The next one released in 1972, probably with music by Sapan Jagmohan. (Details awaited from readers). The last one is, however, the most known one which spiralled Shah Rukh Khan’s career to a dizzying height. Anu Mallik gave some nice tunes.

[Courtesy – Madhu and Juneli, for pointing out to some titles featured in the updates]

Now on to the films which are essentially legendary stories or based on the same literary source, hence forced to have same title:

Devdas – I love the newer film, but prefer the songs of the older one. S D Burman’s composition in the Dilip Kumar version had such shimmering beauties like Jisse tu qabool kar le and O aane waale. In between, there was another version that never got completed, but Latadi’s Ku hu kuh bole koyaliya is outstanding.

Sohni Mahiwal – I think there are more, but I recall two versions strongly. One, is a fifties film with music by Naushadsaab, and was (IIRC) the debut for singer Mahendra Kapoor (Chand chhupa taare doobe raat gazab kii aayii). He got the theme song, while the lion’s share went to Rafisaab. However, it is Latadidi‘s Tumhare sang mai bhi chaluungi and her duet with Rafisaab Aane waale ko aana hoga, jaane waale ko jaana hoga that are the most luminescent numbers. Overall, the music is wonderful.

However, the eighties version (Sunny Deol and Poonam Dhillon) is in my honest opinion an extremely interesting score, composed by a still-struggling Annu Mallik. In this, Anupama Deshpande won the Filmfare Best Singer Award for Sohni chenaab de kinaare. However, it was otherwise Asha Bhonsle s film, and songs like Sohni sohni meri sohni aur nahi koi honi , Bol do meethe bol sohniye and Mujhe dulhe ka sehra gaane do are steeped in Punjabi ethos, have hummable tunes, and hold pleasurable interlude music. (I love Annu Mallik’s music from this era perhaps will do a separate post on this someday).

I have yet to hear the songs of the oldest film by the same name that had music by Lal Mohammad and songs by Zohrabai Ambalewali and G M Durrani, amongst others.

Heer Ranjha – Nothing, absolutely nothing, can surpass the melodies created by the ingenious Madan Mohan in the older version (which I suspect is the middle version ). From the near whisper intonations of Meri duniya mein tum aayi to the pain lashed Do dil toote do dil haare to the effervescent Milo na tum toh hum ghabraaye to the truth-seeking Yeh duniya yeh mehfil mere kaam ki nahi – each composition is a nugget to be savored, to be enjoyed and to immerse in its deep richness. The newer film had a horribly made up Anil Kapoor romancing the talented but ill-cast Sridevi with Rab ne banaya tujhe mere liye under Laxmikant Pyarelal s musical direction. But, clearly they were past their prime. And this Latadi-Anwar duet is the only good song in the entire album.

Umrao Jaan – I have said enough here

Don – Uh oh! Too bad that they had to remix and recycle Kalyanji Anandji’s original score (which in any case wouldn t ever get placed in the top best of the duo). Still, as a stand-alone, the old film s Arre diwaanon and Jiska mujhe tha intezaar are nice numbers. And Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana was a rocking item number when the phrase hadn’t even been created. There was a Mithun starrer The Don as well, but let’s not even talk about it!

Taj Mahal – Despite veteran Naushad at the helm of the affairs, the new film’s music was very ordinary. Music afficiandos will never forget Roshan’s luminous score that included Paaon chhoo lene do, Jo waada kiya and Jurm e ulfat pe humein log sazaa denge.

[This is an open post, and titles will be added to it as and when I remember them or get inputs from readers. Three updates available above]

Related readings – Lata Mangeshkar and Debut Heroines, Madan Mohan and Lata Mangeshkar

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Film Review

Sidharth (Salaam Namaste) Anand moves a step ahead in his craft. Tara Rum Pum, view while retaining all the gloss and glamour associated with Yash Raj Films, infertility is essentially a human story, viagra 100mg narrated in a gracious and genuine way. An absorbing film, Tara Rum Pum keeps the flame of human spirit burning with the warm oil of compassion, concern and candor.

The story revolves around a car race driver (Saif Ali Khan), who meets a severe accident on the tracks. Alongwith the car, his confidence crashes and amongst the debris are his ruined career and the acrid smoke of ruthless cash crunch. His family rallies around him, but he has several lessons yet to learn, and they form the crux of the second half. Of course, keeping in mind Bollywood sensibilities, the story starts right from the beginning where he meets the disciplined and dedicated piano student (Rani Mukerji looking plump yet ravishing in mini-skirts) in a series of – what else? – accidents.

The script is uncluttered, and progresses neatly, adding details here and there that make up the luxurious whole. It imparts a lesson in saving for the rainy day , without being grossly didactic or preachy. The dialogues are crisp. The second half is less humorous, but not heavy; though personally I feel this takes away the punch; and the piercing pain doesn’t cut pitilessly into the heart. Perhaps, a better idea would have been to go whole out in the melodrama, peeling off the gloss and allowing the scenario to be as barren and grim as the walls of the house the family is force to shift in. But Anand prefers to go by the neo-modern grammar, keeping in check any excesses, yet pointing out pretty clearly that the family is in big trouble. Some portions do manage to moisten the eyes, though – for example, Rani playing at boring birthday parties and then packing off the foodstuff for her kids.

A big triumph are the car racing scenes (and they are plentiful), which hold their own individuality without looking duplicated or boring. The last one stirs your adrelanin. (Actually, the film in the last half-hour is stunning!)

Binod Pradhan scores another home-run this year with his camera work (after the painstakingly beautiful Eklavya). The car race scenes are deftly shot, without confusing the viewer. New York is captured in a bright colorful mosaic. The film is well edited, though judging by the audience reaction in the theater, the interval could have been upped a bit, but that’s being overtly finicky. I am deliberately not venturing into the Reader’s Don’t Digest kind of bloopers – I am sure they will be eventually listed out in a magazine that wears the serious-looking dress over its patchy petticoat.

Vishal-Shekhar’s melodious musical score is the most surprising aspect. Frankly, my expectations were very low. But the music is shimmering and sensational. While Shreya Ghoshal’s stupendous solo Ho agar koii gham toh (Ta ra ra rum tararum pum) envelops you in its inspirational and affectionate hug, Vishal Dadlani’s heart-wrenching part-Sufi-ish, part-Junoon-ish Ek banjaara iktaare pe (Saaiyaan) squeezes a tear from the eyes. Both the songs are winners, and have beautiful interludes. Nachle ve taps your feet to dancing and the title song delights. Javed Akhtar’s lyrics are great and Anand uses the music judiciously. Salim-Suleiman’s background score gels with the film’s theme.

Both Rani Mukerji and Saif Ali Khan give honest performances. But Javed Jaafri convincingly steals the show; no extraneous antics; simple clean and cut acting that hits the bull’s eye! The supporting cast supports adequately (and no, there aren’t any surprise appearance, and none by Abhishek Bachchan!). The kids endear. (Master Ali last stole our hearts in Fanaa, and here he effortlessly repeats the feat).

Tara Rum Pum retrieves Yash Raj Films (and producer and mastermind Aditya Chopra’s) lost reputation as sincere filmmakers providing good family entertainment. Of late, their films had been all gloss and no soul, with a one-point mission of raking in the moolah and satisfying the NRI urge of connecting with India without actually showing the country. True, the film is set in NY, and they still eye that sector avidly; true, there is all the glamor (designer house, designer profession, designer dresses, et al); but then the film is basically about human triumph, so all the strappings hardly matter. Plus, the locale or the lustre don’t overshadow the content; it’s an achievement where shine and story co-exist harmoniously! And yes, watch it with your family without being embarrassed one bit: no unnecessary kisses or any faaltu skin-show!

Overall – An Entertaining & Enjoyable Family Outing Film- Watch It!

Technorati : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Tara Rum Pum, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films
Del.icio.us : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

Powered by Zoundry

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

Powered by Zoundry

The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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Repeat of movie names is not a new phenomenon. And with the volume of our Hindi film industry’s output, there it sometimes becomes a necessity as well.

In the age of FM, the announcers (or better known as RJ’s) hardly inform the film’s names of the song playing, let alone any other detail. But when I grew up listening to the ever dependable Vividh Bharti, the entire music credits were often mentioned including the always sidelined lyricists’ names. Then, it used to be disappointing to hear for example – the announcer speak out the name of Mahal, only to hear a song from the newer one (starring Dev Anand).

Blame it on my penchant for old songs, usually I prefer the older titled film’s numbers. Here is a list of films that have had similar names – again in no specific order:

Barsaat – There are three of them that I know of: 1949 film, which skyrocketed Lata Mangeshkar ‘s career to the zenith of success, established Raj Kapoor as a director par excellence and introduced Shankar Jaikishan one of the finest composers ever, in my opinion; 1990’s version which was the debut for Twinkle Khanna and Bobby Deol, and had music by the then kings Nadeem Shravan; the new millennium film which also starred Bobby Deol and had same music composers, albeit now beyond their prime time. Unarguably, the music standard declined progressively with each era’s film. The first Barsaat had such beauties like Chhod gaye baalam, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan, Patli kamar hai and Hawa mein udta jaaye. The second one was quite above average, and I quite like Teri adaayon pe marrta huun and Humko sirrf tum se pyaar hai. The last Barsaat hardly has anything worthwhile to mention.

Andaz – Four of them! And the first three starred one member of the Kapoor khandaan. 1949- Raj Kapoor and Nargis whipped up the passion along with the thespian Dilip Kumar; Naushadsaab composed nuggets like Tu kahe agar jeevan bhar gaata jaaoon and Hum aaj kahiin dil kho baithe. And Latadi found a toe-hold in the industry, giving stiff competition to Shamshad Begum (who sang alongside her in Darrna mohabbat karle).

The second came in or around 1972 and it starred Shammi Kapoor in the lead, but the reigning superstar Rajesh Khanna’s vivacious guest appearance stole the thunder. Shankar Jaikishan composed the bumper hit Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana (often taken as Jaikishan’s swan song, though technically and factually it isn’t true).

1994 Andaz saw the Gennext from Kapoor family Karisma starring in this David Dhawan double-entendre laden remake of Sundar Kaandam. Bappi Lahiri commandeered the music room and gave us bloopers like Khada hai khada hai and Tu maal gaadi mai driver tera!

The fourth one is the most recent one with Akshay Kumar, but better known as the debuts for Priyanka and Lara raising the mercury in their tight and tiny clothes. Nadeem Shravan s music was just about bearable.

Chori Chori -Three films! The first one is the fifties comedy based on It Happened One Night. Raj Kapoor and Nargis the industry s First Romantic Pair tickled the funny bone. And Shankar Jaikishan s music was simply scintillating. Just look at the lavish fare they gave: the eternally romantic Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, the joie-de-vivre charged Panchhi banoon uddti phiroon, the chirrupy Jahan mai jaati hoon wahiin chale aate ho, the heart-wrenching Rasik balmaa dil kyun lagaya, the silly but nevertheless funny All line clear and the syrupy Aaja sanam madhur chaandni mein hum. In the seventies, there was one more Chori Chori again with compositions by Shankar Jaikishan, but I haven’t heard any number from this film.

The last Chori Chori is the Milan Luthria flop in the nineties starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukerji. Sajid-Wajid’s music was despondently dull.

Seema – Two, which I know of. The first is the exceptional social drama starring power-house performers Balraj Sahni and Nutan. Again, Shankar Jaikishan gave some shimmering melodies the serene prayer Tu pyaar ka saagar hai , the hurt Kahaan jaa raha hai, the classical Manmohana bade jhoote and the optimistic Baat baat mein rootho na. It also had one of my most favorite Latadi solo Suno chhotisi gudiya kii lambii kahanii. The second Seema came in the seventies and once again had music by Shankar Jaikishan. From this Rafisaab s Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai (penned by Gulzar) is exceptional.

Kathputli /Kattputli – I adore the music of the fifties version Bol ri kathputli dori kaun sang baandhi is such a marvelously magnificent number that I can hear it anytime; and a song that I fell in love with when I was a kid and had heard it on Chitrahaar. Once more, it was Shankar-Jaikishan’s creativity at its peak. And Latadi sounds so soft and sublime. There was another Kathhputli in the seventies as well, this time music by Kalyanji Anandji. Details not available with me. The last is a recent flick, produced by and starring Mink Singh, with a little twist in the title s spelling musically, it was a complete washout!

Karm/ Karam – The seventies film (starring Vidya Sinha and a rapidly losing popularity Rajesh Khanna) was an interesting critique on astrology. The music wasn t that great but Asha Bhonsle s Samay tu dheere dheere chal (with a sad version that went Samay tu jaldi jaldi chal) was a nice song. The newer Karam had the current poster boy John Abraham playing a hit-man. Musically, it was a zilch except for Alisha Chinai s effectively sung Tinka tinka zara zara.

Saajan – I grew up listening to Latadi s Saajan saajan pukaaroon galiyon mein, a typical Laxmikant Pyarelal ditty, picturised on Asha Parekh it was quite a staple on Chitrahaars. I haven’t yet seen this film. The second Saajan was a phenomenal hit, and Nadeem Shravan gave some hummable chart-busters. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Madhuri starred in this fluke Sudhakar Bokade love triangle hit.

Baharon Ki Manzil / Baharon Ke Manzil – Both the films are not very well known. And I have seen both! The first one stars Meena Kumari and is a whodunit. Laxmikant Pyarelal gave the music in which Lata Mangeshkar was the sole singer (no male songs in this film!), of which Nigaahen kyun bhatakti hai is quite well known. However, despite no Latadi, I find the second film s music really appaudable and better. Raamlaxman scored some excellent numbers in the voices of Poornima, Udit Narayan and Amit Kumar. Meri jaan dua karna is a towering duet with lip-smacking interludes and fine singing. The film was a miserable flop and was the debut for Mona Singh (in case you don t know her, she played the wet nurse in Mangle Panday oops, Mangal Panday).

Khel – I recall two of them. The first is a decent Anil-Madhuri 1992 film, directed by Rakesh Roshan, but unfortunately was a dampener at the box-office. The music by brother Rajesh Roshan was exceptionally good. Latadi‘s duet with Mohd. Aziz Khat likhna hai par sochti huun is a hot personal favorite. Sister Asha Bhonsle displayed immense vocal virtuosity in the cabaret number Ek baat maan lo tum (with a cutely reversed and suitably toned down bhajan version as well!). And Amit Kumar’s pathos-laden Soone shaam savere is superb (though having a pretty funny picturisation). The newer Khel (Suniel Shetty, Celina Jeitly) was a musical disaster.

There was the oldest Khel as well with music composed by Sajjad Hussain. Latadi‘s Jaate ho toh jaao is a heart-achingly beautiful number. [Thanks to Madhu for the tip]

Julie – Again, I recall two of them. The first is a musical hit. Bhool gayasab kuchh is an ardent love duet and Dil kya kare jab kisise kisiko pyaar ho jaaye builds up a zealous steam. The debut heroine Laxmi might have bloated to a shrill matron (Hulchul) and the hero Vikram is lost in the annals of cinematic history, but Rajesh Roshan’s score continues to be still dew drop fresh and is remembered fondly by music-lovers. The newer Julie is more known for Neha Dhupia s bare-dare act than for its songs, but I found Himesh Reshammiya’s score very mellifluous and deserving. Ae dil yeh bataa kyun hone laga is the best number, followed by Dhadkan ho gayii tumse aashna and Hum tumse dil laga baithe.

Waqt / Waqt Race Against Time – I admit I don’t like the older film s songs too much, though Ae meri zohra jabeen is a retro-hit, and a source of many-a-remix. The philosophical title song by Rafisaab Waqt ke din aur raat is , in my opinion, the best number. Let me not beat the bush, the rest of the songs by Ravi were marred by Asha Bhonsle’s voice, which in that era had assumed a strange phlegmatic thickness, which I don’t quite appreciate.

But cut to the present times and the newer film help! The raucous Anu Mallik warbled Do me a favor let s play holly {sic} no, no, no!!! God save my ears from this painful assault!

Aankhen – Four films but again the best music is from the two oldest version (that I know of). In 1950, Madan Mohan made his debut with Aankhen that had Mukesh’s Preet lagake maine yeh phal paaya. For some reason, Latadi couldn’t sing in this one, but MM didn’t make this an ego issue, and got her on-board with the next few films (Adaa , Madhosh) – and what a team it turned out to be!

In the second film, composer Ravi gave very melodious music in this Dharam-Mala Sinha thriller. Milti hai zindagi mein mohabbat kabhi kabhi and Gairon pe karam apnon pe sitam belong to my childhood memories and are firmly etched as beautiful songs. The nineties Aankhen was a super-duper Govinda-David Dhawan combine hit; Bappi Lahiri s score was strictly functional and in sync with the film’s mood. Laal dupatte waali tera naam toh bata was the biggest hit from this film.

The fourth Aankhen (starring Amitabh Bachhan and a posse of supporting cast) hardly had any song worth mentioning – unless you prefer tepid tapori numbers like Phatela jeb sil jaayega!

Charas – After Aankhen, this is another Ramanand Sagar-Dharamendra combination thriller whose name got stolen. In the seventies film, Laxmikant Pyarelal whipped up a frenzy with the naughtily vivacious Kal ki haseen mulaqaat ke liye (Lata-Kishore) and the tranquil Ke aaja teri yaad aayi (Lata-Rafi-Anand Bakshi). There were other good numbers too Raja na jaa (Lata) and Mai ladki badnaam ho gayii (Lata). The newer film by Tigmanshu Dhulia was a cropper where music was concerned. I haven t heard a single good song from this film.

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja – Shankar Jaikishan’s music in the older film (Dev Anand- Waheeda Rahman) was a delight. Latadi s Tum toh dil ke taar chhed kar is pure gold (with a tandem by Hemant Kumar), and the title song is quintessential S-J. Cut to the nineties film, and L-P try hard to match their senior s orchestral wizardry, but only end up with a cacophonous din. Add to this Kavita Krishnamoorthy’s shrill singing and the consequence is highly distasteful. Incidentally, both the films were huge flops!

Masoom – Now who can ever forget Gulzar s introspective lyrics in Tujhse naraaz nahii zindagi set to a terrific tune by R D Burman? Flash forward a couple of decades, and Ayesha Julka-Indra Kumar starrer is an ugly blot to the older film s title. It s only when one comes across such blasphemous use of older titles that one wishes there was a legislation stopping the re-cycling of the titles!

Golmaal – Latadi sounds ethereal in Ek baat kahuun gar maano tum, and Kishoreda makes us think in Aane waala pal jaane waala hai. Hrishida kept the funny bone forever tickled in this moustache-mania. It is a sin to even mention the recent gol-maul in the same breath as the older film. Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are just no-where remotely close to Panchamda s skill.

Geet – Kalyanji Anandji created an extraordinary love duet Mere mitwa mere meet re in the older film starring Rajendra Kumar and Mala Sinha. And then there was Latadi consoling tenderly Tere naina kyun neer bahaaye. Zoom to the nineties, and Latadi still held control in the newer Divya Bharti film, with Aap jo mere meet na hote. Regrettfully, the rest of this Bappi Lahiri album didn t have any other geet worth remembering.

Diwana / Deewana – The former is a slightly less known Raj Kapoor film with a bouquet of incredibly fragrant Mukesh melodies, composed by Shankar Jaikishan. The fare includes the bagpiper blast Taaron se pyaare armaan hamaare (Aana hi hoga tujhe aana hi hoga), the spectacularly plush Hum toh jaate apni gaaon, the brilliant Tumhari bhi jai jai humaari bhi jai jai, the lavish title song Diwana mujhko log kahein and the thought provoking Pate kii baat kahega kahega jab bhi deewana. Absolutely A-class music having flawless rhythm, interludes and singing! The second film is the nineties one, and brought current box-office badshah Shahrukh Khan into limelight. The music by Nadeem Shravan, though not matching SJ s work, is very respectable and I am very fond of Teri ummeed tera intezaar karte hain and the title song.

Dhanwaan – The criminally neglected Hridayanath Mangeshkar composed a chocolaty sweet duet Yeh aankhen dekh kar hum saari duniya bhool jaatein hain for the seventies Rajesh Khanna starrer (though picturised on Reena Roy and Rakesh Roshan). In the nineties, Anand Milind gave an energetically charged Holi song Rang di rang di preet ne rang di.

[Update on 29.01.07]

Milan – Three that I recall. The first one was in the fifties with music by Hansraj Bahl. Latadi plucked the heartstrings with Haaye jeeya roye. However, it was some two decades later that Laxmikant Pyarelal scorched the charts and stomped the hearts with bumper hits like the celebratory Bol gori bol tera kaun piya, the Madan Mohanesque Aaj dil pe koii zor chalta nahi, the melodious Saawan ka mahina pawan kare sor and the monumental Hum tum yug yug se geet milan ke – stuff that legends are made of, and remembered for yug yug! But a few more decades down the line Anand Milind’s vapid score in Mahesh Bhatt’s flop Jackie-Manisha starrer by the same name couldn’t last beyond the month the film was released in, leave alone a yug!

Gumnaam – Shankar Jaikishan gave haunting melodies in the old Agatha Christie-inspired film. Turn the century, and Nadeem Shravann come up with haunted wrecks in the lying-in-cans Dino Morea starrer. In the old film, Rafi’s Jaan pehchaan ho and Hum kaale hai toh kya hua kept the charts rocking and rolling, while Latadi‘s title number raised the goosebumps. Helen gave the requisite glamor with Iss duniya mein jeena ho toh sunlo meri baat.

Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya – I remember two films : in the first one, erstwhile Madan Mohan assistants Sonik Omi composed some sublime beauties, which bordered on their mentor’s style. While Suman Kalyanpur got the touching title song, Latadi bagged the best and the most splendid solo – Aaja re pyaar pukaare naina toh ro ro haare. More than three decades later, Latadi was still there in the newer film (Govinda, Tabu in a remake of Ramesh Talwar’s Doosra Aadmi) serenading Uttam Singh’s fluffy orchestra in Saare shahar mein charcha yeh aam ho gaya. Sadly, the rest of the score (by Aadesh Srivastava) was just average.

Saathi – I have no clue about the first one, which had music by Gulshan Soofi, lyrics by Wali Sahab and songs sung by Shamshad Begum. However, I have strong memories of the second one. Naushadsaab went western in sound with this Simi Garewal-Rajendra Kumar-Vyjanthimala film, which had the awesome Mere jeevan saathi kali thii main toh pyaasi in Latadi’s soft-as-silk voice. Then there was Yeh kaun aaya roshan ho gayi mehfil jiske naam se , Mai toh pyaar se tere piya and Aaina hoon mai tera! Mukesh and Suman Kalyanpur created romance and rhythm with Mera pyaar bhi tu hai yeh bahaar bhi tu hai. A very sensible score, indeed. Which is what I personally feel about the newest Saathi as well. Inspite of Anuradha Paudwal’s pathetic pronunciations, Saathi koii bhoola yaad aaya and Aaj hum tum o sanam are decent compositions (by Nadeem Shravan).

Guru – The older Guru starred Mithun Chakraborthy as well – at that time, in the lead role, with his then love interest Sridevi. Their ‘kiss’ at that time created quite a flurry, equivalent to the present day Guru‘s heroine’s lip lock with Hrithik in Dhoom-2. The older movie had some typical eighties cacophonous Bappi Lahiri music with songs where the heroine profoundly proclaimed I am a bad girl.But don’t hasten to write off the film just yet – because Bappida also surprised all with a very sensitive love duet Jaiiyo na jaiiyo na humse door sajan jaiiyo na (Lata Mangeshkar-Shailendra Singh). And linking up with the new age Guru is another common thread: Bappi-da returns as a playback singer for the tipsy but enjoyable number Ek lo ek muft! [Thanks to Anz for the tip]

Bees Saal Baad – After a serious bout of throat problem, which nearly rendered Lataji voice-less, she returned to the studios with a bang, hitting the soul directly with the call that defines ‘horror’ film genre songs in Kahiin deep jale kahiin dil. The song is so irrevocably stamped in every music lover’s psyche that it is impossible to imagine that there could be a newer film by the same name. But, there was! Mithun Chakraborty and Meenakshi Sheshadri tried to raise the spooks again, with Dimple floating in white amidst haunted havelis singing in a horrifying Anuradha Paudwal’s voice Kitne saawan beet gaye.

Jurmana – Hrishikesh Mukherjee created two very sensitive films with the trio of Vinod Mehra-Amitabh-Raakhi. Of these two, Bemisaal is the more known one. But Jurmana had its own strengths. One of which was RD Burman’s music. Latadi got two magnificent solos – Chhoti si ek kali khili thi and the better known Saawan ke jhoole pade. The new Jurmana is a TLV Prasadh- Mithun Chakroborty combined B-grade flick, with mu-sick by Dilip Sen Sameer Sen.

Boyfriend – The older film is a lesser known Shankar Jaikishan film, wherein Latadi did the coquettish Aise na jaao o beraham (with an ultra cute Aadab arz hai thrown in between). The newer film has the in-your-face Jatin Lalit composition Kahdo toh duniya mein aaj baja doon band!

Samundar – Three of them – the first one had music by S.Purushottam, but I have not heard any songs from this film (reportedly with songs by Asha Bhonsle). It is the second one that interests me a lot. Madan Mohan composed the classically handsome Lata Mangeshkar solo Chain nahin aaye kahan dil jaaye – in this, her rendition of the leitmotif sajanwa ho balamwa ho is exceedingly enchanting. Another fascinating solo by the diva was Aaja kahiin se aaja mere dil ka qaraar leke. Jump decades, and Latadi continued to regale under Panchamda’s baton for Rahul Rawail’s Sunny Deol-Poonam Deol film. The peppy Ae saagar kii lahron hum bhii aatein hai thehro (with Kishoreda) was the highlight song. Asha Bhonsle whipped up a creamy lather in the sensuous Yeh rang-e-mehfil badal raha hai, and Kishore Kumar naughtily charmed with Yeh kori karaari kanwaari nazar. Another unsung eighties RD Burman score, which needs to be resurrected.

Elaan– Again, three that I know of. In the seventies, Vinod Mehra starred with a podgy and dusky Rekha in this FC Mehra production about ‘invisible man’ (yes, the idea was used way before Mr. India). Shankar Jaikishan’s music didn’t cut much ice with music lovers, but there is a cute charm in Sharda’s Aath ko aath se jama karo and the duet Aap ki raay mere baare mein kya hai. In the nineties, Akshay Kumar and Madhoo romped on screen to Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s risque Tu ru tu ru kahan se karuun main pyaar shuru. But the biggest delight in this film was Lata Mangeshkar’s breath-taking Naino ko baatein karne do – a mature and mellow duet with Kumar Sanu, which had shades of L-P’s Badalte Rishtey song Meri saanson ko jo mahka rahii hai! The last Elaan is a boring Vikram Bhatt film starring Arjun Rampal, Rahul Khanna and Lara Dutta. The music had some Anu Mallik monstroties like Aandarlu baandalru, et al.

Kartavya – L-P were at their peak in 1979, when they composed the sultry and sizzling solo Doorie na rahein koi aaj itne kareeb aao, sung splendidly by Lata Mangeshkar and picturised on the verge-of-blooming Rekha. Other solos by her included Koii aayega and Chhaila babu tu kaisa dildaar nikla. In the newer film, the perpetually wooden Sanjay Kapoor starred opposite Juhi Chawla. Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s music was good, but just about so.

Hawas – Saawan Kumar’s take on lust consisted of Mohd. Rafi’s towering solo Teri galiyon mein na rakhenge qadam. The newer Hawas (Meghna Naidu in yet another Unfaithful remake) had two good songs – Mai yun miloon tujhe and Tera naam leke marne lenge.

[Update on 31.01.07]

Shola Aur Shabnam – In the old black-and-white film Latadi and Rafisaab sweetly acknowledged hesitant love in Jeet hi lenge baazi hum tum, under Khayyam’s baton. The song is one of the most shimmering duets from this prolific but perfect pair. Leap-forward, and in the nineties we have Govinda croaking Gore gore under Bappi Lahiri’s tutelage. What a comedown! I haven’t seen the older film, but the newer one was, otherwise, a typical David Dhawan dhamaal, with lots of slapstick humor in the first half, and ‘action-packed’ emotions in the second one.

Mohabbat – I don’t have any idea about the first Mohabbat, made by Phani Majumdar, starring the Marathi doyen Shanta Apte. However, the second one is part of my growing up years, and I will,this once, root for the much-maligned composer Bappi Lahiri. Largely for two beautiful songs in the Anil-Vijeta starrer: Kishoreda’s Saanson se nahin kadmon se nahin and Latadi’s Naina yeh barse milne ko tarse. The nineties version has Akshaye-Madhur-Sanjay Kapoor in a trite love triangle, with not-so-brilliant score by Nadeem Shravan. Worse, they blindly aped Stereo Nation’s Don’t break my heart – the original of which was in any case running simultaneously on the charts.

Chor Machaye Shor – Le jaayenge le jaayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge is a cult number, a very peppy and unlikely number from Ravindra Jain. The spectre of this mammoth melody loomed so large that Jatin Lalit confessed that they couldn’t come up with a better number when they did Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Kishore Kumar tugged the heart with Ghoongroo ki tarah bajta hi raha hun ( a song, which I recall reading, he had confessed looked easy, but was otherwise tough to sing). Skip decades, and we have Vinod Rathod and Anuradha Sriram locking tonsils in the terribly written Tum Tata ho ya Birla, under Anu Mallik’s command, in the David Dhawan flop by the same name.

Loafer – When Rafisaab languidly remarked Aaj mausam bada baimaan hai, the clouds drooped in appreciation; the warm L-P melody hugs you with its sensuous allure. In the newer version, we had to content with Anand Milind’s atrocities like Aao karein hum tum kahiin nain-matakka. However, from this Anil-Juhi starrer, the number Teri tirchhi nazar mein hai jaadoo was very catchy and likeable.

Love Marriage – Now what to say of this outstandingly magnificent Shankar Jaikishan score! Every song is the most supreme aural delight, tickling the heart, touching the soul, stirring the hips and hugging the lips. From the romantically romantic Dheere dheere chal chaand gagan mein to the bashful Kahe jhoom jhoom raat yeh suhani to the playful Dil se dil takraaye to the cutting critque of Teen kanastar peet peet kar gala phaar ke chillana, every number is a well polished pearl. However, the same cannot be said about L-P’s boring music in the eighties film of the same name. In this sort of sex-comedy (wherein the lovers are desperate to consummate their marriage), the only number that could be said average is the title number.

Dastak– Quality peaked when Madan Mohan sored. And in Dastak even he surpassed his own tough standards. This small budget Sanjeev Kumar-Rehana Sultana film had a big score. Lataji was ever the heart and soul – her solos Baiyyan na dharo, Hum hai mata-e-kucha-o-bazaar ki tarah and Maai ri main kaase kahuun rank amongst the best from her own mammoth ouvre. And Rafisaab did his own bit in the almost whispered Tum se kahuun ek baat paron si halki. This is an album that you can keep on listening without tiring even once. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Rajesh Roshan’s music in Sushmita Sen’s debut film, carrying the same title. Even though Rajesh Roshan’s score cannot be really termed ‘bad’ (and I quite like Abhijeet’s Tumhe kaise yeh bataaon and Alka’s Pal beet gaya yeh pal), but it cannot match up to the standards set by Madan Mohan!

Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai – Now this is one title where I can strongly say I love both the scores equally well. While S-J gave their own stamp with the frisky Jiya ho jiya kuchh bol do, Jatin Lalit held their own with the frothy O jaana na jaana yeh dil tera deewana.

Anari – Three of them, again – and like Andaaz, with some scion of Kapoor khandaan starring in them! But the most famous musically is, of course, the Shankar-Jaikishan one, starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. Released in 1959, it boasted of such phenomenal songs like Tera jaana dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana, Sab kuchh seekha humne na seekhi hoshiyari, Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, Woh chaand khila woh taare hanse and Dil ki nazar se. The second Anari starred brother Shashi Kapoor, but was a total washout. Music was by Laxmikant Pyarelal, but not a single song seems to have survived. The last Anari had Karisma Kapoor alongside South India superstar Venkatesh. Anand Milind’s music had one good number: Kya mausam aaya hai.

Junoon – Three, once more – and in quite a short span of time. The first is the seventies Shyam Benegal classic based on Ruskin Bond’s Flight of Pigeons. As a art-house movie, it didn’t have music the way we understand it in films, but Vanraj Bhatia’s Phir aayi kaari ghata matwaari was nice. The second Junoon was Mahesh Bhatt’s disastrous horror (more horrifying) film starring his daughter Pooja with his protege Rahul Roy and the wooden Avinash Wadhawan. This early nineties flick comprised of some ‘Gulshan Kumar-type’ music by Nadeem Shravan, with Anuradha Paudwal hogging all the limelight. Still, I would say the music was good – and O meri dilruba tu dil ke kareeb hai is a song that I love immensely. The last Junoon is a super-flop Shilpa Shetty starrer, released in 2002. Adesh Srivastava composed the score.

Lawaaris – Agreed that Kalyanji Anandji’s music in the Amitabh starrer can hardly be termed ‘great’. Yet, because of the overall cult status surrounding Big B movies of that time, we all remember the songs like Kaahe paise pe itna guroor kare ho, Apni toh jaise taise and that super-hit fun-filled number Mere angne mein tumhara kya kaam hai. In 1999, there was one more Lawaaris, and this time the score was handled by another seventies composer – Rajesh Roshan, but there wasn’t any strength in it. The film and the music were miserable flops.

Vishwaasghaat – I admit I am not aware of RD Burman’s music in the seventies Mahesh Bhatt film (Kabir Bedi, Shabana Azmi). But I am simply, madly and crazily in love with Shyam Surender’s score in the nineties flop (Suniel Shetty, Anjali Jathar) having the same name. Lata Mangeshkar sang four songs in this one and each is a complete beauty : the best is a solo Intezaar hai tera intezaar hai – an even paced song, with neat arrangements. The duet Yeh dil kyun dhadakta hai is fast but not furious. It has a loveable rhythm. Unfortunately, the music was released on a now-defunct music company, and perhaps is lost forever. I have a surviving audio cassette, and like to listen to it quite often.

Chaalbaaz – Obviously, Sridevi’s film in the eighties is a better known one. The twin-sisters-separated-at-birth saga inspired from Ram aur Shyam/Seeta aur Geeta was an absolute entertainer. However, I don’t like its loud music (Laxmikant Pyarelal). For that, I would turn to Madan Mohan’s posthumously released small-budget flop. It’s tour-de-force was Latadi’s Raat ujiyaari din andheraa tu jo sajan nahin mera hai. Jaaiye humse khafaa ho jaayiye was another wonderful song. In the fifties, there was one more film having same name, starring Nirupa Roy, but I don’t have any idea about it.

Rajkumar – Another name whereby L-P hopelessly botched up the score, and couldn’t live up to the high standards set by Shankar Jaikishan in the sixties Shammi Kapoor film. The older film had the terrific Aaja aayi bahaar, the steamy Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa and the energetic Jaane waalon zara hoshiyar, alongwith the now-almost-a-maxim Tumne pukara hum chale aaye. And the new one? Well, Payal meri tumko bulati was okayish, but I’d any day prefer to listen to the older one.

Suhaagan – Four of them – with two starring Mala Sinha-Guru Dutt! The first is a 1942 film – details unavailable. The second one released in 1954, and starred Mala Sinha. Again, I am not too aware about Vasant Desai / C Ramachandra’s music. Exactly a decade later, in 1964, Mala Sinha acted as yet another Suhaagan (once more with Guru Dutt) and this is the whose music I have. Rafisaab’s Tu mere saamne hai is a great melody, alongwith Bheegi chandni chhayi bekhudi aaja daal de baahon mein baahon ka haar. But the most remembered number is Latadi‘s Tum hi to meri pooja ho. The last Suhaagan is an eighties tearjerker starring Jeetu-Sridevi. Bappi Lahiri composed the music, and though the words slip me, it had one nice duet by Latadi.

Patita – Two films: in the fifties one Shankar Jaikishan gave great music; the duet Yaad kiya dil ne kahan ho tum is a hot romantic favorite till date, and Mitti se khelte ho baar baar kis liye was heart-wrenching. S-J also composed the most optimistic number Kisi ne mujhko apna bana ke muskurana sikha diya in Latadi‘s voice. Two decades later, Latadi was again at her sun-shine best in another happy number Baithe baithe aaj aayi mere mann ko (composed by Bappi Lahiri).

[Update on 02.02.07]

Karz / Karz -The Burden of Truth – The theme music strummed its way into your hearts – never mind if it was copied. Latadi and Kishoreda, well past their fifties, tucked their tongues firmly in cheek and giggled Mai solah baras ki/Mai satarah baras ka; Asha Bhonsle and Kishoreda raised the storm with Ek haseena thi ek deewana tha – unarguably, Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in Subhash Ghai’s take on Reincarnation of Peter Proud was an immense hit. The newer one (Sanjeev Darshan) was – like the illogical tagline – burdensome and cumbersome score!

Talaash – Remember Rajendra Kumar questioning a wide eyed Sharmila Tagore with Palkon ke peeche se kya tumne kah daala phir se toh farmaana? Spice it up more with the folksy Khai hai rah humne qasam sang rahne kii and the sparkling choral riff of Aaj ko juneli raat ma. And we had a stupendous SD Burman score. The magic was hopelessly lost in Sanjeev Darshan’s score in the newer Akshay Kumar -Karisma starrer.

Saudagar – The new generation danced to the remix of Sajna hai mujhe sajna ke liye. And the older generation loved Tera mera saath rahe. The film was a sensitive and sensible one. In the new one, the budget was upped and the screen widened, but the music didn’t lose its charm. Teri yaad aati hai is a towering duet, and one of the finest from Laxmikant Pyarelal. The common link in both was Lata Mangeshkar’s effusive voice.

Kaali Ghata – The first is a fifties Kishore Sahu film, music by Shankar Jaikishan. The centerpoint of the album was Latadi’s Humse na poochho koi pyaar kya pyaar kya hai. Other pleasures included Madhur milan hai and Ille belle aare. The newer one is not so new – early eighties. And starred Rekha and Shashi Kapoor. I recall only one song – the two part title song Kaali ghata chhayi prem rut aayi, aayi aayi aayi teri yaad aayi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal. Nice song.

Baazigar / Bazigar – Believe it or faint, there are actually four of them! The first came as early as 1938 and starred Trilok Kapoor. Other details unavailable – music could be by Gyan Dutt. The next was a Nirupa Roy starrer, though again the details are not too forthcoming on this one. I suspect this is the one that has music by Chitragupt. The next one released in 1972, probably with music by Sapan Jagmohan. (Details awaited from readers). The last one is, however, the most known one which spiralled Shah Rukh Khan’s career to a dizzying height. Anu Mallik gave some nice tunes.

[Courtesy – Madhu and Juneli, for pointing out to some titles featured in the updates]

Now on to the films which are essentially legendary stories or based on the same literary source, hence forced to have same title:

Devdas – I love the newer film, but prefer the songs of the older one. S D Burman’s composition in the Dilip Kumar version had such shimmering beauties like Jisse tu qabool kar le and O aane waale. In between, there was another version that never got completed, but Latadi’s Ku hu kuh bole koyaliya is outstanding.

Sohni Mahiwal – I think there are more, but I recall two versions strongly. One, is a fifties film with music by Naushadsaab, and was (IIRC) the debut for singer Mahendra Kapoor (Chand chhupa taare doobe raat gazab kii aayii). He got the theme song, while the lion’s share went to Rafisaab. However, it is Latadidi‘s Tumhare sang mai bhi chaluungi and her duet with Rafisaab Aane waale ko aana hoga, jaane waale ko jaana hoga that are the most luminescent numbers. Overall, the music is wonderful.

However, the eighties version (Sunny Deol and Poonam Dhillon) is in my honest opinion an extremely interesting score, composed by a still-struggling Annu Mallik. In this, Anupama Deshpande won the Filmfare Best Singer Award for Sohni chenaab de kinaare. However, it was otherwise Asha Bhonsle s film, and songs like Sohni sohni meri sohni aur nahi koi honi , Bol do meethe bol sohniye and Mujhe dulhe ka sehra gaane do are steeped in Punjabi ethos, have hummable tunes, and hold pleasurable interlude music. (I love Annu Mallik’s music from this era perhaps will do a separate post on this someday).

I have yet to hear the songs of the oldest film by the same name that had music by Lal Mohammad and songs by Zohrabai Ambalewali and G M Durrani, amongst others.

Heer Ranjha – Nothing, absolutely nothing, can surpass the melodies created by the ingenious Madan Mohan in the older version (which I suspect is the middle version ). From the near whisper intonations of Meri duniya mein tum aayi to the pain lashed Do dil toote do dil haare to the effervescent Milo na tum toh hum ghabraaye to the truth-seeking Yeh duniya yeh mehfil mere kaam ki nahi – each composition is a nugget to be savored, to be enjoyed and to immerse in its deep richness. The newer film had a horribly made up Anil Kapoor romancing the talented but ill-cast Sridevi with Rab ne banaya tujhe mere liye under Laxmikant Pyarelal s musical direction. But, clearly they were past their prime. And this Latadi-Anwar duet is the only good song in the entire album.

Umrao Jaan – I have said enough here

Don – Uh oh! Too bad that they had to remix and recycle Kalyanji Anandji’s original score (which in any case wouldn t ever get placed in the top best of the duo). Still, as a stand-alone, the old film s Arre diwaanon and Jiska mujhe tha intezaar are nice numbers. And Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana was a rocking item number when the phrase hadn’t even been created. There was a Mithun starrer The Don as well, but let’s not even talk about it!

Taj Mahal – Despite veteran Naushad at the helm of the affairs, the new film’s music was very ordinary. Music afficiandos will never forget Roshan’s luminous score that included Paaon chhoo lene do, Jo waada kiya and Jurm e ulfat pe humein log sazaa denge.

[This is an open post, and titles will be added to it as and when I remember them or get inputs from readers. Three updates available above]

Related readings – Lata Mangeshkar and Debut Heroines, Madan Mohan and Lata Mangeshkar

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Film Review

Sidharth (Salaam Namaste) Anand moves a step ahead in his craft. Tara Rum Pum, view while retaining all the gloss and glamour associated with Yash Raj Films, infertility is essentially a human story, viagra 100mg narrated in a gracious and genuine way. An absorbing film, Tara Rum Pum keeps the flame of human spirit burning with the warm oil of compassion, concern and candor.

The story revolves around a car race driver (Saif Ali Khan), who meets a severe accident on the tracks. Alongwith the car, his confidence crashes and amongst the debris are his ruined career and the acrid smoke of ruthless cash crunch. His family rallies around him, but he has several lessons yet to learn, and they form the crux of the second half. Of course, keeping in mind Bollywood sensibilities, the story starts right from the beginning where he meets the disciplined and dedicated piano student (Rani Mukerji looking plump yet ravishing in mini-skirts) in a series of – what else? – accidents.

The script is uncluttered, and progresses neatly, adding details here and there that make up the luxurious whole. It imparts a lesson in saving for the rainy day , without being grossly didactic or preachy. The dialogues are crisp. The second half is less humorous, but not heavy; though personally I feel this takes away the punch; and the piercing pain doesn’t cut pitilessly into the heart. Perhaps, a better idea would have been to go whole out in the melodrama, peeling off the gloss and allowing the scenario to be as barren and grim as the walls of the house the family is force to shift in. But Anand prefers to go by the neo-modern grammar, keeping in check any excesses, yet pointing out pretty clearly that the family is in big trouble. Some portions do manage to moisten the eyes, though – for example, Rani playing at boring birthday parties and then packing off the foodstuff for her kids.

A big triumph are the car racing scenes (and they are plentiful), which hold their own individuality without looking duplicated or boring. The last one stirs your adrelanin. (Actually, the film in the last half-hour is stunning!)

Binod Pradhan scores another home-run this year with his camera work (after the painstakingly beautiful Eklavya). The car race scenes are deftly shot, without confusing the viewer. New York is captured in a bright colorful mosaic. The film is well edited, though judging by the audience reaction in the theater, the interval could have been upped a bit, but that’s being overtly finicky. I am deliberately not venturing into the Reader’s Don’t Digest kind of bloopers – I am sure they will be eventually listed out in a magazine that wears the serious-looking dress over its patchy petticoat.

Vishal-Shekhar’s melodious musical score is the most surprising aspect. Frankly, my expectations were very low. But the music is shimmering and sensational. While Shreya Ghoshal’s stupendous solo Ho agar koii gham toh (Ta ra ra rum tararum pum) envelops you in its inspirational and affectionate hug, Vishal Dadlani’s heart-wrenching part-Sufi-ish, part-Junoon-ish Ek banjaara iktaare pe (Saaiyaan) squeezes a tear from the eyes. Both the songs are winners, and have beautiful interludes. Nachle ve taps your feet to dancing and the title song delights. Javed Akhtar’s lyrics are great and Anand uses the music judiciously. Salim-Suleiman’s background score gels with the film’s theme.

Both Rani Mukerji and Saif Ali Khan give honest performances. But Javed Jaafri convincingly steals the show; no extraneous antics; simple clean and cut acting that hits the bull’s eye! The supporting cast supports adequately (and no, there aren’t any surprise appearance, and none by Abhishek Bachchan!). The kids endear. (Master Ali last stole our hearts in Fanaa, and here he effortlessly repeats the feat).

Tara Rum Pum retrieves Yash Raj Films (and producer and mastermind Aditya Chopra’s) lost reputation as sincere filmmakers providing good family entertainment. Of late, their films had been all gloss and no soul, with a one-point mission of raking in the moolah and satisfying the NRI urge of connecting with India without actually showing the country. True, the film is set in NY, and they still eye that sector avidly; true, there is all the glamor (designer house, designer profession, designer dresses, et al); but then the film is basically about human triumph, so all the strappings hardly matter. Plus, the locale or the lustre don’t overshadow the content; it’s an achievement where shine and story co-exist harmoniously! And yes, watch it with your family without being embarrassed one bit: no unnecessary kisses or any faaltu skin-show!

Overall – An Entertaining & Enjoyable Family Outing Film- Watch It!

Technorati : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Tara Rum Pum, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films
Del.icio.us : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

Powered by Zoundry

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

Powered by Zoundry

Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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Repeat of movie names is not a new phenomenon. And with the volume of our Hindi film industry’s output, there it sometimes becomes a necessity as well.

In the age of FM, the announcers (or better known as RJ’s) hardly inform the film’s names of the song playing, let alone any other detail. But when I grew up listening to the ever dependable Vividh Bharti, the entire music credits were often mentioned including the always sidelined lyricists’ names. Then, it used to be disappointing to hear for example – the announcer speak out the name of Mahal, only to hear a song from the newer one (starring Dev Anand).

Blame it on my penchant for old songs, usually I prefer the older titled film’s numbers. Here is a list of films that have had similar names – again in no specific order:

Barsaat – There are three of them that I know of: 1949 film, which skyrocketed Lata Mangeshkar ‘s career to the zenith of success, established Raj Kapoor as a director par excellence and introduced Shankar Jaikishan one of the finest composers ever, in my opinion; 1990’s version which was the debut for Twinkle Khanna and Bobby Deol, and had music by the then kings Nadeem Shravan; the new millennium film which also starred Bobby Deol and had same music composers, albeit now beyond their prime time. Unarguably, the music standard declined progressively with each era’s film. The first Barsaat had such beauties like Chhod gaye baalam, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan, Patli kamar hai and Hawa mein udta jaaye. The second one was quite above average, and I quite like Teri adaayon pe marrta huun and Humko sirrf tum se pyaar hai. The last Barsaat hardly has anything worthwhile to mention.

Andaz – Four of them! And the first three starred one member of the Kapoor khandaan. 1949- Raj Kapoor and Nargis whipped up the passion along with the thespian Dilip Kumar; Naushadsaab composed nuggets like Tu kahe agar jeevan bhar gaata jaaoon and Hum aaj kahiin dil kho baithe. And Latadi found a toe-hold in the industry, giving stiff competition to Shamshad Begum (who sang alongside her in Darrna mohabbat karle).

The second came in or around 1972 and it starred Shammi Kapoor in the lead, but the reigning superstar Rajesh Khanna’s vivacious guest appearance stole the thunder. Shankar Jaikishan composed the bumper hit Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana (often taken as Jaikishan’s swan song, though technically and factually it isn’t true).

1994 Andaz saw the Gennext from Kapoor family Karisma starring in this David Dhawan double-entendre laden remake of Sundar Kaandam. Bappi Lahiri commandeered the music room and gave us bloopers like Khada hai khada hai and Tu maal gaadi mai driver tera!

The fourth one is the most recent one with Akshay Kumar, but better known as the debuts for Priyanka and Lara raising the mercury in their tight and tiny clothes. Nadeem Shravan s music was just about bearable.

Chori Chori -Three films! The first one is the fifties comedy based on It Happened One Night. Raj Kapoor and Nargis the industry s First Romantic Pair tickled the funny bone. And Shankar Jaikishan s music was simply scintillating. Just look at the lavish fare they gave: the eternally romantic Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, the joie-de-vivre charged Panchhi banoon uddti phiroon, the chirrupy Jahan mai jaati hoon wahiin chale aate ho, the heart-wrenching Rasik balmaa dil kyun lagaya, the silly but nevertheless funny All line clear and the syrupy Aaja sanam madhur chaandni mein hum. In the seventies, there was one more Chori Chori again with compositions by Shankar Jaikishan, but I haven’t heard any number from this film.

The last Chori Chori is the Milan Luthria flop in the nineties starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukerji. Sajid-Wajid’s music was despondently dull.

Seema – Two, which I know of. The first is the exceptional social drama starring power-house performers Balraj Sahni and Nutan. Again, Shankar Jaikishan gave some shimmering melodies the serene prayer Tu pyaar ka saagar hai , the hurt Kahaan jaa raha hai, the classical Manmohana bade jhoote and the optimistic Baat baat mein rootho na. It also had one of my most favorite Latadi solo Suno chhotisi gudiya kii lambii kahanii. The second Seema came in the seventies and once again had music by Shankar Jaikishan. From this Rafisaab s Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai (penned by Gulzar) is exceptional.

Kathputli /Kattputli – I adore the music of the fifties version Bol ri kathputli dori kaun sang baandhi is such a marvelously magnificent number that I can hear it anytime; and a song that I fell in love with when I was a kid and had heard it on Chitrahaar. Once more, it was Shankar-Jaikishan’s creativity at its peak. And Latadi sounds so soft and sublime. There was another Kathhputli in the seventies as well, this time music by Kalyanji Anandji. Details not available with me. The last is a recent flick, produced by and starring Mink Singh, with a little twist in the title s spelling musically, it was a complete washout!

Karm/ Karam – The seventies film (starring Vidya Sinha and a rapidly losing popularity Rajesh Khanna) was an interesting critique on astrology. The music wasn t that great but Asha Bhonsle s Samay tu dheere dheere chal (with a sad version that went Samay tu jaldi jaldi chal) was a nice song. The newer Karam had the current poster boy John Abraham playing a hit-man. Musically, it was a zilch except for Alisha Chinai s effectively sung Tinka tinka zara zara.

Saajan – I grew up listening to Latadi s Saajan saajan pukaaroon galiyon mein, a typical Laxmikant Pyarelal ditty, picturised on Asha Parekh it was quite a staple on Chitrahaars. I haven’t yet seen this film. The second Saajan was a phenomenal hit, and Nadeem Shravan gave some hummable chart-busters. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Madhuri starred in this fluke Sudhakar Bokade love triangle hit.

Baharon Ki Manzil / Baharon Ke Manzil – Both the films are not very well known. And I have seen both! The first one stars Meena Kumari and is a whodunit. Laxmikant Pyarelal gave the music in which Lata Mangeshkar was the sole singer (no male songs in this film!), of which Nigaahen kyun bhatakti hai is quite well known. However, despite no Latadi, I find the second film s music really appaudable and better. Raamlaxman scored some excellent numbers in the voices of Poornima, Udit Narayan and Amit Kumar. Meri jaan dua karna is a towering duet with lip-smacking interludes and fine singing. The film was a miserable flop and was the debut for Mona Singh (in case you don t know her, she played the wet nurse in Mangle Panday oops, Mangal Panday).

Khel – I recall two of them. The first is a decent Anil-Madhuri 1992 film, directed by Rakesh Roshan, but unfortunately was a dampener at the box-office. The music by brother Rajesh Roshan was exceptionally good. Latadi‘s duet with Mohd. Aziz Khat likhna hai par sochti huun is a hot personal favorite. Sister Asha Bhonsle displayed immense vocal virtuosity in the cabaret number Ek baat maan lo tum (with a cutely reversed and suitably toned down bhajan version as well!). And Amit Kumar’s pathos-laden Soone shaam savere is superb (though having a pretty funny picturisation). The newer Khel (Suniel Shetty, Celina Jeitly) was a musical disaster.

There was the oldest Khel as well with music composed by Sajjad Hussain. Latadi‘s Jaate ho toh jaao is a heart-achingly beautiful number. [Thanks to Madhu for the tip]

Julie – Again, I recall two of them. The first is a musical hit. Bhool gayasab kuchh is an ardent love duet and Dil kya kare jab kisise kisiko pyaar ho jaaye builds up a zealous steam. The debut heroine Laxmi might have bloated to a shrill matron (Hulchul) and the hero Vikram is lost in the annals of cinematic history, but Rajesh Roshan’s score continues to be still dew drop fresh and is remembered fondly by music-lovers. The newer Julie is more known for Neha Dhupia s bare-dare act than for its songs, but I found Himesh Reshammiya’s score very mellifluous and deserving. Ae dil yeh bataa kyun hone laga is the best number, followed by Dhadkan ho gayii tumse aashna and Hum tumse dil laga baithe.

Waqt / Waqt Race Against Time – I admit I don’t like the older film s songs too much, though Ae meri zohra jabeen is a retro-hit, and a source of many-a-remix. The philosophical title song by Rafisaab Waqt ke din aur raat is , in my opinion, the best number. Let me not beat the bush, the rest of the songs by Ravi were marred by Asha Bhonsle’s voice, which in that era had assumed a strange phlegmatic thickness, which I don’t quite appreciate.

But cut to the present times and the newer film help! The raucous Anu Mallik warbled Do me a favor let s play holly {sic} no, no, no!!! God save my ears from this painful assault!

Aankhen – Four films but again the best music is from the two oldest version (that I know of). In 1950, Madan Mohan made his debut with Aankhen that had Mukesh’s Preet lagake maine yeh phal paaya. For some reason, Latadi couldn’t sing in this one, but MM didn’t make this an ego issue, and got her on-board with the next few films (Adaa , Madhosh) – and what a team it turned out to be!

In the second film, composer Ravi gave very melodious music in this Dharam-Mala Sinha thriller. Milti hai zindagi mein mohabbat kabhi kabhi and Gairon pe karam apnon pe sitam belong to my childhood memories and are firmly etched as beautiful songs. The nineties Aankhen was a super-duper Govinda-David Dhawan combine hit; Bappi Lahiri s score was strictly functional and in sync with the film’s mood. Laal dupatte waali tera naam toh bata was the biggest hit from this film.

The fourth Aankhen (starring Amitabh Bachhan and a posse of supporting cast) hardly had any song worth mentioning – unless you prefer tepid tapori numbers like Phatela jeb sil jaayega!

Charas – After Aankhen, this is another Ramanand Sagar-Dharamendra combination thriller whose name got stolen. In the seventies film, Laxmikant Pyarelal whipped up a frenzy with the naughtily vivacious Kal ki haseen mulaqaat ke liye (Lata-Kishore) and the tranquil Ke aaja teri yaad aayi (Lata-Rafi-Anand Bakshi). There were other good numbers too Raja na jaa (Lata) and Mai ladki badnaam ho gayii (Lata). The newer film by Tigmanshu Dhulia was a cropper where music was concerned. I haven t heard a single good song from this film.

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja – Shankar Jaikishan’s music in the older film (Dev Anand- Waheeda Rahman) was a delight. Latadi s Tum toh dil ke taar chhed kar is pure gold (with a tandem by Hemant Kumar), and the title song is quintessential S-J. Cut to the nineties film, and L-P try hard to match their senior s orchestral wizardry, but only end up with a cacophonous din. Add to this Kavita Krishnamoorthy’s shrill singing and the consequence is highly distasteful. Incidentally, both the films were huge flops!

Masoom – Now who can ever forget Gulzar s introspective lyrics in Tujhse naraaz nahii zindagi set to a terrific tune by R D Burman? Flash forward a couple of decades, and Ayesha Julka-Indra Kumar starrer is an ugly blot to the older film s title. It s only when one comes across such blasphemous use of older titles that one wishes there was a legislation stopping the re-cycling of the titles!

Golmaal – Latadi sounds ethereal in Ek baat kahuun gar maano tum, and Kishoreda makes us think in Aane waala pal jaane waala hai. Hrishida kept the funny bone forever tickled in this moustache-mania. It is a sin to even mention the recent gol-maul in the same breath as the older film. Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are just no-where remotely close to Panchamda s skill.

Geet – Kalyanji Anandji created an extraordinary love duet Mere mitwa mere meet re in the older film starring Rajendra Kumar and Mala Sinha. And then there was Latadi consoling tenderly Tere naina kyun neer bahaaye. Zoom to the nineties, and Latadi still held control in the newer Divya Bharti film, with Aap jo mere meet na hote. Regrettfully, the rest of this Bappi Lahiri album didn t have any other geet worth remembering.

Diwana / Deewana – The former is a slightly less known Raj Kapoor film with a bouquet of incredibly fragrant Mukesh melodies, composed by Shankar Jaikishan. The fare includes the bagpiper blast Taaron se pyaare armaan hamaare (Aana hi hoga tujhe aana hi hoga), the spectacularly plush Hum toh jaate apni gaaon, the brilliant Tumhari bhi jai jai humaari bhi jai jai, the lavish title song Diwana mujhko log kahein and the thought provoking Pate kii baat kahega kahega jab bhi deewana. Absolutely A-class music having flawless rhythm, interludes and singing! The second film is the nineties one, and brought current box-office badshah Shahrukh Khan into limelight. The music by Nadeem Shravan, though not matching SJ s work, is very respectable and I am very fond of Teri ummeed tera intezaar karte hain and the title song.

Dhanwaan – The criminally neglected Hridayanath Mangeshkar composed a chocolaty sweet duet Yeh aankhen dekh kar hum saari duniya bhool jaatein hain for the seventies Rajesh Khanna starrer (though picturised on Reena Roy and Rakesh Roshan). In the nineties, Anand Milind gave an energetically charged Holi song Rang di rang di preet ne rang di.

[Update on 29.01.07]

Milan – Three that I recall. The first one was in the fifties with music by Hansraj Bahl. Latadi plucked the heartstrings with Haaye jeeya roye. However, it was some two decades later that Laxmikant Pyarelal scorched the charts and stomped the hearts with bumper hits like the celebratory Bol gori bol tera kaun piya, the Madan Mohanesque Aaj dil pe koii zor chalta nahi, the melodious Saawan ka mahina pawan kare sor and the monumental Hum tum yug yug se geet milan ke – stuff that legends are made of, and remembered for yug yug! But a few more decades down the line Anand Milind’s vapid score in Mahesh Bhatt’s flop Jackie-Manisha starrer by the same name couldn’t last beyond the month the film was released in, leave alone a yug!

Gumnaam – Shankar Jaikishan gave haunting melodies in the old Agatha Christie-inspired film. Turn the century, and Nadeem Shravann come up with haunted wrecks in the lying-in-cans Dino Morea starrer. In the old film, Rafi’s Jaan pehchaan ho and Hum kaale hai toh kya hua kept the charts rocking and rolling, while Latadi‘s title number raised the goosebumps. Helen gave the requisite glamor with Iss duniya mein jeena ho toh sunlo meri baat.

Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya – I remember two films : in the first one, erstwhile Madan Mohan assistants Sonik Omi composed some sublime beauties, which bordered on their mentor’s style. While Suman Kalyanpur got the touching title song, Latadi bagged the best and the most splendid solo – Aaja re pyaar pukaare naina toh ro ro haare. More than three decades later, Latadi was still there in the newer film (Govinda, Tabu in a remake of Ramesh Talwar’s Doosra Aadmi) serenading Uttam Singh’s fluffy orchestra in Saare shahar mein charcha yeh aam ho gaya. Sadly, the rest of the score (by Aadesh Srivastava) was just average.

Saathi – I have no clue about the first one, which had music by Gulshan Soofi, lyrics by Wali Sahab and songs sung by Shamshad Begum. However, I have strong memories of the second one. Naushadsaab went western in sound with this Simi Garewal-Rajendra Kumar-Vyjanthimala film, which had the awesome Mere jeevan saathi kali thii main toh pyaasi in Latadi’s soft-as-silk voice. Then there was Yeh kaun aaya roshan ho gayi mehfil jiske naam se , Mai toh pyaar se tere piya and Aaina hoon mai tera! Mukesh and Suman Kalyanpur created romance and rhythm with Mera pyaar bhi tu hai yeh bahaar bhi tu hai. A very sensible score, indeed. Which is what I personally feel about the newest Saathi as well. Inspite of Anuradha Paudwal’s pathetic pronunciations, Saathi koii bhoola yaad aaya and Aaj hum tum o sanam are decent compositions (by Nadeem Shravan).

Guru – The older Guru starred Mithun Chakraborthy as well – at that time, in the lead role, with his then love interest Sridevi. Their ‘kiss’ at that time created quite a flurry, equivalent to the present day Guru‘s heroine’s lip lock with Hrithik in Dhoom-2. The older movie had some typical eighties cacophonous Bappi Lahiri music with songs where the heroine profoundly proclaimed I am a bad girl.But don’t hasten to write off the film just yet – because Bappida also surprised all with a very sensitive love duet Jaiiyo na jaiiyo na humse door sajan jaiiyo na (Lata Mangeshkar-Shailendra Singh). And linking up with the new age Guru is another common thread: Bappi-da returns as a playback singer for the tipsy but enjoyable number Ek lo ek muft! [Thanks to Anz for the tip]

Bees Saal Baad – After a serious bout of throat problem, which nearly rendered Lataji voice-less, she returned to the studios with a bang, hitting the soul directly with the call that defines ‘horror’ film genre songs in Kahiin deep jale kahiin dil. The song is so irrevocably stamped in every music lover’s psyche that it is impossible to imagine that there could be a newer film by the same name. But, there was! Mithun Chakraborty and Meenakshi Sheshadri tried to raise the spooks again, with Dimple floating in white amidst haunted havelis singing in a horrifying Anuradha Paudwal’s voice Kitne saawan beet gaye.

Jurmana – Hrishikesh Mukherjee created two very sensitive films with the trio of Vinod Mehra-Amitabh-Raakhi. Of these two, Bemisaal is the more known one. But Jurmana had its own strengths. One of which was RD Burman’s music. Latadi got two magnificent solos – Chhoti si ek kali khili thi and the better known Saawan ke jhoole pade. The new Jurmana is a TLV Prasadh- Mithun Chakroborty combined B-grade flick, with mu-sick by Dilip Sen Sameer Sen.

Boyfriend – The older film is a lesser known Shankar Jaikishan film, wherein Latadi did the coquettish Aise na jaao o beraham (with an ultra cute Aadab arz hai thrown in between). The newer film has the in-your-face Jatin Lalit composition Kahdo toh duniya mein aaj baja doon band!

Samundar – Three of them – the first one had music by S.Purushottam, but I have not heard any songs from this film (reportedly with songs by Asha Bhonsle). It is the second one that interests me a lot. Madan Mohan composed the classically handsome Lata Mangeshkar solo Chain nahin aaye kahan dil jaaye – in this, her rendition of the leitmotif sajanwa ho balamwa ho is exceedingly enchanting. Another fascinating solo by the diva was Aaja kahiin se aaja mere dil ka qaraar leke. Jump decades, and Latadi continued to regale under Panchamda’s baton for Rahul Rawail’s Sunny Deol-Poonam Deol film. The peppy Ae saagar kii lahron hum bhii aatein hai thehro (with Kishoreda) was the highlight song. Asha Bhonsle whipped up a creamy lather in the sensuous Yeh rang-e-mehfil badal raha hai, and Kishore Kumar naughtily charmed with Yeh kori karaari kanwaari nazar. Another unsung eighties RD Burman score, which needs to be resurrected.

Elaan– Again, three that I know of. In the seventies, Vinod Mehra starred with a podgy and dusky Rekha in this FC Mehra production about ‘invisible man’ (yes, the idea was used way before Mr. India). Shankar Jaikishan’s music didn’t cut much ice with music lovers, but there is a cute charm in Sharda’s Aath ko aath se jama karo and the duet Aap ki raay mere baare mein kya hai. In the nineties, Akshay Kumar and Madhoo romped on screen to Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s risque Tu ru tu ru kahan se karuun main pyaar shuru. But the biggest delight in this film was Lata Mangeshkar’s breath-taking Naino ko baatein karne do – a mature and mellow duet with Kumar Sanu, which had shades of L-P’s Badalte Rishtey song Meri saanson ko jo mahka rahii hai! The last Elaan is a boring Vikram Bhatt film starring Arjun Rampal, Rahul Khanna and Lara Dutta. The music had some Anu Mallik monstroties like Aandarlu baandalru, et al.

Kartavya – L-P were at their peak in 1979, when they composed the sultry and sizzling solo Doorie na rahein koi aaj itne kareeb aao, sung splendidly by Lata Mangeshkar and picturised on the verge-of-blooming Rekha. Other solos by her included Koii aayega and Chhaila babu tu kaisa dildaar nikla. In the newer film, the perpetually wooden Sanjay Kapoor starred opposite Juhi Chawla. Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s music was good, but just about so.

Hawas – Saawan Kumar’s take on lust consisted of Mohd. Rafi’s towering solo Teri galiyon mein na rakhenge qadam. The newer Hawas (Meghna Naidu in yet another Unfaithful remake) had two good songs – Mai yun miloon tujhe and Tera naam leke marne lenge.

[Update on 31.01.07]

Shola Aur Shabnam – In the old black-and-white film Latadi and Rafisaab sweetly acknowledged hesitant love in Jeet hi lenge baazi hum tum, under Khayyam’s baton. The song is one of the most shimmering duets from this prolific but perfect pair. Leap-forward, and in the nineties we have Govinda croaking Gore gore under Bappi Lahiri’s tutelage. What a comedown! I haven’t seen the older film, but the newer one was, otherwise, a typical David Dhawan dhamaal, with lots of slapstick humor in the first half, and ‘action-packed’ emotions in the second one.

Mohabbat – I don’t have any idea about the first Mohabbat, made by Phani Majumdar, starring the Marathi doyen Shanta Apte. However, the second one is part of my growing up years, and I will,this once, root for the much-maligned composer Bappi Lahiri. Largely for two beautiful songs in the Anil-Vijeta starrer: Kishoreda’s Saanson se nahin kadmon se nahin and Latadi’s Naina yeh barse milne ko tarse. The nineties version has Akshaye-Madhur-Sanjay Kapoor in a trite love triangle, with not-so-brilliant score by Nadeem Shravan. Worse, they blindly aped Stereo Nation’s Don’t break my heart – the original of which was in any case running simultaneously on the charts.

Chor Machaye Shor – Le jaayenge le jaayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge is a cult number, a very peppy and unlikely number from Ravindra Jain. The spectre of this mammoth melody loomed so large that Jatin Lalit confessed that they couldn’t come up with a better number when they did Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Kishore Kumar tugged the heart with Ghoongroo ki tarah bajta hi raha hun ( a song, which I recall reading, he had confessed looked easy, but was otherwise tough to sing). Skip decades, and we have Vinod Rathod and Anuradha Sriram locking tonsils in the terribly written Tum Tata ho ya Birla, under Anu Mallik’s command, in the David Dhawan flop by the same name.

Loafer – When Rafisaab languidly remarked Aaj mausam bada baimaan hai, the clouds drooped in appreciation; the warm L-P melody hugs you with its sensuous allure. In the newer version, we had to content with Anand Milind’s atrocities like Aao karein hum tum kahiin nain-matakka. However, from this Anil-Juhi starrer, the number Teri tirchhi nazar mein hai jaadoo was very catchy and likeable.

Love Marriage – Now what to say of this outstandingly magnificent Shankar Jaikishan score! Every song is the most supreme aural delight, tickling the heart, touching the soul, stirring the hips and hugging the lips. From the romantically romantic Dheere dheere chal chaand gagan mein to the bashful Kahe jhoom jhoom raat yeh suhani to the playful Dil se dil takraaye to the cutting critque of Teen kanastar peet peet kar gala phaar ke chillana, every number is a well polished pearl. However, the same cannot be said about L-P’s boring music in the eighties film of the same name. In this sort of sex-comedy (wherein the lovers are desperate to consummate their marriage), the only number that could be said average is the title number.

Dastak– Quality peaked when Madan Mohan sored. And in Dastak even he surpassed his own tough standards. This small budget Sanjeev Kumar-Rehana Sultana film had a big score. Lataji was ever the heart and soul – her solos Baiyyan na dharo, Hum hai mata-e-kucha-o-bazaar ki tarah and Maai ri main kaase kahuun rank amongst the best from her own mammoth ouvre. And Rafisaab did his own bit in the almost whispered Tum se kahuun ek baat paron si halki. This is an album that you can keep on listening without tiring even once. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Rajesh Roshan’s music in Sushmita Sen’s debut film, carrying the same title. Even though Rajesh Roshan’s score cannot be really termed ‘bad’ (and I quite like Abhijeet’s Tumhe kaise yeh bataaon and Alka’s Pal beet gaya yeh pal), but it cannot match up to the standards set by Madan Mohan!

Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai – Now this is one title where I can strongly say I love both the scores equally well. While S-J gave their own stamp with the frisky Jiya ho jiya kuchh bol do, Jatin Lalit held their own with the frothy O jaana na jaana yeh dil tera deewana.

Anari – Three of them, again – and like Andaaz, with some scion of Kapoor khandaan starring in them! But the most famous musically is, of course, the Shankar-Jaikishan one, starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. Released in 1959, it boasted of such phenomenal songs like Tera jaana dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana, Sab kuchh seekha humne na seekhi hoshiyari, Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, Woh chaand khila woh taare hanse and Dil ki nazar se. The second Anari starred brother Shashi Kapoor, but was a total washout. Music was by Laxmikant Pyarelal, but not a single song seems to have survived. The last Anari had Karisma Kapoor alongside South India superstar Venkatesh. Anand Milind’s music had one good number: Kya mausam aaya hai.

Junoon – Three, once more – and in quite a short span of time. The first is the seventies Shyam Benegal classic based on Ruskin Bond’s Flight of Pigeons. As a art-house movie, it didn’t have music the way we understand it in films, but Vanraj Bhatia’s Phir aayi kaari ghata matwaari was nice. The second Junoon was Mahesh Bhatt’s disastrous horror (more horrifying) film starring his daughter Pooja with his protege Rahul Roy and the wooden Avinash Wadhawan. This early nineties flick comprised of some ‘Gulshan Kumar-type’ music by Nadeem Shravan, with Anuradha Paudwal hogging all the limelight. Still, I would say the music was good – and O meri dilruba tu dil ke kareeb hai is a song that I love immensely. The last Junoon is a super-flop Shilpa Shetty starrer, released in 2002. Adesh Srivastava composed the score.

Lawaaris – Agreed that Kalyanji Anandji’s music in the Amitabh starrer can hardly be termed ‘great’. Yet, because of the overall cult status surrounding Big B movies of that time, we all remember the songs like Kaahe paise pe itna guroor kare ho, Apni toh jaise taise and that super-hit fun-filled number Mere angne mein tumhara kya kaam hai. In 1999, there was one more Lawaaris, and this time the score was handled by another seventies composer – Rajesh Roshan, but there wasn’t any strength in it. The film and the music were miserable flops.

Vishwaasghaat – I admit I am not aware of RD Burman’s music in the seventies Mahesh Bhatt film (Kabir Bedi, Shabana Azmi). But I am simply, madly and crazily in love with Shyam Surender’s score in the nineties flop (Suniel Shetty, Anjali Jathar) having the same name. Lata Mangeshkar sang four songs in this one and each is a complete beauty : the best is a solo Intezaar hai tera intezaar hai – an even paced song, with neat arrangements. The duet Yeh dil kyun dhadakta hai is fast but not furious. It has a loveable rhythm. Unfortunately, the music was released on a now-defunct music company, and perhaps is lost forever. I have a surviving audio cassette, and like to listen to it quite often.

Chaalbaaz – Obviously, Sridevi’s film in the eighties is a better known one. The twin-sisters-separated-at-birth saga inspired from Ram aur Shyam/Seeta aur Geeta was an absolute entertainer. However, I don’t like its loud music (Laxmikant Pyarelal). For that, I would turn to Madan Mohan’s posthumously released small-budget flop. It’s tour-de-force was Latadi’s Raat ujiyaari din andheraa tu jo sajan nahin mera hai. Jaaiye humse khafaa ho jaayiye was another wonderful song. In the fifties, there was one more film having same name, starring Nirupa Roy, but I don’t have any idea about it.

Rajkumar – Another name whereby L-P hopelessly botched up the score, and couldn’t live up to the high standards set by Shankar Jaikishan in the sixties Shammi Kapoor film. The older film had the terrific Aaja aayi bahaar, the steamy Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa and the energetic Jaane waalon zara hoshiyar, alongwith the now-almost-a-maxim Tumne pukara hum chale aaye. And the new one? Well, Payal meri tumko bulati was okayish, but I’d any day prefer to listen to the older one.

Suhaagan – Four of them – with two starring Mala Sinha-Guru Dutt! The first is a 1942 film – details unavailable. The second one released in 1954, and starred Mala Sinha. Again, I am not too aware about Vasant Desai / C Ramachandra’s music. Exactly a decade later, in 1964, Mala Sinha acted as yet another Suhaagan (once more with Guru Dutt) and this is the whose music I have. Rafisaab’s Tu mere saamne hai is a great melody, alongwith Bheegi chandni chhayi bekhudi aaja daal de baahon mein baahon ka haar. But the most remembered number is Latadi‘s Tum hi to meri pooja ho. The last Suhaagan is an eighties tearjerker starring Jeetu-Sridevi. Bappi Lahiri composed the music, and though the words slip me, it had one nice duet by Latadi.

Patita – Two films: in the fifties one Shankar Jaikishan gave great music; the duet Yaad kiya dil ne kahan ho tum is a hot romantic favorite till date, and Mitti se khelte ho baar baar kis liye was heart-wrenching. S-J also composed the most optimistic number Kisi ne mujhko apna bana ke muskurana sikha diya in Latadi‘s voice. Two decades later, Latadi was again at her sun-shine best in another happy number Baithe baithe aaj aayi mere mann ko (composed by Bappi Lahiri).

[Update on 02.02.07]

Karz / Karz -The Burden of Truth – The theme music strummed its way into your hearts – never mind if it was copied. Latadi and Kishoreda, well past their fifties, tucked their tongues firmly in cheek and giggled Mai solah baras ki/Mai satarah baras ka; Asha Bhonsle and Kishoreda raised the storm with Ek haseena thi ek deewana tha – unarguably, Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in Subhash Ghai’s take on Reincarnation of Peter Proud was an immense hit. The newer one (Sanjeev Darshan) was – like the illogical tagline – burdensome and cumbersome score!

Talaash – Remember Rajendra Kumar questioning a wide eyed Sharmila Tagore with Palkon ke peeche se kya tumne kah daala phir se toh farmaana? Spice it up more with the folksy Khai hai rah humne qasam sang rahne kii and the sparkling choral riff of Aaj ko juneli raat ma. And we had a stupendous SD Burman score. The magic was hopelessly lost in Sanjeev Darshan’s score in the newer Akshay Kumar -Karisma starrer.

Saudagar – The new generation danced to the remix of Sajna hai mujhe sajna ke liye. And the older generation loved Tera mera saath rahe. The film was a sensitive and sensible one. In the new one, the budget was upped and the screen widened, but the music didn’t lose its charm. Teri yaad aati hai is a towering duet, and one of the finest from Laxmikant Pyarelal. The common link in both was Lata Mangeshkar’s effusive voice.

Kaali Ghata – The first is a fifties Kishore Sahu film, music by Shankar Jaikishan. The centerpoint of the album was Latadi’s Humse na poochho koi pyaar kya pyaar kya hai. Other pleasures included Madhur milan hai and Ille belle aare. The newer one is not so new – early eighties. And starred Rekha and Shashi Kapoor. I recall only one song – the two part title song Kaali ghata chhayi prem rut aayi, aayi aayi aayi teri yaad aayi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal. Nice song.

Baazigar / Bazigar – Believe it or faint, there are actually four of them! The first came as early as 1938 and starred Trilok Kapoor. Other details unavailable – music could be by Gyan Dutt. The next was a Nirupa Roy starrer, though again the details are not too forthcoming on this one. I suspect this is the one that has music by Chitragupt. The next one released in 1972, probably with music by Sapan Jagmohan. (Details awaited from readers). The last one is, however, the most known one which spiralled Shah Rukh Khan’s career to a dizzying height. Anu Mallik gave some nice tunes.

[Courtesy – Madhu and Juneli, for pointing out to some titles featured in the updates]

Now on to the films which are essentially legendary stories or based on the same literary source, hence forced to have same title:

Devdas – I love the newer film, but prefer the songs of the older one. S D Burman’s composition in the Dilip Kumar version had such shimmering beauties like Jisse tu qabool kar le and O aane waale. In between, there was another version that never got completed, but Latadi’s Ku hu kuh bole koyaliya is outstanding.

Sohni Mahiwal – I think there are more, but I recall two versions strongly. One, is a fifties film with music by Naushadsaab, and was (IIRC) the debut for singer Mahendra Kapoor (Chand chhupa taare doobe raat gazab kii aayii). He got the theme song, while the lion’s share went to Rafisaab. However, it is Latadidi‘s Tumhare sang mai bhi chaluungi and her duet with Rafisaab Aane waale ko aana hoga, jaane waale ko jaana hoga that are the most luminescent numbers. Overall, the music is wonderful.

However, the eighties version (Sunny Deol and Poonam Dhillon) is in my honest opinion an extremely interesting score, composed by a still-struggling Annu Mallik. In this, Anupama Deshpande won the Filmfare Best Singer Award for Sohni chenaab de kinaare. However, it was otherwise Asha Bhonsle s film, and songs like Sohni sohni meri sohni aur nahi koi honi , Bol do meethe bol sohniye and Mujhe dulhe ka sehra gaane do are steeped in Punjabi ethos, have hummable tunes, and hold pleasurable interlude music. (I love Annu Mallik’s music from this era perhaps will do a separate post on this someday).

I have yet to hear the songs of the oldest film by the same name that had music by Lal Mohammad and songs by Zohrabai Ambalewali and G M Durrani, amongst others.

Heer Ranjha – Nothing, absolutely nothing, can surpass the melodies created by the ingenious Madan Mohan in the older version (which I suspect is the middle version ). From the near whisper intonations of Meri duniya mein tum aayi to the pain lashed Do dil toote do dil haare to the effervescent Milo na tum toh hum ghabraaye to the truth-seeking Yeh duniya yeh mehfil mere kaam ki nahi – each composition is a nugget to be savored, to be enjoyed and to immerse in its deep richness. The newer film had a horribly made up Anil Kapoor romancing the talented but ill-cast Sridevi with Rab ne banaya tujhe mere liye under Laxmikant Pyarelal s musical direction. But, clearly they were past their prime. And this Latadi-Anwar duet is the only good song in the entire album.

Umrao Jaan – I have said enough here

Don – Uh oh! Too bad that they had to remix and recycle Kalyanji Anandji’s original score (which in any case wouldn t ever get placed in the top best of the duo). Still, as a stand-alone, the old film s Arre diwaanon and Jiska mujhe tha intezaar are nice numbers. And Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana was a rocking item number when the phrase hadn’t even been created. There was a Mithun starrer The Don as well, but let’s not even talk about it!

Taj Mahal – Despite veteran Naushad at the helm of the affairs, the new film’s music was very ordinary. Music afficiandos will never forget Roshan’s luminous score that included Paaon chhoo lene do, Jo waada kiya and Jurm e ulfat pe humein log sazaa denge.

[This is an open post, and titles will be added to it as and when I remember them or get inputs from readers. Three updates available above]

Related readings – Lata Mangeshkar and Debut Heroines, Madan Mohan and Lata Mangeshkar

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Film Review

Sidharth (Salaam Namaste) Anand moves a step ahead in his craft. Tara Rum Pum, view while retaining all the gloss and glamour associated with Yash Raj Films, infertility is essentially a human story, viagra 100mg narrated in a gracious and genuine way. An absorbing film, Tara Rum Pum keeps the flame of human spirit burning with the warm oil of compassion, concern and candor.

The story revolves around a car race driver (Saif Ali Khan), who meets a severe accident on the tracks. Alongwith the car, his confidence crashes and amongst the debris are his ruined career and the acrid smoke of ruthless cash crunch. His family rallies around him, but he has several lessons yet to learn, and they form the crux of the second half. Of course, keeping in mind Bollywood sensibilities, the story starts right from the beginning where he meets the disciplined and dedicated piano student (Rani Mukerji looking plump yet ravishing in mini-skirts) in a series of – what else? – accidents.

The script is uncluttered, and progresses neatly, adding details here and there that make up the luxurious whole. It imparts a lesson in saving for the rainy day , without being grossly didactic or preachy. The dialogues are crisp. The second half is less humorous, but not heavy; though personally I feel this takes away the punch; and the piercing pain doesn’t cut pitilessly into the heart. Perhaps, a better idea would have been to go whole out in the melodrama, peeling off the gloss and allowing the scenario to be as barren and grim as the walls of the house the family is force to shift in. But Anand prefers to go by the neo-modern grammar, keeping in check any excesses, yet pointing out pretty clearly that the family is in big trouble. Some portions do manage to moisten the eyes, though – for example, Rani playing at boring birthday parties and then packing off the foodstuff for her kids.

A big triumph are the car racing scenes (and they are plentiful), which hold their own individuality without looking duplicated or boring. The last one stirs your adrelanin. (Actually, the film in the last half-hour is stunning!)

Binod Pradhan scores another home-run this year with his camera work (after the painstakingly beautiful Eklavya). The car race scenes are deftly shot, without confusing the viewer. New York is captured in a bright colorful mosaic. The film is well edited, though judging by the audience reaction in the theater, the interval could have been upped a bit, but that’s being overtly finicky. I am deliberately not venturing into the Reader’s Don’t Digest kind of bloopers – I am sure they will be eventually listed out in a magazine that wears the serious-looking dress over its patchy petticoat.

Vishal-Shekhar’s melodious musical score is the most surprising aspect. Frankly, my expectations were very low. But the music is shimmering and sensational. While Shreya Ghoshal’s stupendous solo Ho agar koii gham toh (Ta ra ra rum tararum pum) envelops you in its inspirational and affectionate hug, Vishal Dadlani’s heart-wrenching part-Sufi-ish, part-Junoon-ish Ek banjaara iktaare pe (Saaiyaan) squeezes a tear from the eyes. Both the songs are winners, and have beautiful interludes. Nachle ve taps your feet to dancing and the title song delights. Javed Akhtar’s lyrics are great and Anand uses the music judiciously. Salim-Suleiman’s background score gels with the film’s theme.

Both Rani Mukerji and Saif Ali Khan give honest performances. But Javed Jaafri convincingly steals the show; no extraneous antics; simple clean and cut acting that hits the bull’s eye! The supporting cast supports adequately (and no, there aren’t any surprise appearance, and none by Abhishek Bachchan!). The kids endear. (Master Ali last stole our hearts in Fanaa, and here he effortlessly repeats the feat).

Tara Rum Pum retrieves Yash Raj Films (and producer and mastermind Aditya Chopra’s) lost reputation as sincere filmmakers providing good family entertainment. Of late, their films had been all gloss and no soul, with a one-point mission of raking in the moolah and satisfying the NRI urge of connecting with India without actually showing the country. True, the film is set in NY, and they still eye that sector avidly; true, there is all the glamor (designer house, designer profession, designer dresses, et al); but then the film is basically about human triumph, so all the strappings hardly matter. Plus, the locale or the lustre don’t overshadow the content; it’s an achievement where shine and story co-exist harmoniously! And yes, watch it with your family without being embarrassed one bit: no unnecessary kisses or any faaltu skin-show!

Overall – An Entertaining & Enjoyable Family Outing Film- Watch It!

Technorati : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Tara Rum Pum, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films
Del.icio.us : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Filmfare Power List is out! And Latadidi retains her fifth position this year too in the music makers section. Kudos to the lady to still be amongst the top five- that too, salve
with virtually no musical album release last year! Whoa! That is surely an achievement. Many congratulations!
I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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Repeat of movie names is not a new phenomenon. And with the volume of our Hindi film industry’s output, there it sometimes becomes a necessity as well.

In the age of FM, the announcers (or better known as RJ’s) hardly inform the film’s names of the song playing, let alone any other detail. But when I grew up listening to the ever dependable Vividh Bharti, the entire music credits were often mentioned including the always sidelined lyricists’ names. Then, it used to be disappointing to hear for example – the announcer speak out the name of Mahal, only to hear a song from the newer one (starring Dev Anand).

Blame it on my penchant for old songs, usually I prefer the older titled film’s numbers. Here is a list of films that have had similar names – again in no specific order:

Barsaat – There are three of them that I know of: 1949 film, which skyrocketed Lata Mangeshkar ‘s career to the zenith of success, established Raj Kapoor as a director par excellence and introduced Shankar Jaikishan one of the finest composers ever, in my opinion; 1990’s version which was the debut for Twinkle Khanna and Bobby Deol, and had music by the then kings Nadeem Shravan; the new millennium film which also starred Bobby Deol and had same music composers, albeit now beyond their prime time. Unarguably, the music standard declined progressively with each era’s film. The first Barsaat had such beauties like Chhod gaye baalam, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan, Patli kamar hai and Hawa mein udta jaaye. The second one was quite above average, and I quite like Teri adaayon pe marrta huun and Humko sirrf tum se pyaar hai. The last Barsaat hardly has anything worthwhile to mention.

Andaz – Four of them! And the first three starred one member of the Kapoor khandaan. 1949- Raj Kapoor and Nargis whipped up the passion along with the thespian Dilip Kumar; Naushadsaab composed nuggets like Tu kahe agar jeevan bhar gaata jaaoon and Hum aaj kahiin dil kho baithe. And Latadi found a toe-hold in the industry, giving stiff competition to Shamshad Begum (who sang alongside her in Darrna mohabbat karle).

The second came in or around 1972 and it starred Shammi Kapoor in the lead, but the reigning superstar Rajesh Khanna’s vivacious guest appearance stole the thunder. Shankar Jaikishan composed the bumper hit Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana (often taken as Jaikishan’s swan song, though technically and factually it isn’t true).

1994 Andaz saw the Gennext from Kapoor family Karisma starring in this David Dhawan double-entendre laden remake of Sundar Kaandam. Bappi Lahiri commandeered the music room and gave us bloopers like Khada hai khada hai and Tu maal gaadi mai driver tera!

The fourth one is the most recent one with Akshay Kumar, but better known as the debuts for Priyanka and Lara raising the mercury in their tight and tiny clothes. Nadeem Shravan s music was just about bearable.

Chori Chori -Three films! The first one is the fifties comedy based on It Happened One Night. Raj Kapoor and Nargis the industry s First Romantic Pair tickled the funny bone. And Shankar Jaikishan s music was simply scintillating. Just look at the lavish fare they gave: the eternally romantic Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, the joie-de-vivre charged Panchhi banoon uddti phiroon, the chirrupy Jahan mai jaati hoon wahiin chale aate ho, the heart-wrenching Rasik balmaa dil kyun lagaya, the silly but nevertheless funny All line clear and the syrupy Aaja sanam madhur chaandni mein hum. In the seventies, there was one more Chori Chori again with compositions by Shankar Jaikishan, but I haven’t heard any number from this film.

The last Chori Chori is the Milan Luthria flop in the nineties starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukerji. Sajid-Wajid’s music was despondently dull.

Seema – Two, which I know of. The first is the exceptional social drama starring power-house performers Balraj Sahni and Nutan. Again, Shankar Jaikishan gave some shimmering melodies the serene prayer Tu pyaar ka saagar hai , the hurt Kahaan jaa raha hai, the classical Manmohana bade jhoote and the optimistic Baat baat mein rootho na. It also had one of my most favorite Latadi solo Suno chhotisi gudiya kii lambii kahanii. The second Seema came in the seventies and once again had music by Shankar Jaikishan. From this Rafisaab s Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai (penned by Gulzar) is exceptional.

Kathputli /Kattputli – I adore the music of the fifties version Bol ri kathputli dori kaun sang baandhi is such a marvelously magnificent number that I can hear it anytime; and a song that I fell in love with when I was a kid and had heard it on Chitrahaar. Once more, it was Shankar-Jaikishan’s creativity at its peak. And Latadi sounds so soft and sublime. There was another Kathhputli in the seventies as well, this time music by Kalyanji Anandji. Details not available with me. The last is a recent flick, produced by and starring Mink Singh, with a little twist in the title s spelling musically, it was a complete washout!

Karm/ Karam – The seventies film (starring Vidya Sinha and a rapidly losing popularity Rajesh Khanna) was an interesting critique on astrology. The music wasn t that great but Asha Bhonsle s Samay tu dheere dheere chal (with a sad version that went Samay tu jaldi jaldi chal) was a nice song. The newer Karam had the current poster boy John Abraham playing a hit-man. Musically, it was a zilch except for Alisha Chinai s effectively sung Tinka tinka zara zara.

Saajan – I grew up listening to Latadi s Saajan saajan pukaaroon galiyon mein, a typical Laxmikant Pyarelal ditty, picturised on Asha Parekh it was quite a staple on Chitrahaars. I haven’t yet seen this film. The second Saajan was a phenomenal hit, and Nadeem Shravan gave some hummable chart-busters. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Madhuri starred in this fluke Sudhakar Bokade love triangle hit.

Baharon Ki Manzil / Baharon Ke Manzil – Both the films are not very well known. And I have seen both! The first one stars Meena Kumari and is a whodunit. Laxmikant Pyarelal gave the music in which Lata Mangeshkar was the sole singer (no male songs in this film!), of which Nigaahen kyun bhatakti hai is quite well known. However, despite no Latadi, I find the second film s music really appaudable and better. Raamlaxman scored some excellent numbers in the voices of Poornima, Udit Narayan and Amit Kumar. Meri jaan dua karna is a towering duet with lip-smacking interludes and fine singing. The film was a miserable flop and was the debut for Mona Singh (in case you don t know her, she played the wet nurse in Mangle Panday oops, Mangal Panday).

Khel – I recall two of them. The first is a decent Anil-Madhuri 1992 film, directed by Rakesh Roshan, but unfortunately was a dampener at the box-office. The music by brother Rajesh Roshan was exceptionally good. Latadi‘s duet with Mohd. Aziz Khat likhna hai par sochti huun is a hot personal favorite. Sister Asha Bhonsle displayed immense vocal virtuosity in the cabaret number Ek baat maan lo tum (with a cutely reversed and suitably toned down bhajan version as well!). And Amit Kumar’s pathos-laden Soone shaam savere is superb (though having a pretty funny picturisation). The newer Khel (Suniel Shetty, Celina Jeitly) was a musical disaster.

There was the oldest Khel as well with music composed by Sajjad Hussain. Latadi‘s Jaate ho toh jaao is a heart-achingly beautiful number. [Thanks to Madhu for the tip]

Julie – Again, I recall two of them. The first is a musical hit. Bhool gayasab kuchh is an ardent love duet and Dil kya kare jab kisise kisiko pyaar ho jaaye builds up a zealous steam. The debut heroine Laxmi might have bloated to a shrill matron (Hulchul) and the hero Vikram is lost in the annals of cinematic history, but Rajesh Roshan’s score continues to be still dew drop fresh and is remembered fondly by music-lovers. The newer Julie is more known for Neha Dhupia s bare-dare act than for its songs, but I found Himesh Reshammiya’s score very mellifluous and deserving. Ae dil yeh bataa kyun hone laga is the best number, followed by Dhadkan ho gayii tumse aashna and Hum tumse dil laga baithe.

Waqt / Waqt Race Against Time – I admit I don’t like the older film s songs too much, though Ae meri zohra jabeen is a retro-hit, and a source of many-a-remix. The philosophical title song by Rafisaab Waqt ke din aur raat is , in my opinion, the best number. Let me not beat the bush, the rest of the songs by Ravi were marred by Asha Bhonsle’s voice, which in that era had assumed a strange phlegmatic thickness, which I don’t quite appreciate.

But cut to the present times and the newer film help! The raucous Anu Mallik warbled Do me a favor let s play holly {sic} no, no, no!!! God save my ears from this painful assault!

Aankhen – Four films but again the best music is from the two oldest version (that I know of). In 1950, Madan Mohan made his debut with Aankhen that had Mukesh’s Preet lagake maine yeh phal paaya. For some reason, Latadi couldn’t sing in this one, but MM didn’t make this an ego issue, and got her on-board with the next few films (Adaa , Madhosh) – and what a team it turned out to be!

In the second film, composer Ravi gave very melodious music in this Dharam-Mala Sinha thriller. Milti hai zindagi mein mohabbat kabhi kabhi and Gairon pe karam apnon pe sitam belong to my childhood memories and are firmly etched as beautiful songs. The nineties Aankhen was a super-duper Govinda-David Dhawan combine hit; Bappi Lahiri s score was strictly functional and in sync with the film’s mood. Laal dupatte waali tera naam toh bata was the biggest hit from this film.

The fourth Aankhen (starring Amitabh Bachhan and a posse of supporting cast) hardly had any song worth mentioning – unless you prefer tepid tapori numbers like Phatela jeb sil jaayega!

Charas – After Aankhen, this is another Ramanand Sagar-Dharamendra combination thriller whose name got stolen. In the seventies film, Laxmikant Pyarelal whipped up a frenzy with the naughtily vivacious Kal ki haseen mulaqaat ke liye (Lata-Kishore) and the tranquil Ke aaja teri yaad aayi (Lata-Rafi-Anand Bakshi). There were other good numbers too Raja na jaa (Lata) and Mai ladki badnaam ho gayii (Lata). The newer film by Tigmanshu Dhulia was a cropper where music was concerned. I haven t heard a single good song from this film.

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja – Shankar Jaikishan’s music in the older film (Dev Anand- Waheeda Rahman) was a delight. Latadi s Tum toh dil ke taar chhed kar is pure gold (with a tandem by Hemant Kumar), and the title song is quintessential S-J. Cut to the nineties film, and L-P try hard to match their senior s orchestral wizardry, but only end up with a cacophonous din. Add to this Kavita Krishnamoorthy’s shrill singing and the consequence is highly distasteful. Incidentally, both the films were huge flops!

Masoom – Now who can ever forget Gulzar s introspective lyrics in Tujhse naraaz nahii zindagi set to a terrific tune by R D Burman? Flash forward a couple of decades, and Ayesha Julka-Indra Kumar starrer is an ugly blot to the older film s title. It s only when one comes across such blasphemous use of older titles that one wishes there was a legislation stopping the re-cycling of the titles!

Golmaal – Latadi sounds ethereal in Ek baat kahuun gar maano tum, and Kishoreda makes us think in Aane waala pal jaane waala hai. Hrishida kept the funny bone forever tickled in this moustache-mania. It is a sin to even mention the recent gol-maul in the same breath as the older film. Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are just no-where remotely close to Panchamda s skill.

Geet – Kalyanji Anandji created an extraordinary love duet Mere mitwa mere meet re in the older film starring Rajendra Kumar and Mala Sinha. And then there was Latadi consoling tenderly Tere naina kyun neer bahaaye. Zoom to the nineties, and Latadi still held control in the newer Divya Bharti film, with Aap jo mere meet na hote. Regrettfully, the rest of this Bappi Lahiri album didn t have any other geet worth remembering.

Diwana / Deewana – The former is a slightly less known Raj Kapoor film with a bouquet of incredibly fragrant Mukesh melodies, composed by Shankar Jaikishan. The fare includes the bagpiper blast Taaron se pyaare armaan hamaare (Aana hi hoga tujhe aana hi hoga), the spectacularly plush Hum toh jaate apni gaaon, the brilliant Tumhari bhi jai jai humaari bhi jai jai, the lavish title song Diwana mujhko log kahein and the thought provoking Pate kii baat kahega kahega jab bhi deewana. Absolutely A-class music having flawless rhythm, interludes and singing! The second film is the nineties one, and brought current box-office badshah Shahrukh Khan into limelight. The music by Nadeem Shravan, though not matching SJ s work, is very respectable and I am very fond of Teri ummeed tera intezaar karte hain and the title song.

Dhanwaan – The criminally neglected Hridayanath Mangeshkar composed a chocolaty sweet duet Yeh aankhen dekh kar hum saari duniya bhool jaatein hain for the seventies Rajesh Khanna starrer (though picturised on Reena Roy and Rakesh Roshan). In the nineties, Anand Milind gave an energetically charged Holi song Rang di rang di preet ne rang di.

[Update on 29.01.07]

Milan – Three that I recall. The first one was in the fifties with music by Hansraj Bahl. Latadi plucked the heartstrings with Haaye jeeya roye. However, it was some two decades later that Laxmikant Pyarelal scorched the charts and stomped the hearts with bumper hits like the celebratory Bol gori bol tera kaun piya, the Madan Mohanesque Aaj dil pe koii zor chalta nahi, the melodious Saawan ka mahina pawan kare sor and the monumental Hum tum yug yug se geet milan ke – stuff that legends are made of, and remembered for yug yug! But a few more decades down the line Anand Milind’s vapid score in Mahesh Bhatt’s flop Jackie-Manisha starrer by the same name couldn’t last beyond the month the film was released in, leave alone a yug!

Gumnaam – Shankar Jaikishan gave haunting melodies in the old Agatha Christie-inspired film. Turn the century, and Nadeem Shravann come up with haunted wrecks in the lying-in-cans Dino Morea starrer. In the old film, Rafi’s Jaan pehchaan ho and Hum kaale hai toh kya hua kept the charts rocking and rolling, while Latadi‘s title number raised the goosebumps. Helen gave the requisite glamor with Iss duniya mein jeena ho toh sunlo meri baat.

Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya – I remember two films : in the first one, erstwhile Madan Mohan assistants Sonik Omi composed some sublime beauties, which bordered on their mentor’s style. While Suman Kalyanpur got the touching title song, Latadi bagged the best and the most splendid solo – Aaja re pyaar pukaare naina toh ro ro haare. More than three decades later, Latadi was still there in the newer film (Govinda, Tabu in a remake of Ramesh Talwar’s Doosra Aadmi) serenading Uttam Singh’s fluffy orchestra in Saare shahar mein charcha yeh aam ho gaya. Sadly, the rest of the score (by Aadesh Srivastava) was just average.

Saathi – I have no clue about the first one, which had music by Gulshan Soofi, lyrics by Wali Sahab and songs sung by Shamshad Begum. However, I have strong memories of the second one. Naushadsaab went western in sound with this Simi Garewal-Rajendra Kumar-Vyjanthimala film, which had the awesome Mere jeevan saathi kali thii main toh pyaasi in Latadi’s soft-as-silk voice. Then there was Yeh kaun aaya roshan ho gayi mehfil jiske naam se , Mai toh pyaar se tere piya and Aaina hoon mai tera! Mukesh and Suman Kalyanpur created romance and rhythm with Mera pyaar bhi tu hai yeh bahaar bhi tu hai. A very sensible score, indeed. Which is what I personally feel about the newest Saathi as well. Inspite of Anuradha Paudwal’s pathetic pronunciations, Saathi koii bhoola yaad aaya and Aaj hum tum o sanam are decent compositions (by Nadeem Shravan).

Guru – The older Guru starred Mithun Chakraborthy as well – at that time, in the lead role, with his then love interest Sridevi. Their ‘kiss’ at that time created quite a flurry, equivalent to the present day Guru‘s heroine’s lip lock with Hrithik in Dhoom-2. The older movie had some typical eighties cacophonous Bappi Lahiri music with songs where the heroine profoundly proclaimed I am a bad girl.But don’t hasten to write off the film just yet – because Bappida also surprised all with a very sensitive love duet Jaiiyo na jaiiyo na humse door sajan jaiiyo na (Lata Mangeshkar-Shailendra Singh). And linking up with the new age Guru is another common thread: Bappi-da returns as a playback singer for the tipsy but enjoyable number Ek lo ek muft! [Thanks to Anz for the tip]

Bees Saal Baad – After a serious bout of throat problem, which nearly rendered Lataji voice-less, she returned to the studios with a bang, hitting the soul directly with the call that defines ‘horror’ film genre songs in Kahiin deep jale kahiin dil. The song is so irrevocably stamped in every music lover’s psyche that it is impossible to imagine that there could be a newer film by the same name. But, there was! Mithun Chakraborty and Meenakshi Sheshadri tried to raise the spooks again, with Dimple floating in white amidst haunted havelis singing in a horrifying Anuradha Paudwal’s voice Kitne saawan beet gaye.

Jurmana – Hrishikesh Mukherjee created two very sensitive films with the trio of Vinod Mehra-Amitabh-Raakhi. Of these two, Bemisaal is the more known one. But Jurmana had its own strengths. One of which was RD Burman’s music. Latadi got two magnificent solos – Chhoti si ek kali khili thi and the better known Saawan ke jhoole pade. The new Jurmana is a TLV Prasadh- Mithun Chakroborty combined B-grade flick, with mu-sick by Dilip Sen Sameer Sen.

Boyfriend – The older film is a lesser known Shankar Jaikishan film, wherein Latadi did the coquettish Aise na jaao o beraham (with an ultra cute Aadab arz hai thrown in between). The newer film has the in-your-face Jatin Lalit composition Kahdo toh duniya mein aaj baja doon band!

Samundar – Three of them – the first one had music by S.Purushottam, but I have not heard any songs from this film (reportedly with songs by Asha Bhonsle). It is the second one that interests me a lot. Madan Mohan composed the classically handsome Lata Mangeshkar solo Chain nahin aaye kahan dil jaaye – in this, her rendition of the leitmotif sajanwa ho balamwa ho is exceedingly enchanting. Another fascinating solo by the diva was Aaja kahiin se aaja mere dil ka qaraar leke. Jump decades, and Latadi continued to regale under Panchamda’s baton for Rahul Rawail’s Sunny Deol-Poonam Deol film. The peppy Ae saagar kii lahron hum bhii aatein hai thehro (with Kishoreda) was the highlight song. Asha Bhonsle whipped up a creamy lather in the sensuous Yeh rang-e-mehfil badal raha hai, and Kishore Kumar naughtily charmed with Yeh kori karaari kanwaari nazar. Another unsung eighties RD Burman score, which needs to be resurrected.

Elaan– Again, three that I know of. In the seventies, Vinod Mehra starred with a podgy and dusky Rekha in this FC Mehra production about ‘invisible man’ (yes, the idea was used way before Mr. India). Shankar Jaikishan’s music didn’t cut much ice with music lovers, but there is a cute charm in Sharda’s Aath ko aath se jama karo and the duet Aap ki raay mere baare mein kya hai. In the nineties, Akshay Kumar and Madhoo romped on screen to Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s risque Tu ru tu ru kahan se karuun main pyaar shuru. But the biggest delight in this film was Lata Mangeshkar’s breath-taking Naino ko baatein karne do – a mature and mellow duet with Kumar Sanu, which had shades of L-P’s Badalte Rishtey song Meri saanson ko jo mahka rahii hai! The last Elaan is a boring Vikram Bhatt film starring Arjun Rampal, Rahul Khanna and Lara Dutta. The music had some Anu Mallik monstroties like Aandarlu baandalru, et al.

Kartavya – L-P were at their peak in 1979, when they composed the sultry and sizzling solo Doorie na rahein koi aaj itne kareeb aao, sung splendidly by Lata Mangeshkar and picturised on the verge-of-blooming Rekha. Other solos by her included Koii aayega and Chhaila babu tu kaisa dildaar nikla. In the newer film, the perpetually wooden Sanjay Kapoor starred opposite Juhi Chawla. Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s music was good, but just about so.

Hawas – Saawan Kumar’s take on lust consisted of Mohd. Rafi’s towering solo Teri galiyon mein na rakhenge qadam. The newer Hawas (Meghna Naidu in yet another Unfaithful remake) had two good songs – Mai yun miloon tujhe and Tera naam leke marne lenge.

[Update on 31.01.07]

Shola Aur Shabnam – In the old black-and-white film Latadi and Rafisaab sweetly acknowledged hesitant love in Jeet hi lenge baazi hum tum, under Khayyam’s baton. The song is one of the most shimmering duets from this prolific but perfect pair. Leap-forward, and in the nineties we have Govinda croaking Gore gore under Bappi Lahiri’s tutelage. What a comedown! I haven’t seen the older film, but the newer one was, otherwise, a typical David Dhawan dhamaal, with lots of slapstick humor in the first half, and ‘action-packed’ emotions in the second one.

Mohabbat – I don’t have any idea about the first Mohabbat, made by Phani Majumdar, starring the Marathi doyen Shanta Apte. However, the second one is part of my growing up years, and I will,this once, root for the much-maligned composer Bappi Lahiri. Largely for two beautiful songs in the Anil-Vijeta starrer: Kishoreda’s Saanson se nahin kadmon se nahin and Latadi’s Naina yeh barse milne ko tarse. The nineties version has Akshaye-Madhur-Sanjay Kapoor in a trite love triangle, with not-so-brilliant score by Nadeem Shravan. Worse, they blindly aped Stereo Nation’s Don’t break my heart – the original of which was in any case running simultaneously on the charts.

Chor Machaye Shor – Le jaayenge le jaayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge is a cult number, a very peppy and unlikely number from Ravindra Jain. The spectre of this mammoth melody loomed so large that Jatin Lalit confessed that they couldn’t come up with a better number when they did Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Kishore Kumar tugged the heart with Ghoongroo ki tarah bajta hi raha hun ( a song, which I recall reading, he had confessed looked easy, but was otherwise tough to sing). Skip decades, and we have Vinod Rathod and Anuradha Sriram locking tonsils in the terribly written Tum Tata ho ya Birla, under Anu Mallik’s command, in the David Dhawan flop by the same name.

Loafer – When Rafisaab languidly remarked Aaj mausam bada baimaan hai, the clouds drooped in appreciation; the warm L-P melody hugs you with its sensuous allure. In the newer version, we had to content with Anand Milind’s atrocities like Aao karein hum tum kahiin nain-matakka. However, from this Anil-Juhi starrer, the number Teri tirchhi nazar mein hai jaadoo was very catchy and likeable.

Love Marriage – Now what to say of this outstandingly magnificent Shankar Jaikishan score! Every song is the most supreme aural delight, tickling the heart, touching the soul, stirring the hips and hugging the lips. From the romantically romantic Dheere dheere chal chaand gagan mein to the bashful Kahe jhoom jhoom raat yeh suhani to the playful Dil se dil takraaye to the cutting critque of Teen kanastar peet peet kar gala phaar ke chillana, every number is a well polished pearl. However, the same cannot be said about L-P’s boring music in the eighties film of the same name. In this sort of sex-comedy (wherein the lovers are desperate to consummate their marriage), the only number that could be said average is the title number.

Dastak– Quality peaked when Madan Mohan sored. And in Dastak even he surpassed his own tough standards. This small budget Sanjeev Kumar-Rehana Sultana film had a big score. Lataji was ever the heart and soul – her solos Baiyyan na dharo, Hum hai mata-e-kucha-o-bazaar ki tarah and Maai ri main kaase kahuun rank amongst the best from her own mammoth ouvre. And Rafisaab did his own bit in the almost whispered Tum se kahuun ek baat paron si halki. This is an album that you can keep on listening without tiring even once. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Rajesh Roshan’s music in Sushmita Sen’s debut film, carrying the same title. Even though Rajesh Roshan’s score cannot be really termed ‘bad’ (and I quite like Abhijeet’s Tumhe kaise yeh bataaon and Alka’s Pal beet gaya yeh pal), but it cannot match up to the standards set by Madan Mohan!

Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai – Now this is one title where I can strongly say I love both the scores equally well. While S-J gave their own stamp with the frisky Jiya ho jiya kuchh bol do, Jatin Lalit held their own with the frothy O jaana na jaana yeh dil tera deewana.

Anari – Three of them, again – and like Andaaz, with some scion of Kapoor khandaan starring in them! But the most famous musically is, of course, the Shankar-Jaikishan one, starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. Released in 1959, it boasted of such phenomenal songs like Tera jaana dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana, Sab kuchh seekha humne na seekhi hoshiyari, Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, Woh chaand khila woh taare hanse and Dil ki nazar se. The second Anari starred brother Shashi Kapoor, but was a total washout. Music was by Laxmikant Pyarelal, but not a single song seems to have survived. The last Anari had Karisma Kapoor alongside South India superstar Venkatesh. Anand Milind’s music had one good number: Kya mausam aaya hai.

Junoon – Three, once more – and in quite a short span of time. The first is the seventies Shyam Benegal classic based on Ruskin Bond’s Flight of Pigeons. As a art-house movie, it didn’t have music the way we understand it in films, but Vanraj Bhatia’s Phir aayi kaari ghata matwaari was nice. The second Junoon was Mahesh Bhatt’s disastrous horror (more horrifying) film starring his daughter Pooja with his protege Rahul Roy and the wooden Avinash Wadhawan. This early nineties flick comprised of some ‘Gulshan Kumar-type’ music by Nadeem Shravan, with Anuradha Paudwal hogging all the limelight. Still, I would say the music was good – and O meri dilruba tu dil ke kareeb hai is a song that I love immensely. The last Junoon is a super-flop Shilpa Shetty starrer, released in 2002. Adesh Srivastava composed the score.

Lawaaris – Agreed that Kalyanji Anandji’s music in the Amitabh starrer can hardly be termed ‘great’. Yet, because of the overall cult status surrounding Big B movies of that time, we all remember the songs like Kaahe paise pe itna guroor kare ho, Apni toh jaise taise and that super-hit fun-filled number Mere angne mein tumhara kya kaam hai. In 1999, there was one more Lawaaris, and this time the score was handled by another seventies composer – Rajesh Roshan, but there wasn’t any strength in it. The film and the music were miserable flops.

Vishwaasghaat – I admit I am not aware of RD Burman’s music in the seventies Mahesh Bhatt film (Kabir Bedi, Shabana Azmi). But I am simply, madly and crazily in love with Shyam Surender’s score in the nineties flop (Suniel Shetty, Anjali Jathar) having the same name. Lata Mangeshkar sang four songs in this one and each is a complete beauty : the best is a solo Intezaar hai tera intezaar hai – an even paced song, with neat arrangements. The duet Yeh dil kyun dhadakta hai is fast but not furious. It has a loveable rhythm. Unfortunately, the music was released on a now-defunct music company, and perhaps is lost forever. I have a surviving audio cassette, and like to listen to it quite often.

Chaalbaaz – Obviously, Sridevi’s film in the eighties is a better known one. The twin-sisters-separated-at-birth saga inspired from Ram aur Shyam/Seeta aur Geeta was an absolute entertainer. However, I don’t like its loud music (Laxmikant Pyarelal). For that, I would turn to Madan Mohan’s posthumously released small-budget flop. It’s tour-de-force was Latadi’s Raat ujiyaari din andheraa tu jo sajan nahin mera hai. Jaaiye humse khafaa ho jaayiye was another wonderful song. In the fifties, there was one more film having same name, starring Nirupa Roy, but I don’t have any idea about it.

Rajkumar – Another name whereby L-P hopelessly botched up the score, and couldn’t live up to the high standards set by Shankar Jaikishan in the sixties Shammi Kapoor film. The older film had the terrific Aaja aayi bahaar, the steamy Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa and the energetic Jaane waalon zara hoshiyar, alongwith the now-almost-a-maxim Tumne pukara hum chale aaye. And the new one? Well, Payal meri tumko bulati was okayish, but I’d any day prefer to listen to the older one.

Suhaagan – Four of them – with two starring Mala Sinha-Guru Dutt! The first is a 1942 film – details unavailable. The second one released in 1954, and starred Mala Sinha. Again, I am not too aware about Vasant Desai / C Ramachandra’s music. Exactly a decade later, in 1964, Mala Sinha acted as yet another Suhaagan (once more with Guru Dutt) and this is the whose music I have. Rafisaab’s Tu mere saamne hai is a great melody, alongwith Bheegi chandni chhayi bekhudi aaja daal de baahon mein baahon ka haar. But the most remembered number is Latadi‘s Tum hi to meri pooja ho. The last Suhaagan is an eighties tearjerker starring Jeetu-Sridevi. Bappi Lahiri composed the music, and though the words slip me, it had one nice duet by Latadi.

Patita – Two films: in the fifties one Shankar Jaikishan gave great music; the duet Yaad kiya dil ne kahan ho tum is a hot romantic favorite till date, and Mitti se khelte ho baar baar kis liye was heart-wrenching. S-J also composed the most optimistic number Kisi ne mujhko apna bana ke muskurana sikha diya in Latadi‘s voice. Two decades later, Latadi was again at her sun-shine best in another happy number Baithe baithe aaj aayi mere mann ko (composed by Bappi Lahiri).

[Update on 02.02.07]

Karz / Karz -The Burden of Truth – The theme music strummed its way into your hearts – never mind if it was copied. Latadi and Kishoreda, well past their fifties, tucked their tongues firmly in cheek and giggled Mai solah baras ki/Mai satarah baras ka; Asha Bhonsle and Kishoreda raised the storm with Ek haseena thi ek deewana tha – unarguably, Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in Subhash Ghai’s take on Reincarnation of Peter Proud was an immense hit. The newer one (Sanjeev Darshan) was – like the illogical tagline – burdensome and cumbersome score!

Talaash – Remember Rajendra Kumar questioning a wide eyed Sharmila Tagore with Palkon ke peeche se kya tumne kah daala phir se toh farmaana? Spice it up more with the folksy Khai hai rah humne qasam sang rahne kii and the sparkling choral riff of Aaj ko juneli raat ma. And we had a stupendous SD Burman score. The magic was hopelessly lost in Sanjeev Darshan’s score in the newer Akshay Kumar -Karisma starrer.

Saudagar – The new generation danced to the remix of Sajna hai mujhe sajna ke liye. And the older generation loved Tera mera saath rahe. The film was a sensitive and sensible one. In the new one, the budget was upped and the screen widened, but the music didn’t lose its charm. Teri yaad aati hai is a towering duet, and one of the finest from Laxmikant Pyarelal. The common link in both was Lata Mangeshkar’s effusive voice.

Kaali Ghata – The first is a fifties Kishore Sahu film, music by Shankar Jaikishan. The centerpoint of the album was Latadi’s Humse na poochho koi pyaar kya pyaar kya hai. Other pleasures included Madhur milan hai and Ille belle aare. The newer one is not so new – early eighties. And starred Rekha and Shashi Kapoor. I recall only one song – the two part title song Kaali ghata chhayi prem rut aayi, aayi aayi aayi teri yaad aayi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal. Nice song.

Baazigar / Bazigar – Believe it or faint, there are actually four of them! The first came as early as 1938 and starred Trilok Kapoor. Other details unavailable – music could be by Gyan Dutt. The next was a Nirupa Roy starrer, though again the details are not too forthcoming on this one. I suspect this is the one that has music by Chitragupt. The next one released in 1972, probably with music by Sapan Jagmohan. (Details awaited from readers). The last one is, however, the most known one which spiralled Shah Rukh Khan’s career to a dizzying height. Anu Mallik gave some nice tunes.

[Courtesy – Madhu and Juneli, for pointing out to some titles featured in the updates]

Now on to the films which are essentially legendary stories or based on the same literary source, hence forced to have same title:

Devdas – I love the newer film, but prefer the songs of the older one. S D Burman’s composition in the Dilip Kumar version had such shimmering beauties like Jisse tu qabool kar le and O aane waale. In between, there was another version that never got completed, but Latadi’s Ku hu kuh bole koyaliya is outstanding.

Sohni Mahiwal – I think there are more, but I recall two versions strongly. One, is a fifties film with music by Naushadsaab, and was (IIRC) the debut for singer Mahendra Kapoor (Chand chhupa taare doobe raat gazab kii aayii). He got the theme song, while the lion’s share went to Rafisaab. However, it is Latadidi‘s Tumhare sang mai bhi chaluungi and her duet with Rafisaab Aane waale ko aana hoga, jaane waale ko jaana hoga that are the most luminescent numbers. Overall, the music is wonderful.

However, the eighties version (Sunny Deol and Poonam Dhillon) is in my honest opinion an extremely interesting score, composed by a still-struggling Annu Mallik. In this, Anupama Deshpande won the Filmfare Best Singer Award for Sohni chenaab de kinaare. However, it was otherwise Asha Bhonsle s film, and songs like Sohni sohni meri sohni aur nahi koi honi , Bol do meethe bol sohniye and Mujhe dulhe ka sehra gaane do are steeped in Punjabi ethos, have hummable tunes, and hold pleasurable interlude music. (I love Annu Mallik’s music from this era perhaps will do a separate post on this someday).

I have yet to hear the songs of the oldest film by the same name that had music by Lal Mohammad and songs by Zohrabai Ambalewali and G M Durrani, amongst others.

Heer Ranjha – Nothing, absolutely nothing, can surpass the melodies created by the ingenious Madan Mohan in the older version (which I suspect is the middle version ). From the near whisper intonations of Meri duniya mein tum aayi to the pain lashed Do dil toote do dil haare to the effervescent Milo na tum toh hum ghabraaye to the truth-seeking Yeh duniya yeh mehfil mere kaam ki nahi – each composition is a nugget to be savored, to be enjoyed and to immerse in its deep richness. The newer film had a horribly made up Anil Kapoor romancing the talented but ill-cast Sridevi with Rab ne banaya tujhe mere liye under Laxmikant Pyarelal s musical direction. But, clearly they were past their prime. And this Latadi-Anwar duet is the only good song in the entire album.

Umrao Jaan – I have said enough here

Don – Uh oh! Too bad that they had to remix and recycle Kalyanji Anandji’s original score (which in any case wouldn t ever get placed in the top best of the duo). Still, as a stand-alone, the old film s Arre diwaanon and Jiska mujhe tha intezaar are nice numbers. And Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana was a rocking item number when the phrase hadn’t even been created. There was a Mithun starrer The Don as well, but let’s not even talk about it!

Taj Mahal – Despite veteran Naushad at the helm of the affairs, the new film’s music was very ordinary. Music afficiandos will never forget Roshan’s luminous score that included Paaon chhoo lene do, Jo waada kiya and Jurm e ulfat pe humein log sazaa denge.

[This is an open post, and titles will be added to it as and when I remember them or get inputs from readers. Three updates available above]

Related readings – Lata Mangeshkar and Debut Heroines, Madan Mohan and Lata Mangeshkar

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Film Review

Sidharth (Salaam Namaste) Anand moves a step ahead in his craft. Tara Rum Pum, view while retaining all the gloss and glamour associated with Yash Raj Films, infertility is essentially a human story, viagra 100mg narrated in a gracious and genuine way. An absorbing film, Tara Rum Pum keeps the flame of human spirit burning with the warm oil of compassion, concern and candor.

The story revolves around a car race driver (Saif Ali Khan), who meets a severe accident on the tracks. Alongwith the car, his confidence crashes and amongst the debris are his ruined career and the acrid smoke of ruthless cash crunch. His family rallies around him, but he has several lessons yet to learn, and they form the crux of the second half. Of course, keeping in mind Bollywood sensibilities, the story starts right from the beginning where he meets the disciplined and dedicated piano student (Rani Mukerji looking plump yet ravishing in mini-skirts) in a series of – what else? – accidents.

The script is uncluttered, and progresses neatly, adding details here and there that make up the luxurious whole. It imparts a lesson in saving for the rainy day , without being grossly didactic or preachy. The dialogues are crisp. The second half is less humorous, but not heavy; though personally I feel this takes away the punch; and the piercing pain doesn’t cut pitilessly into the heart. Perhaps, a better idea would have been to go whole out in the melodrama, peeling off the gloss and allowing the scenario to be as barren and grim as the walls of the house the family is force to shift in. But Anand prefers to go by the neo-modern grammar, keeping in check any excesses, yet pointing out pretty clearly that the family is in big trouble. Some portions do manage to moisten the eyes, though – for example, Rani playing at boring birthday parties and then packing off the foodstuff for her kids.

A big triumph are the car racing scenes (and they are plentiful), which hold their own individuality without looking duplicated or boring. The last one stirs your adrelanin. (Actually, the film in the last half-hour is stunning!)

Binod Pradhan scores another home-run this year with his camera work (after the painstakingly beautiful Eklavya). The car race scenes are deftly shot, without confusing the viewer. New York is captured in a bright colorful mosaic. The film is well edited, though judging by the audience reaction in the theater, the interval could have been upped a bit, but that’s being overtly finicky. I am deliberately not venturing into the Reader’s Don’t Digest kind of bloopers – I am sure they will be eventually listed out in a magazine that wears the serious-looking dress over its patchy petticoat.

Vishal-Shekhar’s melodious musical score is the most surprising aspect. Frankly, my expectations were very low. But the music is shimmering and sensational. While Shreya Ghoshal’s stupendous solo Ho agar koii gham toh (Ta ra ra rum tararum pum) envelops you in its inspirational and affectionate hug, Vishal Dadlani’s heart-wrenching part-Sufi-ish, part-Junoon-ish Ek banjaara iktaare pe (Saaiyaan) squeezes a tear from the eyes. Both the songs are winners, and have beautiful interludes. Nachle ve taps your feet to dancing and the title song delights. Javed Akhtar’s lyrics are great and Anand uses the music judiciously. Salim-Suleiman’s background score gels with the film’s theme.

Both Rani Mukerji and Saif Ali Khan give honest performances. But Javed Jaafri convincingly steals the show; no extraneous antics; simple clean and cut acting that hits the bull’s eye! The supporting cast supports adequately (and no, there aren’t any surprise appearance, and none by Abhishek Bachchan!). The kids endear. (Master Ali last stole our hearts in Fanaa, and here he effortlessly repeats the feat).

Tara Rum Pum retrieves Yash Raj Films (and producer and mastermind Aditya Chopra’s) lost reputation as sincere filmmakers providing good family entertainment. Of late, their films had been all gloss and no soul, with a one-point mission of raking in the moolah and satisfying the NRI urge of connecting with India without actually showing the country. True, the film is set in NY, and they still eye that sector avidly; true, there is all the glamor (designer house, designer profession, designer dresses, et al); but then the film is basically about human triumph, so all the strappings hardly matter. Plus, the locale or the lustre don’t overshadow the content; it’s an achievement where shine and story co-exist harmoniously! And yes, watch it with your family without being embarrassed one bit: no unnecessary kisses or any faaltu skin-show!

Overall – An Entertaining & Enjoyable Family Outing Film- Watch It!

Technorati : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Tara Rum Pum, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films
Del.icio.us : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Filmfare Power List is out! And Latadidi retains her fifth position this year too in the music makers section. Kudos to the lady to still be amongst the top five- that too, salve
with virtually no musical album release last year! Whoa! That is surely an achievement. Many congratulations!

O.P.Nayyar is no more.

And every person is jumping the bandwagon with cliched statements like ‘maestro par excellence’ and ‘survivor from the golden era’, dosage forgetting that he was virtually neglected in the autumn of his life, and that his valiant comeback in the nineties was received with a freezing shoulder and not-so-charitable remarks.

Worse, the media is doling out mis-informations and factually incorrect statements which makes me wonder if they are really doing any justice to the man in bringing out these pieces. Sample the pile of anomalies thrust on us in the past one day- one daily mentions Jhumka gira re as his composition (it definitely wasn’t – Madan Mohan was the creator there), and the same newspaper talks of Andaz Apna Apna as his ‘comeback film’ (errr… if that is so, then who was Tushar Bhatia credited in the film?). Amar Ujala did quite a heart-felt tribute – till the time they came to mention Junglee as his film. No way! Junglee was out and out Shankar Jaikishan score. This sudden fixation for thrusting the ‘yahoo‘ credit on OPN is very strange. I believe TOI’s Marathi edition has also carried this non-fact. Aaj Tak showed a clip from ‘Kashmir ki kali hun main mujhse na rootho babuji’, another S-J song! Dudes, the film Kashmir Ki Kali was OPN’s baby, not this song. I can’t believe that these oh-so-serious media ‘knowledgeables’ have such paucity in resources that they can’t even verify their facts. And who are they fooling by bringing out such tributes? By mentioning other music director’s numbers (and that too direct contemporary rivals to OPN), they have only belittled the composer’s achievements.

Personally, I really have nothing to say. I can make some politically correct statements as well. But that would then be travesty of having a personal blog in the first place. This is due to the fact that I don’t have much knowledge about his music – in fact, the only cassette I have of his is from a flop film called Hong Kong, which came bundled alongwith Singapore – and since the latter itself is a rare film album to find, hence I had to per force buy this odd combination. Other than this, I have no song by OPN, not even in some odd compilation! It’s quite a record since I can boast of a huge collection (including a large chunk not pertaining to Lataji).

Unfortunately, OPN never used Latadidi‘s voice, stating that his ‘style didn’t match’ (though he had tried to get her on board for his debut film, but due to some reasons she couldn’t make it there). Equally unfortunately, I couldn’t force myself to like his style and stayed away from his music.

May his soul rest in peace!

Technorati : O P Nayyar

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

Powered by Zoundry

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

Powered by Zoundry

The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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Repeat of movie names is not a new phenomenon. And with the volume of our Hindi film industry’s output, there it sometimes becomes a necessity as well.

In the age of FM, the announcers (or better known as RJ’s) hardly inform the film’s names of the song playing, let alone any other detail. But when I grew up listening to the ever dependable Vividh Bharti, the entire music credits were often mentioned including the always sidelined lyricists’ names. Then, it used to be disappointing to hear for example – the announcer speak out the name of Mahal, only to hear a song from the newer one (starring Dev Anand).

Blame it on my penchant for old songs, usually I prefer the older titled film’s numbers. Here is a list of films that have had similar names – again in no specific order:

Barsaat – There are three of them that I know of: 1949 film, which skyrocketed Lata Mangeshkar ‘s career to the zenith of success, established Raj Kapoor as a director par excellence and introduced Shankar Jaikishan one of the finest composers ever, in my opinion; 1990’s version which was the debut for Twinkle Khanna and Bobby Deol, and had music by the then kings Nadeem Shravan; the new millennium film which also starred Bobby Deol and had same music composers, albeit now beyond their prime time. Unarguably, the music standard declined progressively with each era’s film. The first Barsaat had such beauties like Chhod gaye baalam, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan, Patli kamar hai and Hawa mein udta jaaye. The second one was quite above average, and I quite like Teri adaayon pe marrta huun and Humko sirrf tum se pyaar hai. The last Barsaat hardly has anything worthwhile to mention.

Andaz – Four of them! And the first three starred one member of the Kapoor khandaan. 1949- Raj Kapoor and Nargis whipped up the passion along with the thespian Dilip Kumar; Naushadsaab composed nuggets like Tu kahe agar jeevan bhar gaata jaaoon and Hum aaj kahiin dil kho baithe. And Latadi found a toe-hold in the industry, giving stiff competition to Shamshad Begum (who sang alongside her in Darrna mohabbat karle).

The second came in or around 1972 and it starred Shammi Kapoor in the lead, but the reigning superstar Rajesh Khanna’s vivacious guest appearance stole the thunder. Shankar Jaikishan composed the bumper hit Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana (often taken as Jaikishan’s swan song, though technically and factually it isn’t true).

1994 Andaz saw the Gennext from Kapoor family Karisma starring in this David Dhawan double-entendre laden remake of Sundar Kaandam. Bappi Lahiri commandeered the music room and gave us bloopers like Khada hai khada hai and Tu maal gaadi mai driver tera!

The fourth one is the most recent one with Akshay Kumar, but better known as the debuts for Priyanka and Lara raising the mercury in their tight and tiny clothes. Nadeem Shravan s music was just about bearable.

Chori Chori -Three films! The first one is the fifties comedy based on It Happened One Night. Raj Kapoor and Nargis the industry s First Romantic Pair tickled the funny bone. And Shankar Jaikishan s music was simply scintillating. Just look at the lavish fare they gave: the eternally romantic Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, the joie-de-vivre charged Panchhi banoon uddti phiroon, the chirrupy Jahan mai jaati hoon wahiin chale aate ho, the heart-wrenching Rasik balmaa dil kyun lagaya, the silly but nevertheless funny All line clear and the syrupy Aaja sanam madhur chaandni mein hum. In the seventies, there was one more Chori Chori again with compositions by Shankar Jaikishan, but I haven’t heard any number from this film.

The last Chori Chori is the Milan Luthria flop in the nineties starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukerji. Sajid-Wajid’s music was despondently dull.

Seema – Two, which I know of. The first is the exceptional social drama starring power-house performers Balraj Sahni and Nutan. Again, Shankar Jaikishan gave some shimmering melodies the serene prayer Tu pyaar ka saagar hai , the hurt Kahaan jaa raha hai, the classical Manmohana bade jhoote and the optimistic Baat baat mein rootho na. It also had one of my most favorite Latadi solo Suno chhotisi gudiya kii lambii kahanii. The second Seema came in the seventies and once again had music by Shankar Jaikishan. From this Rafisaab s Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai (penned by Gulzar) is exceptional.

Kathputli /Kattputli – I adore the music of the fifties version Bol ri kathputli dori kaun sang baandhi is such a marvelously magnificent number that I can hear it anytime; and a song that I fell in love with when I was a kid and had heard it on Chitrahaar. Once more, it was Shankar-Jaikishan’s creativity at its peak. And Latadi sounds so soft and sublime. There was another Kathhputli in the seventies as well, this time music by Kalyanji Anandji. Details not available with me. The last is a recent flick, produced by and starring Mink Singh, with a little twist in the title s spelling musically, it was a complete washout!

Karm/ Karam – The seventies film (starring Vidya Sinha and a rapidly losing popularity Rajesh Khanna) was an interesting critique on astrology. The music wasn t that great but Asha Bhonsle s Samay tu dheere dheere chal (with a sad version that went Samay tu jaldi jaldi chal) was a nice song. The newer Karam had the current poster boy John Abraham playing a hit-man. Musically, it was a zilch except for Alisha Chinai s effectively sung Tinka tinka zara zara.

Saajan – I grew up listening to Latadi s Saajan saajan pukaaroon galiyon mein, a typical Laxmikant Pyarelal ditty, picturised on Asha Parekh it was quite a staple on Chitrahaars. I haven’t yet seen this film. The second Saajan was a phenomenal hit, and Nadeem Shravan gave some hummable chart-busters. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Madhuri starred in this fluke Sudhakar Bokade love triangle hit.

Baharon Ki Manzil / Baharon Ke Manzil – Both the films are not very well known. And I have seen both! The first one stars Meena Kumari and is a whodunit. Laxmikant Pyarelal gave the music in which Lata Mangeshkar was the sole singer (no male songs in this film!), of which Nigaahen kyun bhatakti hai is quite well known. However, despite no Latadi, I find the second film s music really appaudable and better. Raamlaxman scored some excellent numbers in the voices of Poornima, Udit Narayan and Amit Kumar. Meri jaan dua karna is a towering duet with lip-smacking interludes and fine singing. The film was a miserable flop and was the debut for Mona Singh (in case you don t know her, she played the wet nurse in Mangle Panday oops, Mangal Panday).

Khel – I recall two of them. The first is a decent Anil-Madhuri 1992 film, directed by Rakesh Roshan, but unfortunately was a dampener at the box-office. The music by brother Rajesh Roshan was exceptionally good. Latadi‘s duet with Mohd. Aziz Khat likhna hai par sochti huun is a hot personal favorite. Sister Asha Bhonsle displayed immense vocal virtuosity in the cabaret number Ek baat maan lo tum (with a cutely reversed and suitably toned down bhajan version as well!). And Amit Kumar’s pathos-laden Soone shaam savere is superb (though having a pretty funny picturisation). The newer Khel (Suniel Shetty, Celina Jeitly) was a musical disaster.

There was the oldest Khel as well with music composed by Sajjad Hussain. Latadi‘s Jaate ho toh jaao is a heart-achingly beautiful number. [Thanks to Madhu for the tip]

Julie – Again, I recall two of them. The first is a musical hit. Bhool gayasab kuchh is an ardent love duet and Dil kya kare jab kisise kisiko pyaar ho jaaye builds up a zealous steam. The debut heroine Laxmi might have bloated to a shrill matron (Hulchul) and the hero Vikram is lost in the annals of cinematic history, but Rajesh Roshan’s score continues to be still dew drop fresh and is remembered fondly by music-lovers. The newer Julie is more known for Neha Dhupia s bare-dare act than for its songs, but I found Himesh Reshammiya’s score very mellifluous and deserving. Ae dil yeh bataa kyun hone laga is the best number, followed by Dhadkan ho gayii tumse aashna and Hum tumse dil laga baithe.

Waqt / Waqt Race Against Time – I admit I don’t like the older film s songs too much, though Ae meri zohra jabeen is a retro-hit, and a source of many-a-remix. The philosophical title song by Rafisaab Waqt ke din aur raat is , in my opinion, the best number. Let me not beat the bush, the rest of the songs by Ravi were marred by Asha Bhonsle’s voice, which in that era had assumed a strange phlegmatic thickness, which I don’t quite appreciate.

But cut to the present times and the newer film help! The raucous Anu Mallik warbled Do me a favor let s play holly {sic} no, no, no!!! God save my ears from this painful assault!

Aankhen – Four films but again the best music is from the two oldest version (that I know of). In 1950, Madan Mohan made his debut with Aankhen that had Mukesh’s Preet lagake maine yeh phal paaya. For some reason, Latadi couldn’t sing in this one, but MM didn’t make this an ego issue, and got her on-board with the next few films (Adaa , Madhosh) – and what a team it turned out to be!

In the second film, composer Ravi gave very melodious music in this Dharam-Mala Sinha thriller. Milti hai zindagi mein mohabbat kabhi kabhi and Gairon pe karam apnon pe sitam belong to my childhood memories and are firmly etched as beautiful songs. The nineties Aankhen was a super-duper Govinda-David Dhawan combine hit; Bappi Lahiri s score was strictly functional and in sync with the film’s mood. Laal dupatte waali tera naam toh bata was the biggest hit from this film.

The fourth Aankhen (starring Amitabh Bachhan and a posse of supporting cast) hardly had any song worth mentioning – unless you prefer tepid tapori numbers like Phatela jeb sil jaayega!

Charas – After Aankhen, this is another Ramanand Sagar-Dharamendra combination thriller whose name got stolen. In the seventies film, Laxmikant Pyarelal whipped up a frenzy with the naughtily vivacious Kal ki haseen mulaqaat ke liye (Lata-Kishore) and the tranquil Ke aaja teri yaad aayi (Lata-Rafi-Anand Bakshi). There were other good numbers too Raja na jaa (Lata) and Mai ladki badnaam ho gayii (Lata). The newer film by Tigmanshu Dhulia was a cropper where music was concerned. I haven t heard a single good song from this film.

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja – Shankar Jaikishan’s music in the older film (Dev Anand- Waheeda Rahman) was a delight. Latadi s Tum toh dil ke taar chhed kar is pure gold (with a tandem by Hemant Kumar), and the title song is quintessential S-J. Cut to the nineties film, and L-P try hard to match their senior s orchestral wizardry, but only end up with a cacophonous din. Add to this Kavita Krishnamoorthy’s shrill singing and the consequence is highly distasteful. Incidentally, both the films were huge flops!

Masoom – Now who can ever forget Gulzar s introspective lyrics in Tujhse naraaz nahii zindagi set to a terrific tune by R D Burman? Flash forward a couple of decades, and Ayesha Julka-Indra Kumar starrer is an ugly blot to the older film s title. It s only when one comes across such blasphemous use of older titles that one wishes there was a legislation stopping the re-cycling of the titles!

Golmaal – Latadi sounds ethereal in Ek baat kahuun gar maano tum, and Kishoreda makes us think in Aane waala pal jaane waala hai. Hrishida kept the funny bone forever tickled in this moustache-mania. It is a sin to even mention the recent gol-maul in the same breath as the older film. Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are just no-where remotely close to Panchamda s skill.

Geet – Kalyanji Anandji created an extraordinary love duet Mere mitwa mere meet re in the older film starring Rajendra Kumar and Mala Sinha. And then there was Latadi consoling tenderly Tere naina kyun neer bahaaye. Zoom to the nineties, and Latadi still held control in the newer Divya Bharti film, with Aap jo mere meet na hote. Regrettfully, the rest of this Bappi Lahiri album didn t have any other geet worth remembering.

Diwana / Deewana – The former is a slightly less known Raj Kapoor film with a bouquet of incredibly fragrant Mukesh melodies, composed by Shankar Jaikishan. The fare includes the bagpiper blast Taaron se pyaare armaan hamaare (Aana hi hoga tujhe aana hi hoga), the spectacularly plush Hum toh jaate apni gaaon, the brilliant Tumhari bhi jai jai humaari bhi jai jai, the lavish title song Diwana mujhko log kahein and the thought provoking Pate kii baat kahega kahega jab bhi deewana. Absolutely A-class music having flawless rhythm, interludes and singing! The second film is the nineties one, and brought current box-office badshah Shahrukh Khan into limelight. The music by Nadeem Shravan, though not matching SJ s work, is very respectable and I am very fond of Teri ummeed tera intezaar karte hain and the title song.

Dhanwaan – The criminally neglected Hridayanath Mangeshkar composed a chocolaty sweet duet Yeh aankhen dekh kar hum saari duniya bhool jaatein hain for the seventies Rajesh Khanna starrer (though picturised on Reena Roy and Rakesh Roshan). In the nineties, Anand Milind gave an energetically charged Holi song Rang di rang di preet ne rang di.

[Update on 29.01.07]

Milan – Three that I recall. The first one was in the fifties with music by Hansraj Bahl. Latadi plucked the heartstrings with Haaye jeeya roye. However, it was some two decades later that Laxmikant Pyarelal scorched the charts and stomped the hearts with bumper hits like the celebratory Bol gori bol tera kaun piya, the Madan Mohanesque Aaj dil pe koii zor chalta nahi, the melodious Saawan ka mahina pawan kare sor and the monumental Hum tum yug yug se geet milan ke – stuff that legends are made of, and remembered for yug yug! But a few more decades down the line Anand Milind’s vapid score in Mahesh Bhatt’s flop Jackie-Manisha starrer by the same name couldn’t last beyond the month the film was released in, leave alone a yug!

Gumnaam – Shankar Jaikishan gave haunting melodies in the old Agatha Christie-inspired film. Turn the century, and Nadeem Shravann come up with haunted wrecks in the lying-in-cans Dino Morea starrer. In the old film, Rafi’s Jaan pehchaan ho and Hum kaale hai toh kya hua kept the charts rocking and rolling, while Latadi‘s title number raised the goosebumps. Helen gave the requisite glamor with Iss duniya mein jeena ho toh sunlo meri baat.

Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya – I remember two films : in the first one, erstwhile Madan Mohan assistants Sonik Omi composed some sublime beauties, which bordered on their mentor’s style. While Suman Kalyanpur got the touching title song, Latadi bagged the best and the most splendid solo – Aaja re pyaar pukaare naina toh ro ro haare. More than three decades later, Latadi was still there in the newer film (Govinda, Tabu in a remake of Ramesh Talwar’s Doosra Aadmi) serenading Uttam Singh’s fluffy orchestra in Saare shahar mein charcha yeh aam ho gaya. Sadly, the rest of the score (by Aadesh Srivastava) was just average.

Saathi – I have no clue about the first one, which had music by Gulshan Soofi, lyrics by Wali Sahab and songs sung by Shamshad Begum. However, I have strong memories of the second one. Naushadsaab went western in sound with this Simi Garewal-Rajendra Kumar-Vyjanthimala film, which had the awesome Mere jeevan saathi kali thii main toh pyaasi in Latadi’s soft-as-silk voice. Then there was Yeh kaun aaya roshan ho gayi mehfil jiske naam se , Mai toh pyaar se tere piya and Aaina hoon mai tera! Mukesh and Suman Kalyanpur created romance and rhythm with Mera pyaar bhi tu hai yeh bahaar bhi tu hai. A very sensible score, indeed. Which is what I personally feel about the newest Saathi as well. Inspite of Anuradha Paudwal’s pathetic pronunciations, Saathi koii bhoola yaad aaya and Aaj hum tum o sanam are decent compositions (by Nadeem Shravan).

Guru – The older Guru starred Mithun Chakraborthy as well – at that time, in the lead role, with his then love interest Sridevi. Their ‘kiss’ at that time created quite a flurry, equivalent to the present day Guru‘s heroine’s lip lock with Hrithik in Dhoom-2. The older movie had some typical eighties cacophonous Bappi Lahiri music with songs where the heroine profoundly proclaimed I am a bad girl.But don’t hasten to write off the film just yet – because Bappida also surprised all with a very sensitive love duet Jaiiyo na jaiiyo na humse door sajan jaiiyo na (Lata Mangeshkar-Shailendra Singh). And linking up with the new age Guru is another common thread: Bappi-da returns as a playback singer for the tipsy but enjoyable number Ek lo ek muft! [Thanks to Anz for the tip]

Bees Saal Baad – After a serious bout of throat problem, which nearly rendered Lataji voice-less, she returned to the studios with a bang, hitting the soul directly with the call that defines ‘horror’ film genre songs in Kahiin deep jale kahiin dil. The song is so irrevocably stamped in every music lover’s psyche that it is impossible to imagine that there could be a newer film by the same name. But, there was! Mithun Chakraborty and Meenakshi Sheshadri tried to raise the spooks again, with Dimple floating in white amidst haunted havelis singing in a horrifying Anuradha Paudwal’s voice Kitne saawan beet gaye.

Jurmana – Hrishikesh Mukherjee created two very sensitive films with the trio of Vinod Mehra-Amitabh-Raakhi. Of these two, Bemisaal is the more known one. But Jurmana had its own strengths. One of which was RD Burman’s music. Latadi got two magnificent solos – Chhoti si ek kali khili thi and the better known Saawan ke jhoole pade. The new Jurmana is a TLV Prasadh- Mithun Chakroborty combined B-grade flick, with mu-sick by Dilip Sen Sameer Sen.

Boyfriend – The older film is a lesser known Shankar Jaikishan film, wherein Latadi did the coquettish Aise na jaao o beraham (with an ultra cute Aadab arz hai thrown in between). The newer film has the in-your-face Jatin Lalit composition Kahdo toh duniya mein aaj baja doon band!

Samundar – Three of them – the first one had music by S.Purushottam, but I have not heard any songs from this film (reportedly with songs by Asha Bhonsle). It is the second one that interests me a lot. Madan Mohan composed the classically handsome Lata Mangeshkar solo Chain nahin aaye kahan dil jaaye – in this, her rendition of the leitmotif sajanwa ho balamwa ho is exceedingly enchanting. Another fascinating solo by the diva was Aaja kahiin se aaja mere dil ka qaraar leke. Jump decades, and Latadi continued to regale under Panchamda’s baton for Rahul Rawail’s Sunny Deol-Poonam Deol film. The peppy Ae saagar kii lahron hum bhii aatein hai thehro (with Kishoreda) was the highlight song. Asha Bhonsle whipped up a creamy lather in the sensuous Yeh rang-e-mehfil badal raha hai, and Kishore Kumar naughtily charmed with Yeh kori karaari kanwaari nazar. Another unsung eighties RD Burman score, which needs to be resurrected.

Elaan– Again, three that I know of. In the seventies, Vinod Mehra starred with a podgy and dusky Rekha in this FC Mehra production about ‘invisible man’ (yes, the idea was used way before Mr. India). Shankar Jaikishan’s music didn’t cut much ice with music lovers, but there is a cute charm in Sharda’s Aath ko aath se jama karo and the duet Aap ki raay mere baare mein kya hai. In the nineties, Akshay Kumar and Madhoo romped on screen to Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s risque Tu ru tu ru kahan se karuun main pyaar shuru. But the biggest delight in this film was Lata Mangeshkar’s breath-taking Naino ko baatein karne do – a mature and mellow duet with Kumar Sanu, which had shades of L-P’s Badalte Rishtey song Meri saanson ko jo mahka rahii hai! The last Elaan is a boring Vikram Bhatt film starring Arjun Rampal, Rahul Khanna and Lara Dutta. The music had some Anu Mallik monstroties like Aandarlu baandalru, et al.

Kartavya – L-P were at their peak in 1979, when they composed the sultry and sizzling solo Doorie na rahein koi aaj itne kareeb aao, sung splendidly by Lata Mangeshkar and picturised on the verge-of-blooming Rekha. Other solos by her included Koii aayega and Chhaila babu tu kaisa dildaar nikla. In the newer film, the perpetually wooden Sanjay Kapoor starred opposite Juhi Chawla. Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s music was good, but just about so.

Hawas – Saawan Kumar’s take on lust consisted of Mohd. Rafi’s towering solo Teri galiyon mein na rakhenge qadam. The newer Hawas (Meghna Naidu in yet another Unfaithful remake) had two good songs – Mai yun miloon tujhe and Tera naam leke marne lenge.

[Update on 31.01.07]

Shola Aur Shabnam – In the old black-and-white film Latadi and Rafisaab sweetly acknowledged hesitant love in Jeet hi lenge baazi hum tum, under Khayyam’s baton. The song is one of the most shimmering duets from this prolific but perfect pair. Leap-forward, and in the nineties we have Govinda croaking Gore gore under Bappi Lahiri’s tutelage. What a comedown! I haven’t seen the older film, but the newer one was, otherwise, a typical David Dhawan dhamaal, with lots of slapstick humor in the first half, and ‘action-packed’ emotions in the second one.

Mohabbat – I don’t have any idea about the first Mohabbat, made by Phani Majumdar, starring the Marathi doyen Shanta Apte. However, the second one is part of my growing up years, and I will,this once, root for the much-maligned composer Bappi Lahiri. Largely for two beautiful songs in the Anil-Vijeta starrer: Kishoreda’s Saanson se nahin kadmon se nahin and Latadi’s Naina yeh barse milne ko tarse. The nineties version has Akshaye-Madhur-Sanjay Kapoor in a trite love triangle, with not-so-brilliant score by Nadeem Shravan. Worse, they blindly aped Stereo Nation’s Don’t break my heart – the original of which was in any case running simultaneously on the charts.

Chor Machaye Shor – Le jaayenge le jaayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge is a cult number, a very peppy and unlikely number from Ravindra Jain. The spectre of this mammoth melody loomed so large that Jatin Lalit confessed that they couldn’t come up with a better number when they did Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Kishore Kumar tugged the heart with Ghoongroo ki tarah bajta hi raha hun ( a song, which I recall reading, he had confessed looked easy, but was otherwise tough to sing). Skip decades, and we have Vinod Rathod and Anuradha Sriram locking tonsils in the terribly written Tum Tata ho ya Birla, under Anu Mallik’s command, in the David Dhawan flop by the same name.

Loafer – When Rafisaab languidly remarked Aaj mausam bada baimaan hai, the clouds drooped in appreciation; the warm L-P melody hugs you with its sensuous allure. In the newer version, we had to content with Anand Milind’s atrocities like Aao karein hum tum kahiin nain-matakka. However, from this Anil-Juhi starrer, the number Teri tirchhi nazar mein hai jaadoo was very catchy and likeable.

Love Marriage – Now what to say of this outstandingly magnificent Shankar Jaikishan score! Every song is the most supreme aural delight, tickling the heart, touching the soul, stirring the hips and hugging the lips. From the romantically romantic Dheere dheere chal chaand gagan mein to the bashful Kahe jhoom jhoom raat yeh suhani to the playful Dil se dil takraaye to the cutting critque of Teen kanastar peet peet kar gala phaar ke chillana, every number is a well polished pearl. However, the same cannot be said about L-P’s boring music in the eighties film of the same name. In this sort of sex-comedy (wherein the lovers are desperate to consummate their marriage), the only number that could be said average is the title number.

Dastak– Quality peaked when Madan Mohan sored. And in Dastak even he surpassed his own tough standards. This small budget Sanjeev Kumar-Rehana Sultana film had a big score. Lataji was ever the heart and soul – her solos Baiyyan na dharo, Hum hai mata-e-kucha-o-bazaar ki tarah and Maai ri main kaase kahuun rank amongst the best from her own mammoth ouvre. And Rafisaab did his own bit in the almost whispered Tum se kahuun ek baat paron si halki. This is an album that you can keep on listening without tiring even once. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Rajesh Roshan’s music in Sushmita Sen’s debut film, carrying the same title. Even though Rajesh Roshan’s score cannot be really termed ‘bad’ (and I quite like Abhijeet’s Tumhe kaise yeh bataaon and Alka’s Pal beet gaya yeh pal), but it cannot match up to the standards set by Madan Mohan!

Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai – Now this is one title where I can strongly say I love both the scores equally well. While S-J gave their own stamp with the frisky Jiya ho jiya kuchh bol do, Jatin Lalit held their own with the frothy O jaana na jaana yeh dil tera deewana.

Anari – Three of them, again – and like Andaaz, with some scion of Kapoor khandaan starring in them! But the most famous musically is, of course, the Shankar-Jaikishan one, starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. Released in 1959, it boasted of such phenomenal songs like Tera jaana dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana, Sab kuchh seekha humne na seekhi hoshiyari, Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, Woh chaand khila woh taare hanse and Dil ki nazar se. The second Anari starred brother Shashi Kapoor, but was a total washout. Music was by Laxmikant Pyarelal, but not a single song seems to have survived. The last Anari had Karisma Kapoor alongside South India superstar Venkatesh. Anand Milind’s music had one good number: Kya mausam aaya hai.

Junoon – Three, once more – and in quite a short span of time. The first is the seventies Shyam Benegal classic based on Ruskin Bond’s Flight of Pigeons. As a art-house movie, it didn’t have music the way we understand it in films, but Vanraj Bhatia’s Phir aayi kaari ghata matwaari was nice. The second Junoon was Mahesh Bhatt’s disastrous horror (more horrifying) film starring his daughter Pooja with his protege Rahul Roy and the wooden Avinash Wadhawan. This early nineties flick comprised of some ‘Gulshan Kumar-type’ music by Nadeem Shravan, with Anuradha Paudwal hogging all the limelight. Still, I would say the music was good – and O meri dilruba tu dil ke kareeb hai is a song that I love immensely. The last Junoon is a super-flop Shilpa Shetty starrer, released in 2002. Adesh Srivastava composed the score.

Lawaaris – Agreed that Kalyanji Anandji’s music in the Amitabh starrer can hardly be termed ‘great’. Yet, because of the overall cult status surrounding Big B movies of that time, we all remember the songs like Kaahe paise pe itna guroor kare ho, Apni toh jaise taise and that super-hit fun-filled number Mere angne mein tumhara kya kaam hai. In 1999, there was one more Lawaaris, and this time the score was handled by another seventies composer – Rajesh Roshan, but there wasn’t any strength in it. The film and the music were miserable flops.

Vishwaasghaat – I admit I am not aware of RD Burman’s music in the seventies Mahesh Bhatt film (Kabir Bedi, Shabana Azmi). But I am simply, madly and crazily in love with Shyam Surender’s score in the nineties flop (Suniel Shetty, Anjali Jathar) having the same name. Lata Mangeshkar sang four songs in this one and each is a complete beauty : the best is a solo Intezaar hai tera intezaar hai – an even paced song, with neat arrangements. The duet Yeh dil kyun dhadakta hai is fast but not furious. It has a loveable rhythm. Unfortunately, the music was released on a now-defunct music company, and perhaps is lost forever. I have a surviving audio cassette, and like to listen to it quite often.

Chaalbaaz – Obviously, Sridevi’s film in the eighties is a better known one. The twin-sisters-separated-at-birth saga inspired from Ram aur Shyam/Seeta aur Geeta was an absolute entertainer. However, I don’t like its loud music (Laxmikant Pyarelal). For that, I would turn to Madan Mohan’s posthumously released small-budget flop. It’s tour-de-force was Latadi’s Raat ujiyaari din andheraa tu jo sajan nahin mera hai. Jaaiye humse khafaa ho jaayiye was another wonderful song. In the fifties, there was one more film having same name, starring Nirupa Roy, but I don’t have any idea about it.

Rajkumar – Another name whereby L-P hopelessly botched up the score, and couldn’t live up to the high standards set by Shankar Jaikishan in the sixties Shammi Kapoor film. The older film had the terrific Aaja aayi bahaar, the steamy Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa and the energetic Jaane waalon zara hoshiyar, alongwith the now-almost-a-maxim Tumne pukara hum chale aaye. And the new one? Well, Payal meri tumko bulati was okayish, but I’d any day prefer to listen to the older one.

Suhaagan – Four of them – with two starring Mala Sinha-Guru Dutt! The first is a 1942 film – details unavailable. The second one released in 1954, and starred Mala Sinha. Again, I am not too aware about Vasant Desai / C Ramachandra’s music. Exactly a decade later, in 1964, Mala Sinha acted as yet another Suhaagan (once more with Guru Dutt) and this is the whose music I have. Rafisaab’s Tu mere saamne hai is a great melody, alongwith Bheegi chandni chhayi bekhudi aaja daal de baahon mein baahon ka haar. But the most remembered number is Latadi‘s Tum hi to meri pooja ho. The last Suhaagan is an eighties tearjerker starring Jeetu-Sridevi. Bappi Lahiri composed the music, and though the words slip me, it had one nice duet by Latadi.

Patita – Two films: in the fifties one Shankar Jaikishan gave great music; the duet Yaad kiya dil ne kahan ho tum is a hot romantic favorite till date, and Mitti se khelte ho baar baar kis liye was heart-wrenching. S-J also composed the most optimistic number Kisi ne mujhko apna bana ke muskurana sikha diya in Latadi‘s voice. Two decades later, Latadi was again at her sun-shine best in another happy number Baithe baithe aaj aayi mere mann ko (composed by Bappi Lahiri).

[Update on 02.02.07]

Karz / Karz -The Burden of Truth – The theme music strummed its way into your hearts – never mind if it was copied. Latadi and Kishoreda, well past their fifties, tucked their tongues firmly in cheek and giggled Mai solah baras ki/Mai satarah baras ka; Asha Bhonsle and Kishoreda raised the storm with Ek haseena thi ek deewana tha – unarguably, Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in Subhash Ghai’s take on Reincarnation of Peter Proud was an immense hit. The newer one (Sanjeev Darshan) was – like the illogical tagline – burdensome and cumbersome score!

Talaash – Remember Rajendra Kumar questioning a wide eyed Sharmila Tagore with Palkon ke peeche se kya tumne kah daala phir se toh farmaana? Spice it up more with the folksy Khai hai rah humne qasam sang rahne kii and the sparkling choral riff of Aaj ko juneli raat ma. And we had a stupendous SD Burman score. The magic was hopelessly lost in Sanjeev Darshan’s score in the newer Akshay Kumar -Karisma starrer.

Saudagar – The new generation danced to the remix of Sajna hai mujhe sajna ke liye. And the older generation loved Tera mera saath rahe. The film was a sensitive and sensible one. In the new one, the budget was upped and the screen widened, but the music didn’t lose its charm. Teri yaad aati hai is a towering duet, and one of the finest from Laxmikant Pyarelal. The common link in both was Lata Mangeshkar’s effusive voice.

Kaali Ghata – The first is a fifties Kishore Sahu film, music by Shankar Jaikishan. The centerpoint of the album was Latadi’s Humse na poochho koi pyaar kya pyaar kya hai. Other pleasures included Madhur milan hai and Ille belle aare. The newer one is not so new – early eighties. And starred Rekha and Shashi Kapoor. I recall only one song – the two part title song Kaali ghata chhayi prem rut aayi, aayi aayi aayi teri yaad aayi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal. Nice song.

Baazigar / Bazigar – Believe it or faint, there are actually four of them! The first came as early as 1938 and starred Trilok Kapoor. Other details unavailable – music could be by Gyan Dutt. The next was a Nirupa Roy starrer, though again the details are not too forthcoming on this one. I suspect this is the one that has music by Chitragupt. The next one released in 1972, probably with music by Sapan Jagmohan. (Details awaited from readers). The last one is, however, the most known one which spiralled Shah Rukh Khan’s career to a dizzying height. Anu Mallik gave some nice tunes.

[Courtesy – Madhu and Juneli, for pointing out to some titles featured in the updates]

Now on to the films which are essentially legendary stories or based on the same literary source, hence forced to have same title:

Devdas – I love the newer film, but prefer the songs of the older one. S D Burman’s composition in the Dilip Kumar version had such shimmering beauties like Jisse tu qabool kar le and O aane waale. In between, there was another version that never got completed, but Latadi’s Ku hu kuh bole koyaliya is outstanding.

Sohni Mahiwal – I think there are more, but I recall two versions strongly. One, is a fifties film with music by Naushadsaab, and was (IIRC) the debut for singer Mahendra Kapoor (Chand chhupa taare doobe raat gazab kii aayii). He got the theme song, while the lion’s share went to Rafisaab. However, it is Latadidi‘s Tumhare sang mai bhi chaluungi and her duet with Rafisaab Aane waale ko aana hoga, jaane waale ko jaana hoga that are the most luminescent numbers. Overall, the music is wonderful.

However, the eighties version (Sunny Deol and Poonam Dhillon) is in my honest opinion an extremely interesting score, composed by a still-struggling Annu Mallik. In this, Anupama Deshpande won the Filmfare Best Singer Award for Sohni chenaab de kinaare. However, it was otherwise Asha Bhonsle s film, and songs like Sohni sohni meri sohni aur nahi koi honi , Bol do meethe bol sohniye and Mujhe dulhe ka sehra gaane do are steeped in Punjabi ethos, have hummable tunes, and hold pleasurable interlude music. (I love Annu Mallik’s music from this era perhaps will do a separate post on this someday).

I have yet to hear the songs of the oldest film by the same name that had music by Lal Mohammad and songs by Zohrabai Ambalewali and G M Durrani, amongst others.

Heer Ranjha – Nothing, absolutely nothing, can surpass the melodies created by the ingenious Madan Mohan in the older version (which I suspect is the middle version ). From the near whisper intonations of Meri duniya mein tum aayi to the pain lashed Do dil toote do dil haare to the effervescent Milo na tum toh hum ghabraaye to the truth-seeking Yeh duniya yeh mehfil mere kaam ki nahi – each composition is a nugget to be savored, to be enjoyed and to immerse in its deep richness. The newer film had a horribly made up Anil Kapoor romancing the talented but ill-cast Sridevi with Rab ne banaya tujhe mere liye under Laxmikant Pyarelal s musical direction. But, clearly they were past their prime. And this Latadi-Anwar duet is the only good song in the entire album.

Umrao Jaan – I have said enough here

Don – Uh oh! Too bad that they had to remix and recycle Kalyanji Anandji’s original score (which in any case wouldn t ever get placed in the top best of the duo). Still, as a stand-alone, the old film s Arre diwaanon and Jiska mujhe tha intezaar are nice numbers. And Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana was a rocking item number when the phrase hadn’t even been created. There was a Mithun starrer The Don as well, but let’s not even talk about it!

Taj Mahal – Despite veteran Naushad at the helm of the affairs, the new film’s music was very ordinary. Music afficiandos will never forget Roshan’s luminous score that included Paaon chhoo lene do, Jo waada kiya and Jurm e ulfat pe humein log sazaa denge.

[This is an open post, and titles will be added to it as and when I remember them or get inputs from readers. Three updates available above]

Related readings – Lata Mangeshkar and Debut Heroines, Madan Mohan and Lata Mangeshkar

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Film Review

Sidharth (Salaam Namaste) Anand moves a step ahead in his craft. Tara Rum Pum, view while retaining all the gloss and glamour associated with Yash Raj Films, infertility is essentially a human story, viagra 100mg narrated in a gracious and genuine way. An absorbing film, Tara Rum Pum keeps the flame of human spirit burning with the warm oil of compassion, concern and candor.

The story revolves around a car race driver (Saif Ali Khan), who meets a severe accident on the tracks. Alongwith the car, his confidence crashes and amongst the debris are his ruined career and the acrid smoke of ruthless cash crunch. His family rallies around him, but he has several lessons yet to learn, and they form the crux of the second half. Of course, keeping in mind Bollywood sensibilities, the story starts right from the beginning where he meets the disciplined and dedicated piano student (Rani Mukerji looking plump yet ravishing in mini-skirts) in a series of – what else? – accidents.

The script is uncluttered, and progresses neatly, adding details here and there that make up the luxurious whole. It imparts a lesson in saving for the rainy day , without being grossly didactic or preachy. The dialogues are crisp. The second half is less humorous, but not heavy; though personally I feel this takes away the punch; and the piercing pain doesn’t cut pitilessly into the heart. Perhaps, a better idea would have been to go whole out in the melodrama, peeling off the gloss and allowing the scenario to be as barren and grim as the walls of the house the family is force to shift in. But Anand prefers to go by the neo-modern grammar, keeping in check any excesses, yet pointing out pretty clearly that the family is in big trouble. Some portions do manage to moisten the eyes, though – for example, Rani playing at boring birthday parties and then packing off the foodstuff for her kids.

A big triumph are the car racing scenes (and they are plentiful), which hold their own individuality without looking duplicated or boring. The last one stirs your adrelanin. (Actually, the film in the last half-hour is stunning!)

Binod Pradhan scores another home-run this year with his camera work (after the painstakingly beautiful Eklavya). The car race scenes are deftly shot, without confusing the viewer. New York is captured in a bright colorful mosaic. The film is well edited, though judging by the audience reaction in the theater, the interval could have been upped a bit, but that’s being overtly finicky. I am deliberately not venturing into the Reader’s Don’t Digest kind of bloopers – I am sure they will be eventually listed out in a magazine that wears the serious-looking dress over its patchy petticoat.

Vishal-Shekhar’s melodious musical score is the most surprising aspect. Frankly, my expectations were very low. But the music is shimmering and sensational. While Shreya Ghoshal’s stupendous solo Ho agar koii gham toh (Ta ra ra rum tararum pum) envelops you in its inspirational and affectionate hug, Vishal Dadlani’s heart-wrenching part-Sufi-ish, part-Junoon-ish Ek banjaara iktaare pe (Saaiyaan) squeezes a tear from the eyes. Both the songs are winners, and have beautiful interludes. Nachle ve taps your feet to dancing and the title song delights. Javed Akhtar’s lyrics are great and Anand uses the music judiciously. Salim-Suleiman’s background score gels with the film’s theme.

Both Rani Mukerji and Saif Ali Khan give honest performances. But Javed Jaafri convincingly steals the show; no extraneous antics; simple clean and cut acting that hits the bull’s eye! The supporting cast supports adequately (and no, there aren’t any surprise appearance, and none by Abhishek Bachchan!). The kids endear. (Master Ali last stole our hearts in Fanaa, and here he effortlessly repeats the feat).

Tara Rum Pum retrieves Yash Raj Films (and producer and mastermind Aditya Chopra’s) lost reputation as sincere filmmakers providing good family entertainment. Of late, their films had been all gloss and no soul, with a one-point mission of raking in the moolah and satisfying the NRI urge of connecting with India without actually showing the country. True, the film is set in NY, and they still eye that sector avidly; true, there is all the glamor (designer house, designer profession, designer dresses, et al); but then the film is basically about human triumph, so all the strappings hardly matter. Plus, the locale or the lustre don’t overshadow the content; it’s an achievement where shine and story co-exist harmoniously! And yes, watch it with your family without being embarrassed one bit: no unnecessary kisses or any faaltu skin-show!

Overall – An Entertaining & Enjoyable Family Outing Film- Watch It!

Technorati : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Tara Rum Pum, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films
Del.icio.us : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Filmfare Power List is out! And Latadidi retains her fifth position this year too in the music makers section. Kudos to the lady to still be amongst the top five- that too, salve
with virtually no musical album release last year! Whoa! That is surely an achievement. Many congratulations!

O.P.Nayyar is no more.

And every person is jumping the bandwagon with cliched statements like ‘maestro par excellence’ and ‘survivor from the golden era’, dosage forgetting that he was virtually neglected in the autumn of his life, and that his valiant comeback in the nineties was received with a freezing shoulder and not-so-charitable remarks.

Worse, the media is doling out mis-informations and factually incorrect statements which makes me wonder if they are really doing any justice to the man in bringing out these pieces. Sample the pile of anomalies thrust on us in the past one day- one daily mentions Jhumka gira re as his composition (it definitely wasn’t – Madan Mohan was the creator there), and the same newspaper talks of Andaz Apna Apna as his ‘comeback film’ (errr… if that is so, then who was Tushar Bhatia credited in the film?). Amar Ujala did quite a heart-felt tribute – till the time they came to mention Junglee as his film. No way! Junglee was out and out Shankar Jaikishan score. This sudden fixation for thrusting the ‘yahoo‘ credit on OPN is very strange. I believe TOI’s Marathi edition has also carried this non-fact. Aaj Tak showed a clip from ‘Kashmir ki kali hun main mujhse na rootho babuji’, another S-J song! Dudes, the film Kashmir Ki Kali was OPN’s baby, not this song. I can’t believe that these oh-so-serious media ‘knowledgeables’ have such paucity in resources that they can’t even verify their facts. And who are they fooling by bringing out such tributes? By mentioning other music director’s numbers (and that too direct contemporary rivals to OPN), they have only belittled the composer’s achievements.

Personally, I really have nothing to say. I can make some politically correct statements as well. But that would then be travesty of having a personal blog in the first place. This is due to the fact that I don’t have much knowledge about his music – in fact, the only cassette I have of his is from a flop film called Hong Kong, which came bundled alongwith Singapore – and since the latter itself is a rare film album to find, hence I had to per force buy this odd combination. Other than this, I have no song by OPN, not even in some odd compilation! It’s quite a record since I can boast of a huge collection (including a large chunk not pertaining to Lataji).

Unfortunately, OPN never used Latadidi‘s voice, stating that his ‘style didn’t match’ (though he had tried to get her on board for his debut film, but due to some reasons she couldn’t make it there). Equally unfortunately, I couldn’t force myself to like his style and stayed away from his music.

May his soul rest in peace!

Technorati : O P Nayyar

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Other than Taj Mahal, hospital Fatehpur Sikri is another important historical place here. Situated around 33 kms from Agra, physiotherapist it is on the border of U.P., visit next to Bharatpur in Rajasthan. The site for Fatehpur was first discovered by Babar, but it was his descendant Akbar who built the fort here. At one point, he had contemplated to shift the capital here, but the water problem thwarted his plans. Folklore has it that Akbar was desperate for a son and had visited Ajmer dargah for blessings. There, he had a dream that he should visit Saleemuddin Chishti at Fatehpur, which he did (reportedly on foot). His queen, Jodhabai was blessed with a son, and Akbar named him after the saint – Saleem. Since then, the dargah is known for fulfilling all wishes and prayers.

The fort’s Bulund Darwaza is stated to be the biggest gate in Asia, and admittedly it is quite an awesome sight. The dargah, in white marble, is pure and serene. And yes, there is also the closed gate leading to a tunnel that supposedly links Agra with Red Fort in Delhi. Mughal-E-Azam was reportedly shot here, probably the last time the tunnel gates were ever opened.

Otherwise, there have been several films/songs shot on the premises, including Yateem, Lal Pathar and the most famous of all – Pardes (Do dil mil rahe and the climax qawaali).

Fatehpur is still the property of Saleemuddin Chishti’s descendants, and hence has free entrance. The neighboring (and more clean and well maintained) Sikri , however, is with ASI and there is a nominal entry charge of INR 20 (for Indian nationals).

(Clockwise, from top left) 1. Bulund Darwaza- It was tough fitting it on the camera phone’s miniscule lens. Still I think I managed well. 2. The ‘Mughal E Azam’ tunnel-as the local guides there will describe. Supposedly it links to Delhi’s Red Fort 3. The ‘Dargah’ at Fatehpur – Very serene!

Photographs: Deepak Jeswal, Kislay
Taken on : Nokia 3230
Dated : 28.01.07

More on Fatehpur : The Mughal Gallery , Fatehpur , Tourism-Fatehpur/Sikri

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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Repeat of movie names is not a new phenomenon. And with the volume of our Hindi film industry’s output, there it sometimes becomes a necessity as well.

In the age of FM, the announcers (or better known as RJ’s) hardly inform the film’s names of the song playing, let alone any other detail. But when I grew up listening to the ever dependable Vividh Bharti, the entire music credits were often mentioned including the always sidelined lyricists’ names. Then, it used to be disappointing to hear for example – the announcer speak out the name of Mahal, only to hear a song from the newer one (starring Dev Anand).

Blame it on my penchant for old songs, usually I prefer the older titled film’s numbers. Here is a list of films that have had similar names – again in no specific order:

Barsaat – There are three of them that I know of: 1949 film, which skyrocketed Lata Mangeshkar ‘s career to the zenith of success, established Raj Kapoor as a director par excellence and introduced Shankar Jaikishan one of the finest composers ever, in my opinion; 1990’s version which was the debut for Twinkle Khanna and Bobby Deol, and had music by the then kings Nadeem Shravan; the new millennium film which also starred Bobby Deol and had same music composers, albeit now beyond their prime time. Unarguably, the music standard declined progressively with each era’s film. The first Barsaat had such beauties like Chhod gaye baalam, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan, Patli kamar hai and Hawa mein udta jaaye. The second one was quite above average, and I quite like Teri adaayon pe marrta huun and Humko sirrf tum se pyaar hai. The last Barsaat hardly has anything worthwhile to mention.

Andaz – Four of them! And the first three starred one member of the Kapoor khandaan. 1949- Raj Kapoor and Nargis whipped up the passion along with the thespian Dilip Kumar; Naushadsaab composed nuggets like Tu kahe agar jeevan bhar gaata jaaoon and Hum aaj kahiin dil kho baithe. And Latadi found a toe-hold in the industry, giving stiff competition to Shamshad Begum (who sang alongside her in Darrna mohabbat karle).

The second came in or around 1972 and it starred Shammi Kapoor in the lead, but the reigning superstar Rajesh Khanna’s vivacious guest appearance stole the thunder. Shankar Jaikishan composed the bumper hit Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana (often taken as Jaikishan’s swan song, though technically and factually it isn’t true).

1994 Andaz saw the Gennext from Kapoor family Karisma starring in this David Dhawan double-entendre laden remake of Sundar Kaandam. Bappi Lahiri commandeered the music room and gave us bloopers like Khada hai khada hai and Tu maal gaadi mai driver tera!

The fourth one is the most recent one with Akshay Kumar, but better known as the debuts for Priyanka and Lara raising the mercury in their tight and tiny clothes. Nadeem Shravan s music was just about bearable.

Chori Chori -Three films! The first one is the fifties comedy based on It Happened One Night. Raj Kapoor and Nargis the industry s First Romantic Pair tickled the funny bone. And Shankar Jaikishan s music was simply scintillating. Just look at the lavish fare they gave: the eternally romantic Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, the joie-de-vivre charged Panchhi banoon uddti phiroon, the chirrupy Jahan mai jaati hoon wahiin chale aate ho, the heart-wrenching Rasik balmaa dil kyun lagaya, the silly but nevertheless funny All line clear and the syrupy Aaja sanam madhur chaandni mein hum. In the seventies, there was one more Chori Chori again with compositions by Shankar Jaikishan, but I haven’t heard any number from this film.

The last Chori Chori is the Milan Luthria flop in the nineties starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukerji. Sajid-Wajid’s music was despondently dull.

Seema – Two, which I know of. The first is the exceptional social drama starring power-house performers Balraj Sahni and Nutan. Again, Shankar Jaikishan gave some shimmering melodies the serene prayer Tu pyaar ka saagar hai , the hurt Kahaan jaa raha hai, the classical Manmohana bade jhoote and the optimistic Baat baat mein rootho na. It also had one of my most favorite Latadi solo Suno chhotisi gudiya kii lambii kahanii. The second Seema came in the seventies and once again had music by Shankar Jaikishan. From this Rafisaab s Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai (penned by Gulzar) is exceptional.

Kathputli /Kattputli – I adore the music of the fifties version Bol ri kathputli dori kaun sang baandhi is such a marvelously magnificent number that I can hear it anytime; and a song that I fell in love with when I was a kid and had heard it on Chitrahaar. Once more, it was Shankar-Jaikishan’s creativity at its peak. And Latadi sounds so soft and sublime. There was another Kathhputli in the seventies as well, this time music by Kalyanji Anandji. Details not available with me. The last is a recent flick, produced by and starring Mink Singh, with a little twist in the title s spelling musically, it was a complete washout!

Karm/ Karam – The seventies film (starring Vidya Sinha and a rapidly losing popularity Rajesh Khanna) was an interesting critique on astrology. The music wasn t that great but Asha Bhonsle s Samay tu dheere dheere chal (with a sad version that went Samay tu jaldi jaldi chal) was a nice song. The newer Karam had the current poster boy John Abraham playing a hit-man. Musically, it was a zilch except for Alisha Chinai s effectively sung Tinka tinka zara zara.

Saajan – I grew up listening to Latadi s Saajan saajan pukaaroon galiyon mein, a typical Laxmikant Pyarelal ditty, picturised on Asha Parekh it was quite a staple on Chitrahaars. I haven’t yet seen this film. The second Saajan was a phenomenal hit, and Nadeem Shravan gave some hummable chart-busters. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Madhuri starred in this fluke Sudhakar Bokade love triangle hit.

Baharon Ki Manzil / Baharon Ke Manzil – Both the films are not very well known. And I have seen both! The first one stars Meena Kumari and is a whodunit. Laxmikant Pyarelal gave the music in which Lata Mangeshkar was the sole singer (no male songs in this film!), of which Nigaahen kyun bhatakti hai is quite well known. However, despite no Latadi, I find the second film s music really appaudable and better. Raamlaxman scored some excellent numbers in the voices of Poornima, Udit Narayan and Amit Kumar. Meri jaan dua karna is a towering duet with lip-smacking interludes and fine singing. The film was a miserable flop and was the debut for Mona Singh (in case you don t know her, she played the wet nurse in Mangle Panday oops, Mangal Panday).

Khel – I recall two of them. The first is a decent Anil-Madhuri 1992 film, directed by Rakesh Roshan, but unfortunately was a dampener at the box-office. The music by brother Rajesh Roshan was exceptionally good. Latadi‘s duet with Mohd. Aziz Khat likhna hai par sochti huun is a hot personal favorite. Sister Asha Bhonsle displayed immense vocal virtuosity in the cabaret number Ek baat maan lo tum (with a cutely reversed and suitably toned down bhajan version as well!). And Amit Kumar’s pathos-laden Soone shaam savere is superb (though having a pretty funny picturisation). The newer Khel (Suniel Shetty, Celina Jeitly) was a musical disaster.

There was the oldest Khel as well with music composed by Sajjad Hussain. Latadi‘s Jaate ho toh jaao is a heart-achingly beautiful number. [Thanks to Madhu for the tip]

Julie – Again, I recall two of them. The first is a musical hit. Bhool gayasab kuchh is an ardent love duet and Dil kya kare jab kisise kisiko pyaar ho jaaye builds up a zealous steam. The debut heroine Laxmi might have bloated to a shrill matron (Hulchul) and the hero Vikram is lost in the annals of cinematic history, but Rajesh Roshan’s score continues to be still dew drop fresh and is remembered fondly by music-lovers. The newer Julie is more known for Neha Dhupia s bare-dare act than for its songs, but I found Himesh Reshammiya’s score very mellifluous and deserving. Ae dil yeh bataa kyun hone laga is the best number, followed by Dhadkan ho gayii tumse aashna and Hum tumse dil laga baithe.

Waqt / Waqt Race Against Time – I admit I don’t like the older film s songs too much, though Ae meri zohra jabeen is a retro-hit, and a source of many-a-remix. The philosophical title song by Rafisaab Waqt ke din aur raat is , in my opinion, the best number. Let me not beat the bush, the rest of the songs by Ravi were marred by Asha Bhonsle’s voice, which in that era had assumed a strange phlegmatic thickness, which I don’t quite appreciate.

But cut to the present times and the newer film help! The raucous Anu Mallik warbled Do me a favor let s play holly {sic} no, no, no!!! God save my ears from this painful assault!

Aankhen – Four films but again the best music is from the two oldest version (that I know of). In 1950, Madan Mohan made his debut with Aankhen that had Mukesh’s Preet lagake maine yeh phal paaya. For some reason, Latadi couldn’t sing in this one, but MM didn’t make this an ego issue, and got her on-board with the next few films (Adaa , Madhosh) – and what a team it turned out to be!

In the second film, composer Ravi gave very melodious music in this Dharam-Mala Sinha thriller. Milti hai zindagi mein mohabbat kabhi kabhi and Gairon pe karam apnon pe sitam belong to my childhood memories and are firmly etched as beautiful songs. The nineties Aankhen was a super-duper Govinda-David Dhawan combine hit; Bappi Lahiri s score was strictly functional and in sync with the film’s mood. Laal dupatte waali tera naam toh bata was the biggest hit from this film.

The fourth Aankhen (starring Amitabh Bachhan and a posse of supporting cast) hardly had any song worth mentioning – unless you prefer tepid tapori numbers like Phatela jeb sil jaayega!

Charas – After Aankhen, this is another Ramanand Sagar-Dharamendra combination thriller whose name got stolen. In the seventies film, Laxmikant Pyarelal whipped up a frenzy with the naughtily vivacious Kal ki haseen mulaqaat ke liye (Lata-Kishore) and the tranquil Ke aaja teri yaad aayi (Lata-Rafi-Anand Bakshi). There were other good numbers too Raja na jaa (Lata) and Mai ladki badnaam ho gayii (Lata). The newer film by Tigmanshu Dhulia was a cropper where music was concerned. I haven t heard a single good song from this film.

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja – Shankar Jaikishan’s music in the older film (Dev Anand- Waheeda Rahman) was a delight. Latadi s Tum toh dil ke taar chhed kar is pure gold (with a tandem by Hemant Kumar), and the title song is quintessential S-J. Cut to the nineties film, and L-P try hard to match their senior s orchestral wizardry, but only end up with a cacophonous din. Add to this Kavita Krishnamoorthy’s shrill singing and the consequence is highly distasteful. Incidentally, both the films were huge flops!

Masoom – Now who can ever forget Gulzar s introspective lyrics in Tujhse naraaz nahii zindagi set to a terrific tune by R D Burman? Flash forward a couple of decades, and Ayesha Julka-Indra Kumar starrer is an ugly blot to the older film s title. It s only when one comes across such blasphemous use of older titles that one wishes there was a legislation stopping the re-cycling of the titles!

Golmaal – Latadi sounds ethereal in Ek baat kahuun gar maano tum, and Kishoreda makes us think in Aane waala pal jaane waala hai. Hrishida kept the funny bone forever tickled in this moustache-mania. It is a sin to even mention the recent gol-maul in the same breath as the older film. Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are just no-where remotely close to Panchamda s skill.

Geet – Kalyanji Anandji created an extraordinary love duet Mere mitwa mere meet re in the older film starring Rajendra Kumar and Mala Sinha. And then there was Latadi consoling tenderly Tere naina kyun neer bahaaye. Zoom to the nineties, and Latadi still held control in the newer Divya Bharti film, with Aap jo mere meet na hote. Regrettfully, the rest of this Bappi Lahiri album didn t have any other geet worth remembering.

Diwana / Deewana – The former is a slightly less known Raj Kapoor film with a bouquet of incredibly fragrant Mukesh melodies, composed by Shankar Jaikishan. The fare includes the bagpiper blast Taaron se pyaare armaan hamaare (Aana hi hoga tujhe aana hi hoga), the spectacularly plush Hum toh jaate apni gaaon, the brilliant Tumhari bhi jai jai humaari bhi jai jai, the lavish title song Diwana mujhko log kahein and the thought provoking Pate kii baat kahega kahega jab bhi deewana. Absolutely A-class music having flawless rhythm, interludes and singing! The second film is the nineties one, and brought current box-office badshah Shahrukh Khan into limelight. The music by Nadeem Shravan, though not matching SJ s work, is very respectable and I am very fond of Teri ummeed tera intezaar karte hain and the title song.

Dhanwaan – The criminally neglected Hridayanath Mangeshkar composed a chocolaty sweet duet Yeh aankhen dekh kar hum saari duniya bhool jaatein hain for the seventies Rajesh Khanna starrer (though picturised on Reena Roy and Rakesh Roshan). In the nineties, Anand Milind gave an energetically charged Holi song Rang di rang di preet ne rang di.

[Update on 29.01.07]

Milan – Three that I recall. The first one was in the fifties with music by Hansraj Bahl. Latadi plucked the heartstrings with Haaye jeeya roye. However, it was some two decades later that Laxmikant Pyarelal scorched the charts and stomped the hearts with bumper hits like the celebratory Bol gori bol tera kaun piya, the Madan Mohanesque Aaj dil pe koii zor chalta nahi, the melodious Saawan ka mahina pawan kare sor and the monumental Hum tum yug yug se geet milan ke – stuff that legends are made of, and remembered for yug yug! But a few more decades down the line Anand Milind’s vapid score in Mahesh Bhatt’s flop Jackie-Manisha starrer by the same name couldn’t last beyond the month the film was released in, leave alone a yug!

Gumnaam – Shankar Jaikishan gave haunting melodies in the old Agatha Christie-inspired film. Turn the century, and Nadeem Shravann come up with haunted wrecks in the lying-in-cans Dino Morea starrer. In the old film, Rafi’s Jaan pehchaan ho and Hum kaale hai toh kya hua kept the charts rocking and rolling, while Latadi‘s title number raised the goosebumps. Helen gave the requisite glamor with Iss duniya mein jeena ho toh sunlo meri baat.

Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya – I remember two films : in the first one, erstwhile Madan Mohan assistants Sonik Omi composed some sublime beauties, which bordered on their mentor’s style. While Suman Kalyanpur got the touching title song, Latadi bagged the best and the most splendid solo – Aaja re pyaar pukaare naina toh ro ro haare. More than three decades later, Latadi was still there in the newer film (Govinda, Tabu in a remake of Ramesh Talwar’s Doosra Aadmi) serenading Uttam Singh’s fluffy orchestra in Saare shahar mein charcha yeh aam ho gaya. Sadly, the rest of the score (by Aadesh Srivastava) was just average.

Saathi – I have no clue about the first one, which had music by Gulshan Soofi, lyrics by Wali Sahab and songs sung by Shamshad Begum. However, I have strong memories of the second one. Naushadsaab went western in sound with this Simi Garewal-Rajendra Kumar-Vyjanthimala film, which had the awesome Mere jeevan saathi kali thii main toh pyaasi in Latadi’s soft-as-silk voice. Then there was Yeh kaun aaya roshan ho gayi mehfil jiske naam se , Mai toh pyaar se tere piya and Aaina hoon mai tera! Mukesh and Suman Kalyanpur created romance and rhythm with Mera pyaar bhi tu hai yeh bahaar bhi tu hai. A very sensible score, indeed. Which is what I personally feel about the newest Saathi as well. Inspite of Anuradha Paudwal’s pathetic pronunciations, Saathi koii bhoola yaad aaya and Aaj hum tum o sanam are decent compositions (by Nadeem Shravan).

Guru – The older Guru starred Mithun Chakraborthy as well – at that time, in the lead role, with his then love interest Sridevi. Their ‘kiss’ at that time created quite a flurry, equivalent to the present day Guru‘s heroine’s lip lock with Hrithik in Dhoom-2. The older movie had some typical eighties cacophonous Bappi Lahiri music with songs where the heroine profoundly proclaimed I am a bad girl.But don’t hasten to write off the film just yet – because Bappida also surprised all with a very sensitive love duet Jaiiyo na jaiiyo na humse door sajan jaiiyo na (Lata Mangeshkar-Shailendra Singh). And linking up with the new age Guru is another common thread: Bappi-da returns as a playback singer for the tipsy but enjoyable number Ek lo ek muft! [Thanks to Anz for the tip]

Bees Saal Baad – After a serious bout of throat problem, which nearly rendered Lataji voice-less, she returned to the studios with a bang, hitting the soul directly with the call that defines ‘horror’ film genre songs in Kahiin deep jale kahiin dil. The song is so irrevocably stamped in every music lover’s psyche that it is impossible to imagine that there could be a newer film by the same name. But, there was! Mithun Chakraborty and Meenakshi Sheshadri tried to raise the spooks again, with Dimple floating in white amidst haunted havelis singing in a horrifying Anuradha Paudwal’s voice Kitne saawan beet gaye.

Jurmana – Hrishikesh Mukherjee created two very sensitive films with the trio of Vinod Mehra-Amitabh-Raakhi. Of these two, Bemisaal is the more known one. But Jurmana had its own strengths. One of which was RD Burman’s music. Latadi got two magnificent solos – Chhoti si ek kali khili thi and the better known Saawan ke jhoole pade. The new Jurmana is a TLV Prasadh- Mithun Chakroborty combined B-grade flick, with mu-sick by Dilip Sen Sameer Sen.

Boyfriend – The older film is a lesser known Shankar Jaikishan film, wherein Latadi did the coquettish Aise na jaao o beraham (with an ultra cute Aadab arz hai thrown in between). The newer film has the in-your-face Jatin Lalit composition Kahdo toh duniya mein aaj baja doon band!

Samundar – Three of them – the first one had music by S.Purushottam, but I have not heard any songs from this film (reportedly with songs by Asha Bhonsle). It is the second one that interests me a lot. Madan Mohan composed the classically handsome Lata Mangeshkar solo Chain nahin aaye kahan dil jaaye – in this, her rendition of the leitmotif sajanwa ho balamwa ho is exceedingly enchanting. Another fascinating solo by the diva was Aaja kahiin se aaja mere dil ka qaraar leke. Jump decades, and Latadi continued to regale under Panchamda’s baton for Rahul Rawail’s Sunny Deol-Poonam Deol film. The peppy Ae saagar kii lahron hum bhii aatein hai thehro (with Kishoreda) was the highlight song. Asha Bhonsle whipped up a creamy lather in the sensuous Yeh rang-e-mehfil badal raha hai, and Kishore Kumar naughtily charmed with Yeh kori karaari kanwaari nazar. Another unsung eighties RD Burman score, which needs to be resurrected.

Elaan– Again, three that I know of. In the seventies, Vinod Mehra starred with a podgy and dusky Rekha in this FC Mehra production about ‘invisible man’ (yes, the idea was used way before Mr. India). Shankar Jaikishan’s music didn’t cut much ice with music lovers, but there is a cute charm in Sharda’s Aath ko aath se jama karo and the duet Aap ki raay mere baare mein kya hai. In the nineties, Akshay Kumar and Madhoo romped on screen to Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s risque Tu ru tu ru kahan se karuun main pyaar shuru. But the biggest delight in this film was Lata Mangeshkar’s breath-taking Naino ko baatein karne do – a mature and mellow duet with Kumar Sanu, which had shades of L-P’s Badalte Rishtey song Meri saanson ko jo mahka rahii hai! The last Elaan is a boring Vikram Bhatt film starring Arjun Rampal, Rahul Khanna and Lara Dutta. The music had some Anu Mallik monstroties like Aandarlu baandalru, et al.

Kartavya – L-P were at their peak in 1979, when they composed the sultry and sizzling solo Doorie na rahein koi aaj itne kareeb aao, sung splendidly by Lata Mangeshkar and picturised on the verge-of-blooming Rekha. Other solos by her included Koii aayega and Chhaila babu tu kaisa dildaar nikla. In the newer film, the perpetually wooden Sanjay Kapoor starred opposite Juhi Chawla. Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s music was good, but just about so.

Hawas – Saawan Kumar’s take on lust consisted of Mohd. Rafi’s towering solo Teri galiyon mein na rakhenge qadam. The newer Hawas (Meghna Naidu in yet another Unfaithful remake) had two good songs – Mai yun miloon tujhe and Tera naam leke marne lenge.

[Update on 31.01.07]

Shola Aur Shabnam – In the old black-and-white film Latadi and Rafisaab sweetly acknowledged hesitant love in Jeet hi lenge baazi hum tum, under Khayyam’s baton. The song is one of the most shimmering duets from this prolific but perfect pair. Leap-forward, and in the nineties we have Govinda croaking Gore gore under Bappi Lahiri’s tutelage. What a comedown! I haven’t seen the older film, but the newer one was, otherwise, a typical David Dhawan dhamaal, with lots of slapstick humor in the first half, and ‘action-packed’ emotions in the second one.

Mohabbat – I don’t have any idea about the first Mohabbat, made by Phani Majumdar, starring the Marathi doyen Shanta Apte. However, the second one is part of my growing up years, and I will,this once, root for the much-maligned composer Bappi Lahiri. Largely for two beautiful songs in the Anil-Vijeta starrer: Kishoreda’s Saanson se nahin kadmon se nahin and Latadi’s Naina yeh barse milne ko tarse. The nineties version has Akshaye-Madhur-Sanjay Kapoor in a trite love triangle, with not-so-brilliant score by Nadeem Shravan. Worse, they blindly aped Stereo Nation’s Don’t break my heart – the original of which was in any case running simultaneously on the charts.

Chor Machaye Shor – Le jaayenge le jaayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge is a cult number, a very peppy and unlikely number from Ravindra Jain. The spectre of this mammoth melody loomed so large that Jatin Lalit confessed that they couldn’t come up with a better number when they did Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Kishore Kumar tugged the heart with Ghoongroo ki tarah bajta hi raha hun ( a song, which I recall reading, he had confessed looked easy, but was otherwise tough to sing). Skip decades, and we have Vinod Rathod and Anuradha Sriram locking tonsils in the terribly written Tum Tata ho ya Birla, under Anu Mallik’s command, in the David Dhawan flop by the same name.

Loafer – When Rafisaab languidly remarked Aaj mausam bada baimaan hai, the clouds drooped in appreciation; the warm L-P melody hugs you with its sensuous allure. In the newer version, we had to content with Anand Milind’s atrocities like Aao karein hum tum kahiin nain-matakka. However, from this Anil-Juhi starrer, the number Teri tirchhi nazar mein hai jaadoo was very catchy and likeable.

Love Marriage – Now what to say of this outstandingly magnificent Shankar Jaikishan score! Every song is the most supreme aural delight, tickling the heart, touching the soul, stirring the hips and hugging the lips. From the romantically romantic Dheere dheere chal chaand gagan mein to the bashful Kahe jhoom jhoom raat yeh suhani to the playful Dil se dil takraaye to the cutting critque of Teen kanastar peet peet kar gala phaar ke chillana, every number is a well polished pearl. However, the same cannot be said about L-P’s boring music in the eighties film of the same name. In this sort of sex-comedy (wherein the lovers are desperate to consummate their marriage), the only number that could be said average is the title number.

Dastak– Quality peaked when Madan Mohan sored. And in Dastak even he surpassed his own tough standards. This small budget Sanjeev Kumar-Rehana Sultana film had a big score. Lataji was ever the heart and soul – her solos Baiyyan na dharo, Hum hai mata-e-kucha-o-bazaar ki tarah and Maai ri main kaase kahuun rank amongst the best from her own mammoth ouvre. And Rafisaab did his own bit in the almost whispered Tum se kahuun ek baat paron si halki. This is an album that you can keep on listening without tiring even once. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Rajesh Roshan’s music in Sushmita Sen’s debut film, carrying the same title. Even though Rajesh Roshan’s score cannot be really termed ‘bad’ (and I quite like Abhijeet’s Tumhe kaise yeh bataaon and Alka’s Pal beet gaya yeh pal), but it cannot match up to the standards set by Madan Mohan!

Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai – Now this is one title where I can strongly say I love both the scores equally well. While S-J gave their own stamp with the frisky Jiya ho jiya kuchh bol do, Jatin Lalit held their own with the frothy O jaana na jaana yeh dil tera deewana.

Anari – Three of them, again – and like Andaaz, with some scion of Kapoor khandaan starring in them! But the most famous musically is, of course, the Shankar-Jaikishan one, starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. Released in 1959, it boasted of such phenomenal songs like Tera jaana dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana, Sab kuchh seekha humne na seekhi hoshiyari, Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, Woh chaand khila woh taare hanse and Dil ki nazar se. The second Anari starred brother Shashi Kapoor, but was a total washout. Music was by Laxmikant Pyarelal, but not a single song seems to have survived. The last Anari had Karisma Kapoor alongside South India superstar Venkatesh. Anand Milind’s music had one good number: Kya mausam aaya hai.

Junoon – Three, once more – and in quite a short span of time. The first is the seventies Shyam Benegal classic based on Ruskin Bond’s Flight of Pigeons. As a art-house movie, it didn’t have music the way we understand it in films, but Vanraj Bhatia’s Phir aayi kaari ghata matwaari was nice. The second Junoon was Mahesh Bhatt’s disastrous horror (more horrifying) film starring his daughter Pooja with his protege Rahul Roy and the wooden Avinash Wadhawan. This early nineties flick comprised of some ‘Gulshan Kumar-type’ music by Nadeem Shravan, with Anuradha Paudwal hogging all the limelight. Still, I would say the music was good – and O meri dilruba tu dil ke kareeb hai is a song that I love immensely. The last Junoon is a super-flop Shilpa Shetty starrer, released in 2002. Adesh Srivastava composed the score.

Lawaaris – Agreed that Kalyanji Anandji’s music in the Amitabh starrer can hardly be termed ‘great’. Yet, because of the overall cult status surrounding Big B movies of that time, we all remember the songs like Kaahe paise pe itna guroor kare ho, Apni toh jaise taise and that super-hit fun-filled number Mere angne mein tumhara kya kaam hai. In 1999, there was one more Lawaaris, and this time the score was handled by another seventies composer – Rajesh Roshan, but there wasn’t any strength in it. The film and the music were miserable flops.

Vishwaasghaat – I admit I am not aware of RD Burman’s music in the seventies Mahesh Bhatt film (Kabir Bedi, Shabana Azmi). But I am simply, madly and crazily in love with Shyam Surender’s score in the nineties flop (Suniel Shetty, Anjali Jathar) having the same name. Lata Mangeshkar sang four songs in this one and each is a complete beauty : the best is a solo Intezaar hai tera intezaar hai – an even paced song, with neat arrangements. The duet Yeh dil kyun dhadakta hai is fast but not furious. It has a loveable rhythm. Unfortunately, the music was released on a now-defunct music company, and perhaps is lost forever. I have a surviving audio cassette, and like to listen to it quite often.

Chaalbaaz – Obviously, Sridevi’s film in the eighties is a better known one. The twin-sisters-separated-at-birth saga inspired from Ram aur Shyam/Seeta aur Geeta was an absolute entertainer. However, I don’t like its loud music (Laxmikant Pyarelal). For that, I would turn to Madan Mohan’s posthumously released small-budget flop. It’s tour-de-force was Latadi’s Raat ujiyaari din andheraa tu jo sajan nahin mera hai. Jaaiye humse khafaa ho jaayiye was another wonderful song. In the fifties, there was one more film having same name, starring Nirupa Roy, but I don’t have any idea about it.

Rajkumar – Another name whereby L-P hopelessly botched up the score, and couldn’t live up to the high standards set by Shankar Jaikishan in the sixties Shammi Kapoor film. The older film had the terrific Aaja aayi bahaar, the steamy Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa and the energetic Jaane waalon zara hoshiyar, alongwith the now-almost-a-maxim Tumne pukara hum chale aaye. And the new one? Well, Payal meri tumko bulati was okayish, but I’d any day prefer to listen to the older one.

Suhaagan – Four of them – with two starring Mala Sinha-Guru Dutt! The first is a 1942 film – details unavailable. The second one released in 1954, and starred Mala Sinha. Again, I am not too aware about Vasant Desai / C Ramachandra’s music. Exactly a decade later, in 1964, Mala Sinha acted as yet another Suhaagan (once more with Guru Dutt) and this is the whose music I have. Rafisaab’s Tu mere saamne hai is a great melody, alongwith Bheegi chandni chhayi bekhudi aaja daal de baahon mein baahon ka haar. But the most remembered number is Latadi‘s Tum hi to meri pooja ho. The last Suhaagan is an eighties tearjerker starring Jeetu-Sridevi. Bappi Lahiri composed the music, and though the words slip me, it had one nice duet by Latadi.

Patita – Two films: in the fifties one Shankar Jaikishan gave great music; the duet Yaad kiya dil ne kahan ho tum is a hot romantic favorite till date, and Mitti se khelte ho baar baar kis liye was heart-wrenching. S-J also composed the most optimistic number Kisi ne mujhko apna bana ke muskurana sikha diya in Latadi‘s voice. Two decades later, Latadi was again at her sun-shine best in another happy number Baithe baithe aaj aayi mere mann ko (composed by Bappi Lahiri).

[Update on 02.02.07]

Karz / Karz -The Burden of Truth – The theme music strummed its way into your hearts – never mind if it was copied. Latadi and Kishoreda, well past their fifties, tucked their tongues firmly in cheek and giggled Mai solah baras ki/Mai satarah baras ka; Asha Bhonsle and Kishoreda raised the storm with Ek haseena thi ek deewana tha – unarguably, Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in Subhash Ghai’s take on Reincarnation of Peter Proud was an immense hit. The newer one (Sanjeev Darshan) was – like the illogical tagline – burdensome and cumbersome score!

Talaash – Remember Rajendra Kumar questioning a wide eyed Sharmila Tagore with Palkon ke peeche se kya tumne kah daala phir se toh farmaana? Spice it up more with the folksy Khai hai rah humne qasam sang rahne kii and the sparkling choral riff of Aaj ko juneli raat ma. And we had a stupendous SD Burman score. The magic was hopelessly lost in Sanjeev Darshan’s score in the newer Akshay Kumar -Karisma starrer.

Saudagar – The new generation danced to the remix of Sajna hai mujhe sajna ke liye. And the older generation loved Tera mera saath rahe. The film was a sensitive and sensible one. In the new one, the budget was upped and the screen widened, but the music didn’t lose its charm. Teri yaad aati hai is a towering duet, and one of the finest from Laxmikant Pyarelal. The common link in both was Lata Mangeshkar’s effusive voice.

Kaali Ghata – The first is a fifties Kishore Sahu film, music by Shankar Jaikishan. The centerpoint of the album was Latadi’s Humse na poochho koi pyaar kya pyaar kya hai. Other pleasures included Madhur milan hai and Ille belle aare. The newer one is not so new – early eighties. And starred Rekha and Shashi Kapoor. I recall only one song – the two part title song Kaali ghata chhayi prem rut aayi, aayi aayi aayi teri yaad aayi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal. Nice song.

Baazigar / Bazigar – Believe it or faint, there are actually four of them! The first came as early as 1938 and starred Trilok Kapoor. Other details unavailable – music could be by Gyan Dutt. The next was a Nirupa Roy starrer, though again the details are not too forthcoming on this one. I suspect this is the one that has music by Chitragupt. The next one released in 1972, probably with music by Sapan Jagmohan. (Details awaited from readers). The last one is, however, the most known one which spiralled Shah Rukh Khan’s career to a dizzying height. Anu Mallik gave some nice tunes.

[Courtesy – Madhu and Juneli, for pointing out to some titles featured in the updates]

Now on to the films which are essentially legendary stories or based on the same literary source, hence forced to have same title:

Devdas – I love the newer film, but prefer the songs of the older one. S D Burman’s composition in the Dilip Kumar version had such shimmering beauties like Jisse tu qabool kar le and O aane waale. In between, there was another version that never got completed, but Latadi’s Ku hu kuh bole koyaliya is outstanding.

Sohni Mahiwal – I think there are more, but I recall two versions strongly. One, is a fifties film with music by Naushadsaab, and was (IIRC) the debut for singer Mahendra Kapoor (Chand chhupa taare doobe raat gazab kii aayii). He got the theme song, while the lion’s share went to Rafisaab. However, it is Latadidi‘s Tumhare sang mai bhi chaluungi and her duet with Rafisaab Aane waale ko aana hoga, jaane waale ko jaana hoga that are the most luminescent numbers. Overall, the music is wonderful.

However, the eighties version (Sunny Deol and Poonam Dhillon) is in my honest opinion an extremely interesting score, composed by a still-struggling Annu Mallik. In this, Anupama Deshpande won the Filmfare Best Singer Award for Sohni chenaab de kinaare. However, it was otherwise Asha Bhonsle s film, and songs like Sohni sohni meri sohni aur nahi koi honi , Bol do meethe bol sohniye and Mujhe dulhe ka sehra gaane do are steeped in Punjabi ethos, have hummable tunes, and hold pleasurable interlude music. (I love Annu Mallik’s music from this era perhaps will do a separate post on this someday).

I have yet to hear the songs of the oldest film by the same name that had music by Lal Mohammad and songs by Zohrabai Ambalewali and G M Durrani, amongst others.

Heer Ranjha – Nothing, absolutely nothing, can surpass the melodies created by the ingenious Madan Mohan in the older version (which I suspect is the middle version ). From the near whisper intonations of Meri duniya mein tum aayi to the pain lashed Do dil toote do dil haare to the effervescent Milo na tum toh hum ghabraaye to the truth-seeking Yeh duniya yeh mehfil mere kaam ki nahi – each composition is a nugget to be savored, to be enjoyed and to immerse in its deep richness. The newer film had a horribly made up Anil Kapoor romancing the talented but ill-cast Sridevi with Rab ne banaya tujhe mere liye under Laxmikant Pyarelal s musical direction. But, clearly they were past their prime. And this Latadi-Anwar duet is the only good song in the entire album.

Umrao Jaan – I have said enough here

Don – Uh oh! Too bad that they had to remix and recycle Kalyanji Anandji’s original score (which in any case wouldn t ever get placed in the top best of the duo). Still, as a stand-alone, the old film s Arre diwaanon and Jiska mujhe tha intezaar are nice numbers. And Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana was a rocking item number when the phrase hadn’t even been created. There was a Mithun starrer The Don as well, but let’s not even talk about it!

Taj Mahal – Despite veteran Naushad at the helm of the affairs, the new film’s music was very ordinary. Music afficiandos will never forget Roshan’s luminous score that included Paaon chhoo lene do, Jo waada kiya and Jurm e ulfat pe humein log sazaa denge.

[This is an open post, and titles will be added to it as and when I remember them or get inputs from readers. Three updates available above]

Related readings – Lata Mangeshkar and Debut Heroines, Madan Mohan and Lata Mangeshkar

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Film Review

Sidharth (Salaam Namaste) Anand moves a step ahead in his craft. Tara Rum Pum, view while retaining all the gloss and glamour associated with Yash Raj Films, infertility is essentially a human story, viagra 100mg narrated in a gracious and genuine way. An absorbing film, Tara Rum Pum keeps the flame of human spirit burning with the warm oil of compassion, concern and candor.

The story revolves around a car race driver (Saif Ali Khan), who meets a severe accident on the tracks. Alongwith the car, his confidence crashes and amongst the debris are his ruined career and the acrid smoke of ruthless cash crunch. His family rallies around him, but he has several lessons yet to learn, and they form the crux of the second half. Of course, keeping in mind Bollywood sensibilities, the story starts right from the beginning where he meets the disciplined and dedicated piano student (Rani Mukerji looking plump yet ravishing in mini-skirts) in a series of – what else? – accidents.

The script is uncluttered, and progresses neatly, adding details here and there that make up the luxurious whole. It imparts a lesson in saving for the rainy day , without being grossly didactic or preachy. The dialogues are crisp. The second half is less humorous, but not heavy; though personally I feel this takes away the punch; and the piercing pain doesn’t cut pitilessly into the heart. Perhaps, a better idea would have been to go whole out in the melodrama, peeling off the gloss and allowing the scenario to be as barren and grim as the walls of the house the family is force to shift in. But Anand prefers to go by the neo-modern grammar, keeping in check any excesses, yet pointing out pretty clearly that the family is in big trouble. Some portions do manage to moisten the eyes, though – for example, Rani playing at boring birthday parties and then packing off the foodstuff for her kids.

A big triumph are the car racing scenes (and they are plentiful), which hold their own individuality without looking duplicated or boring. The last one stirs your adrelanin. (Actually, the film in the last half-hour is stunning!)

Binod Pradhan scores another home-run this year with his camera work (after the painstakingly beautiful Eklavya). The car race scenes are deftly shot, without confusing the viewer. New York is captured in a bright colorful mosaic. The film is well edited, though judging by the audience reaction in the theater, the interval could have been upped a bit, but that’s being overtly finicky. I am deliberately not venturing into the Reader’s Don’t Digest kind of bloopers – I am sure they will be eventually listed out in a magazine that wears the serious-looking dress over its patchy petticoat.

Vishal-Shekhar’s melodious musical score is the most surprising aspect. Frankly, my expectations were very low. But the music is shimmering and sensational. While Shreya Ghoshal’s stupendous solo Ho agar koii gham toh (Ta ra ra rum tararum pum) envelops you in its inspirational and affectionate hug, Vishal Dadlani’s heart-wrenching part-Sufi-ish, part-Junoon-ish Ek banjaara iktaare pe (Saaiyaan) squeezes a tear from the eyes. Both the songs are winners, and have beautiful interludes. Nachle ve taps your feet to dancing and the title song delights. Javed Akhtar’s lyrics are great and Anand uses the music judiciously. Salim-Suleiman’s background score gels with the film’s theme.

Both Rani Mukerji and Saif Ali Khan give honest performances. But Javed Jaafri convincingly steals the show; no extraneous antics; simple clean and cut acting that hits the bull’s eye! The supporting cast supports adequately (and no, there aren’t any surprise appearance, and none by Abhishek Bachchan!). The kids endear. (Master Ali last stole our hearts in Fanaa, and here he effortlessly repeats the feat).

Tara Rum Pum retrieves Yash Raj Films (and producer and mastermind Aditya Chopra’s) lost reputation as sincere filmmakers providing good family entertainment. Of late, their films had been all gloss and no soul, with a one-point mission of raking in the moolah and satisfying the NRI urge of connecting with India without actually showing the country. True, the film is set in NY, and they still eye that sector avidly; true, there is all the glamor (designer house, designer profession, designer dresses, et al); but then the film is basically about human triumph, so all the strappings hardly matter. Plus, the locale or the lustre don’t overshadow the content; it’s an achievement where shine and story co-exist harmoniously! And yes, watch it with your family without being embarrassed one bit: no unnecessary kisses or any faaltu skin-show!

Overall – An Entertaining & Enjoyable Family Outing Film- Watch It!

Technorati : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Tara Rum Pum, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films
Del.icio.us : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Filmfare Power List is out! And Latadidi retains her fifth position this year too in the music makers section. Kudos to the lady to still be amongst the top five- that too, salve
with virtually no musical album release last year! Whoa! That is surely an achievement. Many congratulations!

O.P.Nayyar is no more.

And every person is jumping the bandwagon with cliched statements like ‘maestro par excellence’ and ‘survivor from the golden era’, dosage forgetting that he was virtually neglected in the autumn of his life, and that his valiant comeback in the nineties was received with a freezing shoulder and not-so-charitable remarks.

Worse, the media is doling out mis-informations and factually incorrect statements which makes me wonder if they are really doing any justice to the man in bringing out these pieces. Sample the pile of anomalies thrust on us in the past one day- one daily mentions Jhumka gira re as his composition (it definitely wasn’t – Madan Mohan was the creator there), and the same newspaper talks of Andaz Apna Apna as his ‘comeback film’ (errr… if that is so, then who was Tushar Bhatia credited in the film?). Amar Ujala did quite a heart-felt tribute – till the time they came to mention Junglee as his film. No way! Junglee was out and out Shankar Jaikishan score. This sudden fixation for thrusting the ‘yahoo‘ credit on OPN is very strange. I believe TOI’s Marathi edition has also carried this non-fact. Aaj Tak showed a clip from ‘Kashmir ki kali hun main mujhse na rootho babuji’, another S-J song! Dudes, the film Kashmir Ki Kali was OPN’s baby, not this song. I can’t believe that these oh-so-serious media ‘knowledgeables’ have such paucity in resources that they can’t even verify their facts. And who are they fooling by bringing out such tributes? By mentioning other music director’s numbers (and that too direct contemporary rivals to OPN), they have only belittled the composer’s achievements.

Personally, I really have nothing to say. I can make some politically correct statements as well. But that would then be travesty of having a personal blog in the first place. This is due to the fact that I don’t have much knowledge about his music – in fact, the only cassette I have of his is from a flop film called Hong Kong, which came bundled alongwith Singapore – and since the latter itself is a rare film album to find, hence I had to per force buy this odd combination. Other than this, I have no song by OPN, not even in some odd compilation! It’s quite a record since I can boast of a huge collection (including a large chunk not pertaining to Lataji).

Unfortunately, OPN never used Latadidi‘s voice, stating that his ‘style didn’t match’ (though he had tried to get her on board for his debut film, but due to some reasons she couldn’t make it there). Equally unfortunately, I couldn’t force myself to like his style and stayed away from his music.

May his soul rest in peace!

Technorati : O P Nayyar

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Other than Taj Mahal, hospital Fatehpur Sikri is another important historical place here. Situated around 33 kms from Agra, physiotherapist it is on the border of U.P., visit next to Bharatpur in Rajasthan. The site for Fatehpur was first discovered by Babar, but it was his descendant Akbar who built the fort here. At one point, he had contemplated to shift the capital here, but the water problem thwarted his plans. Folklore has it that Akbar was desperate for a son and had visited Ajmer dargah for blessings. There, he had a dream that he should visit Saleemuddin Chishti at Fatehpur, which he did (reportedly on foot). His queen, Jodhabai was blessed with a son, and Akbar named him after the saint – Saleem. Since then, the dargah is known for fulfilling all wishes and prayers.

The fort’s Bulund Darwaza is stated to be the biggest gate in Asia, and admittedly it is quite an awesome sight. The dargah, in white marble, is pure and serene. And yes, there is also the closed gate leading to a tunnel that supposedly links Agra with Red Fort in Delhi. Mughal-E-Azam was reportedly shot here, probably the last time the tunnel gates were ever opened.

Otherwise, there have been several films/songs shot on the premises, including Yateem, Lal Pathar and the most famous of all – Pardes (Do dil mil rahe and the climax qawaali).

Fatehpur is still the property of Saleemuddin Chishti’s descendants, and hence has free entrance. The neighboring (and more clean and well maintained) Sikri , however, is with ASI and there is a nominal entry charge of INR 20 (for Indian nationals).

(Clockwise, from top left) 1. Bulund Darwaza- It was tough fitting it on the camera phone’s miniscule lens. Still I think I managed well. 2. The ‘Mughal E Azam’ tunnel-as the local guides there will describe. Supposedly it links to Delhi’s Red Fort 3. The ‘Dargah’ at Fatehpur – Very serene!

Photographs: Deepak Jeswal, Kislay
Taken on : Nokia 3230
Dated : 28.01.07

More on Fatehpur : The Mughal Gallery , Fatehpur , Tourism-Fatehpur/Sikri

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Other than Taj Mahal, hospital Fatehpur Sikri is another important historical place here. Situated around 33 kms from Agra, physiotherapist it is on the border of U.P., visit next to Bharatpur in Rajasthan. The site for Fatehpur was first discovered by Babar, but it was his descendant Akbar who built the fort here. At one point, he had contemplated to shift the capital here, but the water problem thwarted his plans. Folklore has it that Akbar was desperate for a son and had visited Ajmer dargah for blessings. There, he had a dream that he should visit Saleemuddin Chishti at Fatehpur, which he did (reportedly on foot). His queen, Jodhabai was blessed with a son, and Akbar named him after the saint – Saleem. Since then, the dargah is known for fulfilling all wishes and prayers.

The fort’s Bulund Darwaza is stated to be the biggest gate in Asia, and admittedly it is quite an awesome sight. The dargah, in white marble, is pure and serene. And yes, there is also the closed gate leading to a tunnel that supposedly links Agra with Red Fort in Delhi. Mughal-E-Azam was reportedly shot here, probably the last time the tunnel gates were ever opened.

Otherwise, there have been several films/songs shot on the premises, including Yateem, Lal Pathar and the most famous of all – Pardes (Do dil mil rahe and the climax qawaali).

Fatehpur is still the property of Saleemuddin Chishti’s descendants, and hence has free entrance. The neighboring (and more clean and well maintained) Sikri , however, is with ASI and there is a nominal entry charge of INR 20 (for Indian nationals).

(Clockwise, from top left) 1. Bulund Darwaza- It was tough fitting it on the camera phone’s miniscule lens. Still I think I managed well. 2. The ‘Mughal E Azam’ tunnel-as the local guides there will describe. Supposedly it links to Delhi’s Red Fort 3. The ‘Dargah’ at Fatehpur – Very serene!

Photographs: Deepak Jeswal, Kislay
Taken on : Nokia 3230
Dated : 28.01.07

More on Fatehpur : The Mughal Gallery , Fatehpur , Tourism-Fatehpur/Sikri

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In case you find this site entertaining and useful please contribute your own bit by making a nominal donation

Sidney Sheldon passed away – and however cliched it might sound, case
but the fact is that an era of pulp fiction writing has come to an end. I am speechless, shocked and very sad. May his soul rest in forever peace. And may he continue to regale the audience to whichever place he has departed to.

Even though I was critical of his last few works, still Sheldon has left behind a huge bulk of excellent work. Rage of Angels, If Tomorrow Comes, Bloodline, The Other Side of Midnight and Memories of the Midnight are works that will be forever etched in my memories!

God bless his soul!

Related Readings : Books I Love

Technorati : Fiction, Novels, Sidney Sheldon

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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Repeat of movie names is not a new phenomenon. And with the volume of our Hindi film industry’s output, there it sometimes becomes a necessity as well.

In the age of FM, the announcers (or better known as RJ’s) hardly inform the film’s names of the song playing, let alone any other detail. But when I grew up listening to the ever dependable Vividh Bharti, the entire music credits were often mentioned including the always sidelined lyricists’ names. Then, it used to be disappointing to hear for example – the announcer speak out the name of Mahal, only to hear a song from the newer one (starring Dev Anand).

Blame it on my penchant for old songs, usually I prefer the older titled film’s numbers. Here is a list of films that have had similar names – again in no specific order:

Barsaat – There are three of them that I know of: 1949 film, which skyrocketed Lata Mangeshkar ‘s career to the zenith of success, established Raj Kapoor as a director par excellence and introduced Shankar Jaikishan one of the finest composers ever, in my opinion; 1990’s version which was the debut for Twinkle Khanna and Bobby Deol, and had music by the then kings Nadeem Shravan; the new millennium film which also starred Bobby Deol and had same music composers, albeit now beyond their prime time. Unarguably, the music standard declined progressively with each era’s film. The first Barsaat had such beauties like Chhod gaye baalam, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan, Patli kamar hai and Hawa mein udta jaaye. The second one was quite above average, and I quite like Teri adaayon pe marrta huun and Humko sirrf tum se pyaar hai. The last Barsaat hardly has anything worthwhile to mention.

Andaz – Four of them! And the first three starred one member of the Kapoor khandaan. 1949- Raj Kapoor and Nargis whipped up the passion along with the thespian Dilip Kumar; Naushadsaab composed nuggets like Tu kahe agar jeevan bhar gaata jaaoon and Hum aaj kahiin dil kho baithe. And Latadi found a toe-hold in the industry, giving stiff competition to Shamshad Begum (who sang alongside her in Darrna mohabbat karle).

The second came in or around 1972 and it starred Shammi Kapoor in the lead, but the reigning superstar Rajesh Khanna’s vivacious guest appearance stole the thunder. Shankar Jaikishan composed the bumper hit Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana (often taken as Jaikishan’s swan song, though technically and factually it isn’t true).

1994 Andaz saw the Gennext from Kapoor family Karisma starring in this David Dhawan double-entendre laden remake of Sundar Kaandam. Bappi Lahiri commandeered the music room and gave us bloopers like Khada hai khada hai and Tu maal gaadi mai driver tera!

The fourth one is the most recent one with Akshay Kumar, but better known as the debuts for Priyanka and Lara raising the mercury in their tight and tiny clothes. Nadeem Shravan s music was just about bearable.

Chori Chori -Three films! The first one is the fifties comedy based on It Happened One Night. Raj Kapoor and Nargis the industry s First Romantic Pair tickled the funny bone. And Shankar Jaikishan s music was simply scintillating. Just look at the lavish fare they gave: the eternally romantic Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, the joie-de-vivre charged Panchhi banoon uddti phiroon, the chirrupy Jahan mai jaati hoon wahiin chale aate ho, the heart-wrenching Rasik balmaa dil kyun lagaya, the silly but nevertheless funny All line clear and the syrupy Aaja sanam madhur chaandni mein hum. In the seventies, there was one more Chori Chori again with compositions by Shankar Jaikishan, but I haven’t heard any number from this film.

The last Chori Chori is the Milan Luthria flop in the nineties starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukerji. Sajid-Wajid’s music was despondently dull.

Seema – Two, which I know of. The first is the exceptional social drama starring power-house performers Balraj Sahni and Nutan. Again, Shankar Jaikishan gave some shimmering melodies the serene prayer Tu pyaar ka saagar hai , the hurt Kahaan jaa raha hai, the classical Manmohana bade jhoote and the optimistic Baat baat mein rootho na. It also had one of my most favorite Latadi solo Suno chhotisi gudiya kii lambii kahanii. The second Seema came in the seventies and once again had music by Shankar Jaikishan. From this Rafisaab s Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai (penned by Gulzar) is exceptional.

Kathputli /Kattputli – I adore the music of the fifties version Bol ri kathputli dori kaun sang baandhi is such a marvelously magnificent number that I can hear it anytime; and a song that I fell in love with when I was a kid and had heard it on Chitrahaar. Once more, it was Shankar-Jaikishan’s creativity at its peak. And Latadi sounds so soft and sublime. There was another Kathhputli in the seventies as well, this time music by Kalyanji Anandji. Details not available with me. The last is a recent flick, produced by and starring Mink Singh, with a little twist in the title s spelling musically, it was a complete washout!

Karm/ Karam – The seventies film (starring Vidya Sinha and a rapidly losing popularity Rajesh Khanna) was an interesting critique on astrology. The music wasn t that great but Asha Bhonsle s Samay tu dheere dheere chal (with a sad version that went Samay tu jaldi jaldi chal) was a nice song. The newer Karam had the current poster boy John Abraham playing a hit-man. Musically, it was a zilch except for Alisha Chinai s effectively sung Tinka tinka zara zara.

Saajan – I grew up listening to Latadi s Saajan saajan pukaaroon galiyon mein, a typical Laxmikant Pyarelal ditty, picturised on Asha Parekh it was quite a staple on Chitrahaars. I haven’t yet seen this film. The second Saajan was a phenomenal hit, and Nadeem Shravan gave some hummable chart-busters. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Madhuri starred in this fluke Sudhakar Bokade love triangle hit.

Baharon Ki Manzil / Baharon Ke Manzil – Both the films are not very well known. And I have seen both! The first one stars Meena Kumari and is a whodunit. Laxmikant Pyarelal gave the music in which Lata Mangeshkar was the sole singer (no male songs in this film!), of which Nigaahen kyun bhatakti hai is quite well known. However, despite no Latadi, I find the second film s music really appaudable and better. Raamlaxman scored some excellent numbers in the voices of Poornima, Udit Narayan and Amit Kumar. Meri jaan dua karna is a towering duet with lip-smacking interludes and fine singing. The film was a miserable flop and was the debut for Mona Singh (in case you don t know her, she played the wet nurse in Mangle Panday oops, Mangal Panday).

Khel – I recall two of them. The first is a decent Anil-Madhuri 1992 film, directed by Rakesh Roshan, but unfortunately was a dampener at the box-office. The music by brother Rajesh Roshan was exceptionally good. Latadi‘s duet with Mohd. Aziz Khat likhna hai par sochti huun is a hot personal favorite. Sister Asha Bhonsle displayed immense vocal virtuosity in the cabaret number Ek baat maan lo tum (with a cutely reversed and suitably toned down bhajan version as well!). And Amit Kumar’s pathos-laden Soone shaam savere is superb (though having a pretty funny picturisation). The newer Khel (Suniel Shetty, Celina Jeitly) was a musical disaster.

There was the oldest Khel as well with music composed by Sajjad Hussain. Latadi‘s Jaate ho toh jaao is a heart-achingly beautiful number. [Thanks to Madhu for the tip]

Julie – Again, I recall two of them. The first is a musical hit. Bhool gayasab kuchh is an ardent love duet and Dil kya kare jab kisise kisiko pyaar ho jaaye builds up a zealous steam. The debut heroine Laxmi might have bloated to a shrill matron (Hulchul) and the hero Vikram is lost in the annals of cinematic history, but Rajesh Roshan’s score continues to be still dew drop fresh and is remembered fondly by music-lovers. The newer Julie is more known for Neha Dhupia s bare-dare act than for its songs, but I found Himesh Reshammiya’s score very mellifluous and deserving. Ae dil yeh bataa kyun hone laga is the best number, followed by Dhadkan ho gayii tumse aashna and Hum tumse dil laga baithe.

Waqt / Waqt Race Against Time – I admit I don’t like the older film s songs too much, though Ae meri zohra jabeen is a retro-hit, and a source of many-a-remix. The philosophical title song by Rafisaab Waqt ke din aur raat is , in my opinion, the best number. Let me not beat the bush, the rest of the songs by Ravi were marred by Asha Bhonsle’s voice, which in that era had assumed a strange phlegmatic thickness, which I don’t quite appreciate.

But cut to the present times and the newer film help! The raucous Anu Mallik warbled Do me a favor let s play holly {sic} no, no, no!!! God save my ears from this painful assault!

Aankhen – Four films but again the best music is from the two oldest version (that I know of). In 1950, Madan Mohan made his debut with Aankhen that had Mukesh’s Preet lagake maine yeh phal paaya. For some reason, Latadi couldn’t sing in this one, but MM didn’t make this an ego issue, and got her on-board with the next few films (Adaa , Madhosh) – and what a team it turned out to be!

In the second film, composer Ravi gave very melodious music in this Dharam-Mala Sinha thriller. Milti hai zindagi mein mohabbat kabhi kabhi and Gairon pe karam apnon pe sitam belong to my childhood memories and are firmly etched as beautiful songs. The nineties Aankhen was a super-duper Govinda-David Dhawan combine hit; Bappi Lahiri s score was strictly functional and in sync with the film’s mood. Laal dupatte waali tera naam toh bata was the biggest hit from this film.

The fourth Aankhen (starring Amitabh Bachhan and a posse of supporting cast) hardly had any song worth mentioning – unless you prefer tepid tapori numbers like Phatela jeb sil jaayega!

Charas – After Aankhen, this is another Ramanand Sagar-Dharamendra combination thriller whose name got stolen. In the seventies film, Laxmikant Pyarelal whipped up a frenzy with the naughtily vivacious Kal ki haseen mulaqaat ke liye (Lata-Kishore) and the tranquil Ke aaja teri yaad aayi (Lata-Rafi-Anand Bakshi). There were other good numbers too Raja na jaa (Lata) and Mai ladki badnaam ho gayii (Lata). The newer film by Tigmanshu Dhulia was a cropper where music was concerned. I haven t heard a single good song from this film.

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja – Shankar Jaikishan’s music in the older film (Dev Anand- Waheeda Rahman) was a delight. Latadi s Tum toh dil ke taar chhed kar is pure gold (with a tandem by Hemant Kumar), and the title song is quintessential S-J. Cut to the nineties film, and L-P try hard to match their senior s orchestral wizardry, but only end up with a cacophonous din. Add to this Kavita Krishnamoorthy’s shrill singing and the consequence is highly distasteful. Incidentally, both the films were huge flops!

Masoom – Now who can ever forget Gulzar s introspective lyrics in Tujhse naraaz nahii zindagi set to a terrific tune by R D Burman? Flash forward a couple of decades, and Ayesha Julka-Indra Kumar starrer is an ugly blot to the older film s title. It s only when one comes across such blasphemous use of older titles that one wishes there was a legislation stopping the re-cycling of the titles!

Golmaal – Latadi sounds ethereal in Ek baat kahuun gar maano tum, and Kishoreda makes us think in Aane waala pal jaane waala hai. Hrishida kept the funny bone forever tickled in this moustache-mania. It is a sin to even mention the recent gol-maul in the same breath as the older film. Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are just no-where remotely close to Panchamda s skill.

Geet – Kalyanji Anandji created an extraordinary love duet Mere mitwa mere meet re in the older film starring Rajendra Kumar and Mala Sinha. And then there was Latadi consoling tenderly Tere naina kyun neer bahaaye. Zoom to the nineties, and Latadi still held control in the newer Divya Bharti film, with Aap jo mere meet na hote. Regrettfully, the rest of this Bappi Lahiri album didn t have any other geet worth remembering.

Diwana / Deewana – The former is a slightly less known Raj Kapoor film with a bouquet of incredibly fragrant Mukesh melodies, composed by Shankar Jaikishan. The fare includes the bagpiper blast Taaron se pyaare armaan hamaare (Aana hi hoga tujhe aana hi hoga), the spectacularly plush Hum toh jaate apni gaaon, the brilliant Tumhari bhi jai jai humaari bhi jai jai, the lavish title song Diwana mujhko log kahein and the thought provoking Pate kii baat kahega kahega jab bhi deewana. Absolutely A-class music having flawless rhythm, interludes and singing! The second film is the nineties one, and brought current box-office badshah Shahrukh Khan into limelight. The music by Nadeem Shravan, though not matching SJ s work, is very respectable and I am very fond of Teri ummeed tera intezaar karte hain and the title song.

Dhanwaan – The criminally neglected Hridayanath Mangeshkar composed a chocolaty sweet duet Yeh aankhen dekh kar hum saari duniya bhool jaatein hain for the seventies Rajesh Khanna starrer (though picturised on Reena Roy and Rakesh Roshan). In the nineties, Anand Milind gave an energetically charged Holi song Rang di rang di preet ne rang di.

[Update on 29.01.07]

Milan – Three that I recall. The first one was in the fifties with music by Hansraj Bahl. Latadi plucked the heartstrings with Haaye jeeya roye. However, it was some two decades later that Laxmikant Pyarelal scorched the charts and stomped the hearts with bumper hits like the celebratory Bol gori bol tera kaun piya, the Madan Mohanesque Aaj dil pe koii zor chalta nahi, the melodious Saawan ka mahina pawan kare sor and the monumental Hum tum yug yug se geet milan ke – stuff that legends are made of, and remembered for yug yug! But a few more decades down the line Anand Milind’s vapid score in Mahesh Bhatt’s flop Jackie-Manisha starrer by the same name couldn’t last beyond the month the film was released in, leave alone a yug!

Gumnaam – Shankar Jaikishan gave haunting melodies in the old Agatha Christie-inspired film. Turn the century, and Nadeem Shravann come up with haunted wrecks in the lying-in-cans Dino Morea starrer. In the old film, Rafi’s Jaan pehchaan ho and Hum kaale hai toh kya hua kept the charts rocking and rolling, while Latadi‘s title number raised the goosebumps. Helen gave the requisite glamor with Iss duniya mein jeena ho toh sunlo meri baat.

Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya – I remember two films : in the first one, erstwhile Madan Mohan assistants Sonik Omi composed some sublime beauties, which bordered on their mentor’s style. While Suman Kalyanpur got the touching title song, Latadi bagged the best and the most splendid solo – Aaja re pyaar pukaare naina toh ro ro haare. More than three decades later, Latadi was still there in the newer film (Govinda, Tabu in a remake of Ramesh Talwar’s Doosra Aadmi) serenading Uttam Singh’s fluffy orchestra in Saare shahar mein charcha yeh aam ho gaya. Sadly, the rest of the score (by Aadesh Srivastava) was just average.

Saathi – I have no clue about the first one, which had music by Gulshan Soofi, lyrics by Wali Sahab and songs sung by Shamshad Begum. However, I have strong memories of the second one. Naushadsaab went western in sound with this Simi Garewal-Rajendra Kumar-Vyjanthimala film, which had the awesome Mere jeevan saathi kali thii main toh pyaasi in Latadi’s soft-as-silk voice. Then there was Yeh kaun aaya roshan ho gayi mehfil jiske naam se , Mai toh pyaar se tere piya and Aaina hoon mai tera! Mukesh and Suman Kalyanpur created romance and rhythm with Mera pyaar bhi tu hai yeh bahaar bhi tu hai. A very sensible score, indeed. Which is what I personally feel about the newest Saathi as well. Inspite of Anuradha Paudwal’s pathetic pronunciations, Saathi koii bhoola yaad aaya and Aaj hum tum o sanam are decent compositions (by Nadeem Shravan).

Guru – The older Guru starred Mithun Chakraborthy as well – at that time, in the lead role, with his then love interest Sridevi. Their ‘kiss’ at that time created quite a flurry, equivalent to the present day Guru‘s heroine’s lip lock with Hrithik in Dhoom-2. The older movie had some typical eighties cacophonous Bappi Lahiri music with songs where the heroine profoundly proclaimed I am a bad girl.But don’t hasten to write off the film just yet – because Bappida also surprised all with a very sensitive love duet Jaiiyo na jaiiyo na humse door sajan jaiiyo na (Lata Mangeshkar-Shailendra Singh). And linking up with the new age Guru is another common thread: Bappi-da returns as a playback singer for the tipsy but enjoyable number Ek lo ek muft! [Thanks to Anz for the tip]

Bees Saal Baad – After a serious bout of throat problem, which nearly rendered Lataji voice-less, she returned to the studios with a bang, hitting the soul directly with the call that defines ‘horror’ film genre songs in Kahiin deep jale kahiin dil. The song is so irrevocably stamped in every music lover’s psyche that it is impossible to imagine that there could be a newer film by the same name. But, there was! Mithun Chakraborty and Meenakshi Sheshadri tried to raise the spooks again, with Dimple floating in white amidst haunted havelis singing in a horrifying Anuradha Paudwal’s voice Kitne saawan beet gaye.

Jurmana – Hrishikesh Mukherjee created two very sensitive films with the trio of Vinod Mehra-Amitabh-Raakhi. Of these two, Bemisaal is the more known one. But Jurmana had its own strengths. One of which was RD Burman’s music. Latadi got two magnificent solos – Chhoti si ek kali khili thi and the better known Saawan ke jhoole pade. The new Jurmana is a TLV Prasadh- Mithun Chakroborty combined B-grade flick, with mu-sick by Dilip Sen Sameer Sen.

Boyfriend – The older film is a lesser known Shankar Jaikishan film, wherein Latadi did the coquettish Aise na jaao o beraham (with an ultra cute Aadab arz hai thrown in between). The newer film has the in-your-face Jatin Lalit composition Kahdo toh duniya mein aaj baja doon band!

Samundar – Three of them – the first one had music by S.Purushottam, but I have not heard any songs from this film (reportedly with songs by Asha Bhonsle). It is the second one that interests me a lot. Madan Mohan composed the classically handsome Lata Mangeshkar solo Chain nahin aaye kahan dil jaaye – in this, her rendition of the leitmotif sajanwa ho balamwa ho is exceedingly enchanting. Another fascinating solo by the diva was Aaja kahiin se aaja mere dil ka qaraar leke. Jump decades, and Latadi continued to regale under Panchamda’s baton for Rahul Rawail’s Sunny Deol-Poonam Deol film. The peppy Ae saagar kii lahron hum bhii aatein hai thehro (with Kishoreda) was the highlight song. Asha Bhonsle whipped up a creamy lather in the sensuous Yeh rang-e-mehfil badal raha hai, and Kishore Kumar naughtily charmed with Yeh kori karaari kanwaari nazar. Another unsung eighties RD Burman score, which needs to be resurrected.

Elaan– Again, three that I know of. In the seventies, Vinod Mehra starred with a podgy and dusky Rekha in this FC Mehra production about ‘invisible man’ (yes, the idea was used way before Mr. India). Shankar Jaikishan’s music didn’t cut much ice with music lovers, but there is a cute charm in Sharda’s Aath ko aath se jama karo and the duet Aap ki raay mere baare mein kya hai. In the nineties, Akshay Kumar and Madhoo romped on screen to Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s risque Tu ru tu ru kahan se karuun main pyaar shuru. But the biggest delight in this film was Lata Mangeshkar’s breath-taking Naino ko baatein karne do – a mature and mellow duet with Kumar Sanu, which had shades of L-P’s Badalte Rishtey song Meri saanson ko jo mahka rahii hai! The last Elaan is a boring Vikram Bhatt film starring Arjun Rampal, Rahul Khanna and Lara Dutta. The music had some Anu Mallik monstroties like Aandarlu baandalru, et al.

Kartavya – L-P were at their peak in 1979, when they composed the sultry and sizzling solo Doorie na rahein koi aaj itne kareeb aao, sung splendidly by Lata Mangeshkar and picturised on the verge-of-blooming Rekha. Other solos by her included Koii aayega and Chhaila babu tu kaisa dildaar nikla. In the newer film, the perpetually wooden Sanjay Kapoor starred opposite Juhi Chawla. Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s music was good, but just about so.

Hawas – Saawan Kumar’s take on lust consisted of Mohd. Rafi’s towering solo Teri galiyon mein na rakhenge qadam. The newer Hawas (Meghna Naidu in yet another Unfaithful remake) had two good songs – Mai yun miloon tujhe and Tera naam leke marne lenge.

[Update on 31.01.07]

Shola Aur Shabnam – In the old black-and-white film Latadi and Rafisaab sweetly acknowledged hesitant love in Jeet hi lenge baazi hum tum, under Khayyam’s baton. The song is one of the most shimmering duets from this prolific but perfect pair. Leap-forward, and in the nineties we have Govinda croaking Gore gore under Bappi Lahiri’s tutelage. What a comedown! I haven’t seen the older film, but the newer one was, otherwise, a typical David Dhawan dhamaal, with lots of slapstick humor in the first half, and ‘action-packed’ emotions in the second one.

Mohabbat – I don’t have any idea about the first Mohabbat, made by Phani Majumdar, starring the Marathi doyen Shanta Apte. However, the second one is part of my growing up years, and I will,this once, root for the much-maligned composer Bappi Lahiri. Largely for two beautiful songs in the Anil-Vijeta starrer: Kishoreda’s Saanson se nahin kadmon se nahin and Latadi’s Naina yeh barse milne ko tarse. The nineties version has Akshaye-Madhur-Sanjay Kapoor in a trite love triangle, with not-so-brilliant score by Nadeem Shravan. Worse, they blindly aped Stereo Nation’s Don’t break my heart – the original of which was in any case running simultaneously on the charts.

Chor Machaye Shor – Le jaayenge le jaayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge is a cult number, a very peppy and unlikely number from Ravindra Jain. The spectre of this mammoth melody loomed so large that Jatin Lalit confessed that they couldn’t come up with a better number when they did Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Kishore Kumar tugged the heart with Ghoongroo ki tarah bajta hi raha hun ( a song, which I recall reading, he had confessed looked easy, but was otherwise tough to sing). Skip decades, and we have Vinod Rathod and Anuradha Sriram locking tonsils in the terribly written Tum Tata ho ya Birla, under Anu Mallik’s command, in the David Dhawan flop by the same name.

Loafer – When Rafisaab languidly remarked Aaj mausam bada baimaan hai, the clouds drooped in appreciation; the warm L-P melody hugs you with its sensuous allure. In the newer version, we had to content with Anand Milind’s atrocities like Aao karein hum tum kahiin nain-matakka. However, from this Anil-Juhi starrer, the number Teri tirchhi nazar mein hai jaadoo was very catchy and likeable.

Love Marriage – Now what to say of this outstandingly magnificent Shankar Jaikishan score! Every song is the most supreme aural delight, tickling the heart, touching the soul, stirring the hips and hugging the lips. From the romantically romantic Dheere dheere chal chaand gagan mein to the bashful Kahe jhoom jhoom raat yeh suhani to the playful Dil se dil takraaye to the cutting critque of Teen kanastar peet peet kar gala phaar ke chillana, every number is a well polished pearl. However, the same cannot be said about L-P’s boring music in the eighties film of the same name. In this sort of sex-comedy (wherein the lovers are desperate to consummate their marriage), the only number that could be said average is the title number.

Dastak– Quality peaked when Madan Mohan sored. And in Dastak even he surpassed his own tough standards. This small budget Sanjeev Kumar-Rehana Sultana film had a big score. Lataji was ever the heart and soul – her solos Baiyyan na dharo, Hum hai mata-e-kucha-o-bazaar ki tarah and Maai ri main kaase kahuun rank amongst the best from her own mammoth ouvre. And Rafisaab did his own bit in the almost whispered Tum se kahuun ek baat paron si halki. This is an album that you can keep on listening without tiring even once. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Rajesh Roshan’s music in Sushmita Sen’s debut film, carrying the same title. Even though Rajesh Roshan’s score cannot be really termed ‘bad’ (and I quite like Abhijeet’s Tumhe kaise yeh bataaon and Alka’s Pal beet gaya yeh pal), but it cannot match up to the standards set by Madan Mohan!

Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai – Now this is one title where I can strongly say I love both the scores equally well. While S-J gave their own stamp with the frisky Jiya ho jiya kuchh bol do, Jatin Lalit held their own with the frothy O jaana na jaana yeh dil tera deewana.

Anari – Three of them, again – and like Andaaz, with some scion of Kapoor khandaan starring in them! But the most famous musically is, of course, the Shankar-Jaikishan one, starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. Released in 1959, it boasted of such phenomenal songs like Tera jaana dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana, Sab kuchh seekha humne na seekhi hoshiyari, Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, Woh chaand khila woh taare hanse and Dil ki nazar se. The second Anari starred brother Shashi Kapoor, but was a total washout. Music was by Laxmikant Pyarelal, but not a single song seems to have survived. The last Anari had Karisma Kapoor alongside South India superstar Venkatesh. Anand Milind’s music had one good number: Kya mausam aaya hai.

Junoon – Three, once more – and in quite a short span of time. The first is the seventies Shyam Benegal classic based on Ruskin Bond’s Flight of Pigeons. As a art-house movie, it didn’t have music the way we understand it in films, but Vanraj Bhatia’s Phir aayi kaari ghata matwaari was nice. The second Junoon was Mahesh Bhatt’s disastrous horror (more horrifying) film starring his daughter Pooja with his protege Rahul Roy and the wooden Avinash Wadhawan. This early nineties flick comprised of some ‘Gulshan Kumar-type’ music by Nadeem Shravan, with Anuradha Paudwal hogging all the limelight. Still, I would say the music was good – and O meri dilruba tu dil ke kareeb hai is a song that I love immensely. The last Junoon is a super-flop Shilpa Shetty starrer, released in 2002. Adesh Srivastava composed the score.

Lawaaris – Agreed that Kalyanji Anandji’s music in the Amitabh starrer can hardly be termed ‘great’. Yet, because of the overall cult status surrounding Big B movies of that time, we all remember the songs like Kaahe paise pe itna guroor kare ho, Apni toh jaise taise and that super-hit fun-filled number Mere angne mein tumhara kya kaam hai. In 1999, there was one more Lawaaris, and this time the score was handled by another seventies composer – Rajesh Roshan, but there wasn’t any strength in it. The film and the music were miserable flops.

Vishwaasghaat – I admit I am not aware of RD Burman’s music in the seventies Mahesh Bhatt film (Kabir Bedi, Shabana Azmi). But I am simply, madly and crazily in love with Shyam Surender’s score in the nineties flop (Suniel Shetty, Anjali Jathar) having the same name. Lata Mangeshkar sang four songs in this one and each is a complete beauty : the best is a solo Intezaar hai tera intezaar hai – an even paced song, with neat arrangements. The duet Yeh dil kyun dhadakta hai is fast but not furious. It has a loveable rhythm. Unfortunately, the music was released on a now-defunct music company, and perhaps is lost forever. I have a surviving audio cassette, and like to listen to it quite often.

Chaalbaaz – Obviously, Sridevi’s film in the eighties is a better known one. The twin-sisters-separated-at-birth saga inspired from Ram aur Shyam/Seeta aur Geeta was an absolute entertainer. However, I don’t like its loud music (Laxmikant Pyarelal). For that, I would turn to Madan Mohan’s posthumously released small-budget flop. It’s tour-de-force was Latadi’s Raat ujiyaari din andheraa tu jo sajan nahin mera hai. Jaaiye humse khafaa ho jaayiye was another wonderful song. In the fifties, there was one more film having same name, starring Nirupa Roy, but I don’t have any idea about it.

Rajkumar – Another name whereby L-P hopelessly botched up the score, and couldn’t live up to the high standards set by Shankar Jaikishan in the sixties Shammi Kapoor film. The older film had the terrific Aaja aayi bahaar, the steamy Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa and the energetic Jaane waalon zara hoshiyar, alongwith the now-almost-a-maxim Tumne pukara hum chale aaye. And the new one? Well, Payal meri tumko bulati was okayish, but I’d any day prefer to listen to the older one.

Suhaagan – Four of them – with two starring Mala Sinha-Guru Dutt! The first is a 1942 film – details unavailable. The second one released in 1954, and starred Mala Sinha. Again, I am not too aware about Vasant Desai / C Ramachandra’s music. Exactly a decade later, in 1964, Mala Sinha acted as yet another Suhaagan (once more with Guru Dutt) and this is the whose music I have. Rafisaab’s Tu mere saamne hai is a great melody, alongwith Bheegi chandni chhayi bekhudi aaja daal de baahon mein baahon ka haar. But the most remembered number is Latadi‘s Tum hi to meri pooja ho. The last Suhaagan is an eighties tearjerker starring Jeetu-Sridevi. Bappi Lahiri composed the music, and though the words slip me, it had one nice duet by Latadi.

Patita – Two films: in the fifties one Shankar Jaikishan gave great music; the duet Yaad kiya dil ne kahan ho tum is a hot romantic favorite till date, and Mitti se khelte ho baar baar kis liye was heart-wrenching. S-J also composed the most optimistic number Kisi ne mujhko apna bana ke muskurana sikha diya in Latadi‘s voice. Two decades later, Latadi was again at her sun-shine best in another happy number Baithe baithe aaj aayi mere mann ko (composed by Bappi Lahiri).

[Update on 02.02.07]

Karz / Karz -The Burden of Truth – The theme music strummed its way into your hearts – never mind if it was copied. Latadi and Kishoreda, well past their fifties, tucked their tongues firmly in cheek and giggled Mai solah baras ki/Mai satarah baras ka; Asha Bhonsle and Kishoreda raised the storm with Ek haseena thi ek deewana tha – unarguably, Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in Subhash Ghai’s take on Reincarnation of Peter Proud was an immense hit. The newer one (Sanjeev Darshan) was – like the illogical tagline – burdensome and cumbersome score!

Talaash – Remember Rajendra Kumar questioning a wide eyed Sharmila Tagore with Palkon ke peeche se kya tumne kah daala phir se toh farmaana? Spice it up more with the folksy Khai hai rah humne qasam sang rahne kii and the sparkling choral riff of Aaj ko juneli raat ma. And we had a stupendous SD Burman score. The magic was hopelessly lost in Sanjeev Darshan’s score in the newer Akshay Kumar -Karisma starrer.

Saudagar – The new generation danced to the remix of Sajna hai mujhe sajna ke liye. And the older generation loved Tera mera saath rahe. The film was a sensitive and sensible one. In the new one, the budget was upped and the screen widened, but the music didn’t lose its charm. Teri yaad aati hai is a towering duet, and one of the finest from Laxmikant Pyarelal. The common link in both was Lata Mangeshkar’s effusive voice.

Kaali Ghata – The first is a fifties Kishore Sahu film, music by Shankar Jaikishan. The centerpoint of the album was Latadi’s Humse na poochho koi pyaar kya pyaar kya hai. Other pleasures included Madhur milan hai and Ille belle aare. The newer one is not so new – early eighties. And starred Rekha and Shashi Kapoor. I recall only one song – the two part title song Kaali ghata chhayi prem rut aayi, aayi aayi aayi teri yaad aayi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal. Nice song.

Baazigar / Bazigar – Believe it or faint, there are actually four of them! The first came as early as 1938 and starred Trilok Kapoor. Other details unavailable – music could be by Gyan Dutt. The next was a Nirupa Roy starrer, though again the details are not too forthcoming on this one. I suspect this is the one that has music by Chitragupt. The next one released in 1972, probably with music by Sapan Jagmohan. (Details awaited from readers). The last one is, however, the most known one which spiralled Shah Rukh Khan’s career to a dizzying height. Anu Mallik gave some nice tunes.

[Courtesy – Madhu and Juneli, for pointing out to some titles featured in the updates]

Now on to the films which are essentially legendary stories or based on the same literary source, hence forced to have same title:

Devdas – I love the newer film, but prefer the songs of the older one. S D Burman’s composition in the Dilip Kumar version had such shimmering beauties like Jisse tu qabool kar le and O aane waale. In between, there was another version that never got completed, but Latadi’s Ku hu kuh bole koyaliya is outstanding.

Sohni Mahiwal – I think there are more, but I recall two versions strongly. One, is a fifties film with music by Naushadsaab, and was (IIRC) the debut for singer Mahendra Kapoor (Chand chhupa taare doobe raat gazab kii aayii). He got the theme song, while the lion’s share went to Rafisaab. However, it is Latadidi‘s Tumhare sang mai bhi chaluungi and her duet with Rafisaab Aane waale ko aana hoga, jaane waale ko jaana hoga that are the most luminescent numbers. Overall, the music is wonderful.

However, the eighties version (Sunny Deol and Poonam Dhillon) is in my honest opinion an extremely interesting score, composed by a still-struggling Annu Mallik. In this, Anupama Deshpande won the Filmfare Best Singer Award for Sohni chenaab de kinaare. However, it was otherwise Asha Bhonsle s film, and songs like Sohni sohni meri sohni aur nahi koi honi , Bol do meethe bol sohniye and Mujhe dulhe ka sehra gaane do are steeped in Punjabi ethos, have hummable tunes, and hold pleasurable interlude music. (I love Annu Mallik’s music from this era perhaps will do a separate post on this someday).

I have yet to hear the songs of the oldest film by the same name that had music by Lal Mohammad and songs by Zohrabai Ambalewali and G M Durrani, amongst others.

Heer Ranjha – Nothing, absolutely nothing, can surpass the melodies created by the ingenious Madan Mohan in the older version (which I suspect is the middle version ). From the near whisper intonations of Meri duniya mein tum aayi to the pain lashed Do dil toote do dil haare to the effervescent Milo na tum toh hum ghabraaye to the truth-seeking Yeh duniya yeh mehfil mere kaam ki nahi – each composition is a nugget to be savored, to be enjoyed and to immerse in its deep richness. The newer film had a horribly made up Anil Kapoor romancing the talented but ill-cast Sridevi with Rab ne banaya tujhe mere liye under Laxmikant Pyarelal s musical direction. But, clearly they were past their prime. And this Latadi-Anwar duet is the only good song in the entire album.

Umrao Jaan – I have said enough here

Don – Uh oh! Too bad that they had to remix and recycle Kalyanji Anandji’s original score (which in any case wouldn t ever get placed in the top best of the duo). Still, as a stand-alone, the old film s Arre diwaanon and Jiska mujhe tha intezaar are nice numbers. And Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana was a rocking item number when the phrase hadn’t even been created. There was a Mithun starrer The Don as well, but let’s not even talk about it!

Taj Mahal – Despite veteran Naushad at the helm of the affairs, the new film’s music was very ordinary. Music afficiandos will never forget Roshan’s luminous score that included Paaon chhoo lene do, Jo waada kiya and Jurm e ulfat pe humein log sazaa denge.

[This is an open post, and titles will be added to it as and when I remember them or get inputs from readers. Three updates available above]

Related readings – Lata Mangeshkar and Debut Heroines, Madan Mohan and Lata Mangeshkar

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Film Review

Sidharth (Salaam Namaste) Anand moves a step ahead in his craft. Tara Rum Pum, view while retaining all the gloss and glamour associated with Yash Raj Films, infertility is essentially a human story, viagra 100mg narrated in a gracious and genuine way. An absorbing film, Tara Rum Pum keeps the flame of human spirit burning with the warm oil of compassion, concern and candor.

The story revolves around a car race driver (Saif Ali Khan), who meets a severe accident on the tracks. Alongwith the car, his confidence crashes and amongst the debris are his ruined career and the acrid smoke of ruthless cash crunch. His family rallies around him, but he has several lessons yet to learn, and they form the crux of the second half. Of course, keeping in mind Bollywood sensibilities, the story starts right from the beginning where he meets the disciplined and dedicated piano student (Rani Mukerji looking plump yet ravishing in mini-skirts) in a series of – what else? – accidents.

The script is uncluttered, and progresses neatly, adding details here and there that make up the luxurious whole. It imparts a lesson in saving for the rainy day , without being grossly didactic or preachy. The dialogues are crisp. The second half is less humorous, but not heavy; though personally I feel this takes away the punch; and the piercing pain doesn’t cut pitilessly into the heart. Perhaps, a better idea would have been to go whole out in the melodrama, peeling off the gloss and allowing the scenario to be as barren and grim as the walls of the house the family is force to shift in. But Anand prefers to go by the neo-modern grammar, keeping in check any excesses, yet pointing out pretty clearly that the family is in big trouble. Some portions do manage to moisten the eyes, though – for example, Rani playing at boring birthday parties and then packing off the foodstuff for her kids.

A big triumph are the car racing scenes (and they are plentiful), which hold their own individuality without looking duplicated or boring. The last one stirs your adrelanin. (Actually, the film in the last half-hour is stunning!)

Binod Pradhan scores another home-run this year with his camera work (after the painstakingly beautiful Eklavya). The car race scenes are deftly shot, without confusing the viewer. New York is captured in a bright colorful mosaic. The film is well edited, though judging by the audience reaction in the theater, the interval could have been upped a bit, but that’s being overtly finicky. I am deliberately not venturing into the Reader’s Don’t Digest kind of bloopers – I am sure they will be eventually listed out in a magazine that wears the serious-looking dress over its patchy petticoat.

Vishal-Shekhar’s melodious musical score is the most surprising aspect. Frankly, my expectations were very low. But the music is shimmering and sensational. While Shreya Ghoshal’s stupendous solo Ho agar koii gham toh (Ta ra ra rum tararum pum) envelops you in its inspirational and affectionate hug, Vishal Dadlani’s heart-wrenching part-Sufi-ish, part-Junoon-ish Ek banjaara iktaare pe (Saaiyaan) squeezes a tear from the eyes. Both the songs are winners, and have beautiful interludes. Nachle ve taps your feet to dancing and the title song delights. Javed Akhtar’s lyrics are great and Anand uses the music judiciously. Salim-Suleiman’s background score gels with the film’s theme.

Both Rani Mukerji and Saif Ali Khan give honest performances. But Javed Jaafri convincingly steals the show; no extraneous antics; simple clean and cut acting that hits the bull’s eye! The supporting cast supports adequately (and no, there aren’t any surprise appearance, and none by Abhishek Bachchan!). The kids endear. (Master Ali last stole our hearts in Fanaa, and here he effortlessly repeats the feat).

Tara Rum Pum retrieves Yash Raj Films (and producer and mastermind Aditya Chopra’s) lost reputation as sincere filmmakers providing good family entertainment. Of late, their films had been all gloss and no soul, with a one-point mission of raking in the moolah and satisfying the NRI urge of connecting with India without actually showing the country. True, the film is set in NY, and they still eye that sector avidly; true, there is all the glamor (designer house, designer profession, designer dresses, et al); but then the film is basically about human triumph, so all the strappings hardly matter. Plus, the locale or the lustre don’t overshadow the content; it’s an achievement where shine and story co-exist harmoniously! And yes, watch it with your family without being embarrassed one bit: no unnecessary kisses or any faaltu skin-show!

Overall – An Entertaining & Enjoyable Family Outing Film- Watch It!

Technorati : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Tara Rum Pum, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films
Del.icio.us : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Filmfare Power List is out! And Latadidi retains her fifth position this year too in the music makers section. Kudos to the lady to still be amongst the top five- that too, salve
with virtually no musical album release last year! Whoa! That is surely an achievement. Many congratulations!

O.P.Nayyar is no more.

And every person is jumping the bandwagon with cliched statements like ‘maestro par excellence’ and ‘survivor from the golden era’, dosage forgetting that he was virtually neglected in the autumn of his life, and that his valiant comeback in the nineties was received with a freezing shoulder and not-so-charitable remarks.

Worse, the media is doling out mis-informations and factually incorrect statements which makes me wonder if they are really doing any justice to the man in bringing out these pieces. Sample the pile of anomalies thrust on us in the past one day- one daily mentions Jhumka gira re as his composition (it definitely wasn’t – Madan Mohan was the creator there), and the same newspaper talks of Andaz Apna Apna as his ‘comeback film’ (errr… if that is so, then who was Tushar Bhatia credited in the film?). Amar Ujala did quite a heart-felt tribute – till the time they came to mention Junglee as his film. No way! Junglee was out and out Shankar Jaikishan score. This sudden fixation for thrusting the ‘yahoo‘ credit on OPN is very strange. I believe TOI’s Marathi edition has also carried this non-fact. Aaj Tak showed a clip from ‘Kashmir ki kali hun main mujhse na rootho babuji’, another S-J song! Dudes, the film Kashmir Ki Kali was OPN’s baby, not this song. I can’t believe that these oh-so-serious media ‘knowledgeables’ have such paucity in resources that they can’t even verify their facts. And who are they fooling by bringing out such tributes? By mentioning other music director’s numbers (and that too direct contemporary rivals to OPN), they have only belittled the composer’s achievements.

Personally, I really have nothing to say. I can make some politically correct statements as well. But that would then be travesty of having a personal blog in the first place. This is due to the fact that I don’t have much knowledge about his music – in fact, the only cassette I have of his is from a flop film called Hong Kong, which came bundled alongwith Singapore – and since the latter itself is a rare film album to find, hence I had to per force buy this odd combination. Other than this, I have no song by OPN, not even in some odd compilation! It’s quite a record since I can boast of a huge collection (including a large chunk not pertaining to Lataji).

Unfortunately, OPN never used Latadidi‘s voice, stating that his ‘style didn’t match’ (though he had tried to get her on board for his debut film, but due to some reasons she couldn’t make it there). Equally unfortunately, I couldn’t force myself to like his style and stayed away from his music.

May his soul rest in peace!

Technorati : O P Nayyar

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Other than Taj Mahal, hospital Fatehpur Sikri is another important historical place here. Situated around 33 kms from Agra, physiotherapist it is on the border of U.P., visit next to Bharatpur in Rajasthan. The site for Fatehpur was first discovered by Babar, but it was his descendant Akbar who built the fort here. At one point, he had contemplated to shift the capital here, but the water problem thwarted his plans. Folklore has it that Akbar was desperate for a son and had visited Ajmer dargah for blessings. There, he had a dream that he should visit Saleemuddin Chishti at Fatehpur, which he did (reportedly on foot). His queen, Jodhabai was blessed with a son, and Akbar named him after the saint – Saleem. Since then, the dargah is known for fulfilling all wishes and prayers.

The fort’s Bulund Darwaza is stated to be the biggest gate in Asia, and admittedly it is quite an awesome sight. The dargah, in white marble, is pure and serene. And yes, there is also the closed gate leading to a tunnel that supposedly links Agra with Red Fort in Delhi. Mughal-E-Azam was reportedly shot here, probably the last time the tunnel gates were ever opened.

Otherwise, there have been several films/songs shot on the premises, including Yateem, Lal Pathar and the most famous of all – Pardes (Do dil mil rahe and the climax qawaali).

Fatehpur is still the property of Saleemuddin Chishti’s descendants, and hence has free entrance. The neighboring (and more clean and well maintained) Sikri , however, is with ASI and there is a nominal entry charge of INR 20 (for Indian nationals).

(Clockwise, from top left) 1. Bulund Darwaza- It was tough fitting it on the camera phone’s miniscule lens. Still I think I managed well. 2. The ‘Mughal E Azam’ tunnel-as the local guides there will describe. Supposedly it links to Delhi’s Red Fort 3. The ‘Dargah’ at Fatehpur – Very serene!

Photographs: Deepak Jeswal, Kislay
Taken on : Nokia 3230
Dated : 28.01.07

More on Fatehpur : The Mughal Gallery , Fatehpur , Tourism-Fatehpur/Sikri

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Other than Taj Mahal, hospital Fatehpur Sikri is another important historical place here. Situated around 33 kms from Agra, physiotherapist it is on the border of U.P., visit next to Bharatpur in Rajasthan. The site for Fatehpur was first discovered by Babar, but it was his descendant Akbar who built the fort here. At one point, he had contemplated to shift the capital here, but the water problem thwarted his plans. Folklore has it that Akbar was desperate for a son and had visited Ajmer dargah for blessings. There, he had a dream that he should visit Saleemuddin Chishti at Fatehpur, which he did (reportedly on foot). His queen, Jodhabai was blessed with a son, and Akbar named him after the saint – Saleem. Since then, the dargah is known for fulfilling all wishes and prayers.

The fort’s Bulund Darwaza is stated to be the biggest gate in Asia, and admittedly it is quite an awesome sight. The dargah, in white marble, is pure and serene. And yes, there is also the closed gate leading to a tunnel that supposedly links Agra with Red Fort in Delhi. Mughal-E-Azam was reportedly shot here, probably the last time the tunnel gates were ever opened.

Otherwise, there have been several films/songs shot on the premises, including Yateem, Lal Pathar and the most famous of all – Pardes (Do dil mil rahe and the climax qawaali).

Fatehpur is still the property of Saleemuddin Chishti’s descendants, and hence has free entrance. The neighboring (and more clean and well maintained) Sikri , however, is with ASI and there is a nominal entry charge of INR 20 (for Indian nationals).

(Clockwise, from top left) 1. Bulund Darwaza- It was tough fitting it on the camera phone’s miniscule lens. Still I think I managed well. 2. The ‘Mughal E Azam’ tunnel-as the local guides there will describe. Supposedly it links to Delhi’s Red Fort 3. The ‘Dargah’ at Fatehpur – Very serene!

Photographs: Deepak Jeswal, Kislay
Taken on : Nokia 3230
Dated : 28.01.07

More on Fatehpur : The Mughal Gallery , Fatehpur , Tourism-Fatehpur/Sikri

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In case you find this site entertaining and useful please contribute your own bit by making a nominal donation

Sidney Sheldon passed away – and however cliched it might sound, case
but the fact is that an era of pulp fiction writing has come to an end. I am speechless, shocked and very sad. May his soul rest in forever peace. And may he continue to regale the audience to whichever place he has departed to.

Even though I was critical of his last few works, still Sheldon has left behind a huge bulk of excellent work. Rage of Angels, If Tomorrow Comes, Bloodline, The Other Side of Midnight and Memories of the Midnight are works that will be forever etched in my memories!

God bless his soul!

Related Readings : Books I Love

Technorati : Fiction, Novels, Sidney Sheldon

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Picking up a leaf from Ashish s blog (or should I say, cialis picking up an ingredient from Ashish s masala?), mind I am starting this series of posts on my own favorite composers Shankar Jaikishan. Since I am already covering the Lata Mangeshkar songs on the other blog, generic the series here will concentrate on the male songs (or at the most, the duets). The first part of the series Lata/SJ-Black and White Era Songs is already up on my other blog (click here).

For those who have been regular in following the Expressions here, they might have often wondered at the lack of mention of any male voices. It is not that I do not listen to male songs at all; it is just that beyond Lata Mangeshkar I hardly get any time to concentrate on them.

Amongst the male singers, I am a big fan of Mohammad Rafi. I like the tenor and the range of his malleable voice; there is a pristine honesty in his voice, which reflects his own real life persona. Though there have been myriad clones of his in the recent years, but Rafisaab still remains on top.

Moving forward from Rafi, I have a small fascination for Mukesh’s rich baritone. His voice had a limited range, but when it came to the sad songs, he had absolutely no parallel. He gave weight and depth to the pathos.

In this list, I have picked up fifteen of Mukesh’s heart wrenching and philosophical numbers composed by Shankar Jaikishan that I always love to hear whenever the mood gets blue. I understand many of my readers are in their twenties and might have not listened to them; or, might find them too archaic . But, I started my discovery of SJ in my own twenties. It is a good age to begin unravelling these gems. You will never be alone.

(The list is compiled in the chronological order of the release of the films; though I have tried to cross verify through various sources on the web, the dates might still have some inaccuracies).

1. Raat andheri door savera, barbaad hai dil mera – Aah (1953) A short three minute song packed with emotions! I love the haunting violins following the lines of the mukhda (the same violins end into a spine-shivering dimmuendo at the end of the song); it is almost like a wisp of wind playing on a dark and stark night. The miserably frustrating lines aah bhi roye, raah bhi roye, soojhe na baat koie / lamba safar hai sooni dagar hai / dega na saath koi capture the helplessness of a given situation. These wistful words are penned by Hasrat Jaipuri.

2. Rammaiya Vastavaiyya – Shree 420 (1955) one of the three songs that I am including here which is not a Mukesh solo. But then, it is one of those rare numbers that has Lata, Mukesh and Rafi present together. However, since Rafi sang for the sidey , and Mukesh for the hero, the latter walks away with the centerstage lines meri aankhon mein rahe, kaun jo mujhse kahe, maine dil tujhko diya it never fails to bring a lump in my throat. The guilt washed lyrics are penned by Shailendra.

3. Ae pyaase dil bezubaan – Begunaah (1957) A lesser known fact is that this Mukesh number was picturised on Jaikishan, perhaps in the only film that he did as an actor. It is a rhythmic number, and the alaap placed in between the mukhda is amazing. Also, the lines aag ko aag mein dhal ke, kab tak jee bahlayega have a wonderful beat to it; the tune tugs at your heart like a naughty child. I am fond of Shailendra’s imagery in this number.

4. Yeh mera deewanapan hai – Yahudi (1958) A quintessential Dilip Kumar number, though it is strange that SJ used Mukesh rather than Rafi, who was the voice for the thespian. For this song, the thespian had insisted on Talat Mehmood; however Shankar locked horns with Dilip Kumar to retain Mukesh. It was a song that yet again SJ proved that they could march into the Naushad terrain and conquer it with lan. (Earlier they had done the classical based Basant Bahar, a film wrenched away from Naushad, due to the commercial pressures of that time). Shailendra s lyrics are more forceful and vengeful in this one jitana jee chaahe pukaro, phir nahi aayenge hum . Mandolin, a favorite instrument of SJ, is the lynchpin here.

5. Mujhe mere haal pe chhod do – Kanhaiya (1959) – The veena/sitar and the violins combination of the song clasps the heart and wrings it out. Mukesh sings the pain-dipped Shailendra lyrics in a deep bass. It is a shimmering number from an album that had a fine collection of songs. The other Mukesh numbers Yaad aayi aadhi raat ko (a delight to sing when a bit sozzled) and Ruk ja o jaanewaali were also interesting.

6. Mai nashe mein hoon – Mai Nashe Mein Hoon (1959) Shailendra does a neat use of the Meer couplet to form the title song of this Raj Kapoor- Mala Sinha starrer. The opening couplet Zaahid sharaab peene de masjid mein baith kar, Ya woh jagah batade jahan khuda na ho is marvelous. Though not exactly a sad song, it is serious in content, hence I have included it here; it speaks about a dull drone of pain permeating the soul, which is negated by the intoxication of alcohol. A perfect number after a few drinks. Mukesh combines ‘dard‘, ‘nasha‘ and ‘masti‘ in a flawless cocktail. There is a marked orchestral clarity; and SJ s rhythmic beats are lip-smacking.

7. Sab kuchh seekha humne, na seekhi hoshiyari – Anari (1959) The simpleton Raju (Rajkumar, actually, in this particular film) laments at the cruel and calculating ways of the world through the words of Shailendra – ‘dil pe marne waale, marenge bheekhari ‘. This is another sad party number that SJ had pioneered and perfected (and carried on by Nadeem Shravan in the nineties). I don t think I need to write anymore about the song as everyone knows about it. Of course, the SJ orchestral finesse is in full display as ever. SJ won their second Filmfare award for this film and their lead singer, Mukesh, won the coveted trophy for his outstanding singing of this very number.

8. Aa ab laut chale – Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti (1960) A very unfortunate number for Mukesh, because Lata Mangeshkar stole the song with just half a line and an alaap that she sings at regular intervals in it. Still, I am including it here because essentially it is a Mukesh solo only; the song has a lot of positivity and is a difficult to classify. I am including it in the list simply because of its deep philosophical content laced with lament and loss. The orchestra is breathtaking. Overall, in my view, Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti was musically the weakest of all SJ-Raj Kapoor directed films.

9. Teri yaad dil se bhulane chala hoon, mai khud apni hasti mitane chala hoon – Hariyali Aur Raasta (1962) I saw this soppy Manoj Kumar-Mala Sinha starrer only for the music (not too fond of either of the lead stars). I was also lucky enough to find a solo cassette of the film that had some additional numbers and pieces. Again, it is a complete album- be it Allah jaane kya hoga aage or Bol meri taqdeer mein kya or Yeh hariyali aur raasta, every song is hummable and enjoyable. SJ really worked hard on the details of this film. Of the sad songs, I like this one a lot better than the Mahendra Kapoor solo, Kho gaya hai mera pyaar. Another sad number was the Lata Mukesh duet Laakhon tare aasman mein (will take this up surely in some other list, probably on the Lata blog). My favorite lines from the selected Shailendra lyric are Ghataon tumhe saath dena padega/ main phir aaj aansoon bahane chala hoon the use of phir is exceptional, as one does return to this mood time and again in practical real life.

10. Dost dost na raha – Sangam (1964) The song that Shankar and Jaikishan fought over; while the former composed this one, Jaikishan did the prem patra number with Rafi, and both claimed their composition to be better than the other. An impossible choice, and so also said the paying public as both the numbers went on to become bumper hits. The piano riffs in this song are awesome (reportedly played by Shankar himself, who was an efficient pianist). It is a song that always comes up whenever two friends even have the smallest of tiffs. Also, a ditty that the nation sang whenwent to war with! Once again, Shailendra does the honors with the lyrics with Mukesh’s intense voice capturing each nuance in its entirety.

(As can be seen, most lyrics here are of Shailendra, that is because the other half, Hasrat Jaipuri wrote the more romantic numbers)

11. Duniya bananewale kya tere mann mein samayi – Teesri Kasam (1966) I confess, I am in awe of this album. Every song of this film is a gem to be treasured. The film was produced by lyricist Shailendra and was a major dud at the box office; however, SJ s brilliant music survived the crash. Even today Paan khaaye saiyan hamaro and Chalat musafir are fondly remembered. The film had two pathos filled numbers that give ample scope to Mukesh to display his virtuosity at such numbers this was one of them; the other is Sajanwa bairi ho gaye hamaar.

12.Hum toh jaate apne gaaon – Diwana (1967) Six Mukesh solos make up this magnificent album the title song , Hum to jaate apne gaaon apni Ram Ram Ram , Ae sanam jisne tujhe , Pate ki baat kahega / kahega jab bhi deewana , Tumhari bhi jai jai hamari bhi jai jai / na tum haare na hum haare and Taaron se pyaare. Though Shailendra and Hasrat Jaipuri gave decent lyrics, the album gets more weight duo to the SJ s musical form. Very uncomplicated and unassuming songs – perhaps like the simpleton hero! The audio that I have contains the Mukesh solos together believe me, it is heavenly to hear them one after the other (the album I have is a combo with Around The World, which also has great songs). This song and Tumhari bhi jai jai pick the essence of parting is such a sweet sorrow coupled with some majestic singing by Mukesh.

13. Duniya isi ka naam hai – Duniya (1968) Though the Rafi song Falsafa pyaar ka was a more popular number, I prefer this one because of its easy tune and philosophical tone of the lyrics. Although it is not a Mukesh solo (Shankar’s protege Sharda is the co-singer), the song can very well be termed his only as he gets the bigger and better lines; this is the third of non-solo songs in this list. Incidentally this film had the comedy number Tu hi meri laxmi, tu hi meri chhaya, o Laxmi Chhaya! By this time, the formidable team was disintegrating. The lyrics for this song are by S H Bihari.

14.Woh zindagi hai meri bebasi, apna koi na tha, apna koi na hai – Sapnon Ka Saudagar (1968) A lesser known number of the duo, but nevertheless a shining piece of composition. It is a subtle song, and the lyrics (once more, Shailendra) convey an altruism in the simplistic form jo yeh sapne sach ho jaate, toh yeh sapne kyun kahlaate . The piano riffs are engaging.

15. Jaane kahan gaye woh din and Jeena yahan marna yahan – Mera Naam Joker (1970) the official swan songs of SJ team. Though Shankar continued to work under the banner of the joint name of the duo in films like Lal Pathhar, Chorni, Sanyasi, Paapi Pet Ka Sawaal Hai, Do Jhoot, Aaj Ki Taaza Khabar, still the reign had ended. I don’t think I really have to write anything on these two Mera Naam Joker numbers – they are evergreen, and the latter captures Raj Kapoor’s maxim ‘that the show must go on’ in a lovely manner. While the former was written by Hasrat Jaipuri, the latter was penned by Shaily Shailendra. The film got Shankar Jaikishan their eighth Filmfare Award.

It is a very sad scene that one half of the duo that ruled the charts once had to resort to doing films with names like Jangal Mein Mangal, International Crook and Tarzan Mera Saathi.

When the evenings end with their deep and heavy sigh, these timeless and immortal melodies are perfect companions. Do tell me your views on them.

Technorati : Mukesh, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

Powered by Zoundry

Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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Repeat of movie names is not a new phenomenon. And with the volume of our Hindi film industry’s output, there it sometimes becomes a necessity as well.

In the age of FM, the announcers (or better known as RJ’s) hardly inform the film’s names of the song playing, let alone any other detail. But when I grew up listening to the ever dependable Vividh Bharti, the entire music credits were often mentioned including the always sidelined lyricists’ names. Then, it used to be disappointing to hear for example – the announcer speak out the name of Mahal, only to hear a song from the newer one (starring Dev Anand).

Blame it on my penchant for old songs, usually I prefer the older titled film’s numbers. Here is a list of films that have had similar names – again in no specific order:

Barsaat – There are three of them that I know of: 1949 film, which skyrocketed Lata Mangeshkar ‘s career to the zenith of success, established Raj Kapoor as a director par excellence and introduced Shankar Jaikishan one of the finest composers ever, in my opinion; 1990’s version which was the debut for Twinkle Khanna and Bobby Deol, and had music by the then kings Nadeem Shravan; the new millennium film which also starred Bobby Deol and had same music composers, albeit now beyond their prime time. Unarguably, the music standard declined progressively with each era’s film. The first Barsaat had such beauties like Chhod gaye baalam, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan, Patli kamar hai and Hawa mein udta jaaye. The second one was quite above average, and I quite like Teri adaayon pe marrta huun and Humko sirrf tum se pyaar hai. The last Barsaat hardly has anything worthwhile to mention.

Andaz – Four of them! And the first three starred one member of the Kapoor khandaan. 1949- Raj Kapoor and Nargis whipped up the passion along with the thespian Dilip Kumar; Naushadsaab composed nuggets like Tu kahe agar jeevan bhar gaata jaaoon and Hum aaj kahiin dil kho baithe. And Latadi found a toe-hold in the industry, giving stiff competition to Shamshad Begum (who sang alongside her in Darrna mohabbat karle).

The second came in or around 1972 and it starred Shammi Kapoor in the lead, but the reigning superstar Rajesh Khanna’s vivacious guest appearance stole the thunder. Shankar Jaikishan composed the bumper hit Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana (often taken as Jaikishan’s swan song, though technically and factually it isn’t true).

1994 Andaz saw the Gennext from Kapoor family Karisma starring in this David Dhawan double-entendre laden remake of Sundar Kaandam. Bappi Lahiri commandeered the music room and gave us bloopers like Khada hai khada hai and Tu maal gaadi mai driver tera!

The fourth one is the most recent one with Akshay Kumar, but better known as the debuts for Priyanka and Lara raising the mercury in their tight and tiny clothes. Nadeem Shravan s music was just about bearable.

Chori Chori -Three films! The first one is the fifties comedy based on It Happened One Night. Raj Kapoor and Nargis the industry s First Romantic Pair tickled the funny bone. And Shankar Jaikishan s music was simply scintillating. Just look at the lavish fare they gave: the eternally romantic Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, the joie-de-vivre charged Panchhi banoon uddti phiroon, the chirrupy Jahan mai jaati hoon wahiin chale aate ho, the heart-wrenching Rasik balmaa dil kyun lagaya, the silly but nevertheless funny All line clear and the syrupy Aaja sanam madhur chaandni mein hum. In the seventies, there was one more Chori Chori again with compositions by Shankar Jaikishan, but I haven’t heard any number from this film.

The last Chori Chori is the Milan Luthria flop in the nineties starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukerji. Sajid-Wajid’s music was despondently dull.

Seema – Two, which I know of. The first is the exceptional social drama starring power-house performers Balraj Sahni and Nutan. Again, Shankar Jaikishan gave some shimmering melodies the serene prayer Tu pyaar ka saagar hai , the hurt Kahaan jaa raha hai, the classical Manmohana bade jhoote and the optimistic Baat baat mein rootho na. It also had one of my most favorite Latadi solo Suno chhotisi gudiya kii lambii kahanii. The second Seema came in the seventies and once again had music by Shankar Jaikishan. From this Rafisaab s Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai (penned by Gulzar) is exceptional.

Kathputli /Kattputli – I adore the music of the fifties version Bol ri kathputli dori kaun sang baandhi is such a marvelously magnificent number that I can hear it anytime; and a song that I fell in love with when I was a kid and had heard it on Chitrahaar. Once more, it was Shankar-Jaikishan’s creativity at its peak. And Latadi sounds so soft and sublime. There was another Kathhputli in the seventies as well, this time music by Kalyanji Anandji. Details not available with me. The last is a recent flick, produced by and starring Mink Singh, with a little twist in the title s spelling musically, it was a complete washout!

Karm/ Karam – The seventies film (starring Vidya Sinha and a rapidly losing popularity Rajesh Khanna) was an interesting critique on astrology. The music wasn t that great but Asha Bhonsle s Samay tu dheere dheere chal (with a sad version that went Samay tu jaldi jaldi chal) was a nice song. The newer Karam had the current poster boy John Abraham playing a hit-man. Musically, it was a zilch except for Alisha Chinai s effectively sung Tinka tinka zara zara.

Saajan – I grew up listening to Latadi s Saajan saajan pukaaroon galiyon mein, a typical Laxmikant Pyarelal ditty, picturised on Asha Parekh it was quite a staple on Chitrahaars. I haven’t yet seen this film. The second Saajan was a phenomenal hit, and Nadeem Shravan gave some hummable chart-busters. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Madhuri starred in this fluke Sudhakar Bokade love triangle hit.

Baharon Ki Manzil / Baharon Ke Manzil – Both the films are not very well known. And I have seen both! The first one stars Meena Kumari and is a whodunit. Laxmikant Pyarelal gave the music in which Lata Mangeshkar was the sole singer (no male songs in this film!), of which Nigaahen kyun bhatakti hai is quite well known. However, despite no Latadi, I find the second film s music really appaudable and better. Raamlaxman scored some excellent numbers in the voices of Poornima, Udit Narayan and Amit Kumar. Meri jaan dua karna is a towering duet with lip-smacking interludes and fine singing. The film was a miserable flop and was the debut for Mona Singh (in case you don t know her, she played the wet nurse in Mangle Panday oops, Mangal Panday).

Khel – I recall two of them. The first is a decent Anil-Madhuri 1992 film, directed by Rakesh Roshan, but unfortunately was a dampener at the box-office. The music by brother Rajesh Roshan was exceptionally good. Latadi‘s duet with Mohd. Aziz Khat likhna hai par sochti huun is a hot personal favorite. Sister Asha Bhonsle displayed immense vocal virtuosity in the cabaret number Ek baat maan lo tum (with a cutely reversed and suitably toned down bhajan version as well!). And Amit Kumar’s pathos-laden Soone shaam savere is superb (though having a pretty funny picturisation). The newer Khel (Suniel Shetty, Celina Jeitly) was a musical disaster.

There was the oldest Khel as well with music composed by Sajjad Hussain. Latadi‘s Jaate ho toh jaao is a heart-achingly beautiful number. [Thanks to Madhu for the tip]

Julie – Again, I recall two of them. The first is a musical hit. Bhool gayasab kuchh is an ardent love duet and Dil kya kare jab kisise kisiko pyaar ho jaaye builds up a zealous steam. The debut heroine Laxmi might have bloated to a shrill matron (Hulchul) and the hero Vikram is lost in the annals of cinematic history, but Rajesh Roshan’s score continues to be still dew drop fresh and is remembered fondly by music-lovers. The newer Julie is more known for Neha Dhupia s bare-dare act than for its songs, but I found Himesh Reshammiya’s score very mellifluous and deserving. Ae dil yeh bataa kyun hone laga is the best number, followed by Dhadkan ho gayii tumse aashna and Hum tumse dil laga baithe.

Waqt / Waqt Race Against Time – I admit I don’t like the older film s songs too much, though Ae meri zohra jabeen is a retro-hit, and a source of many-a-remix. The philosophical title song by Rafisaab Waqt ke din aur raat is , in my opinion, the best number. Let me not beat the bush, the rest of the songs by Ravi were marred by Asha Bhonsle’s voice, which in that era had assumed a strange phlegmatic thickness, which I don’t quite appreciate.

But cut to the present times and the newer film help! The raucous Anu Mallik warbled Do me a favor let s play holly {sic} no, no, no!!! God save my ears from this painful assault!

Aankhen – Four films but again the best music is from the two oldest version (that I know of). In 1950, Madan Mohan made his debut with Aankhen that had Mukesh’s Preet lagake maine yeh phal paaya. For some reason, Latadi couldn’t sing in this one, but MM didn’t make this an ego issue, and got her on-board with the next few films (Adaa , Madhosh) – and what a team it turned out to be!

In the second film, composer Ravi gave very melodious music in this Dharam-Mala Sinha thriller. Milti hai zindagi mein mohabbat kabhi kabhi and Gairon pe karam apnon pe sitam belong to my childhood memories and are firmly etched as beautiful songs. The nineties Aankhen was a super-duper Govinda-David Dhawan combine hit; Bappi Lahiri s score was strictly functional and in sync with the film’s mood. Laal dupatte waali tera naam toh bata was the biggest hit from this film.

The fourth Aankhen (starring Amitabh Bachhan and a posse of supporting cast) hardly had any song worth mentioning – unless you prefer tepid tapori numbers like Phatela jeb sil jaayega!

Charas – After Aankhen, this is another Ramanand Sagar-Dharamendra combination thriller whose name got stolen. In the seventies film, Laxmikant Pyarelal whipped up a frenzy with the naughtily vivacious Kal ki haseen mulaqaat ke liye (Lata-Kishore) and the tranquil Ke aaja teri yaad aayi (Lata-Rafi-Anand Bakshi). There were other good numbers too Raja na jaa (Lata) and Mai ladki badnaam ho gayii (Lata). The newer film by Tigmanshu Dhulia was a cropper where music was concerned. I haven t heard a single good song from this film.

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja – Shankar Jaikishan’s music in the older film (Dev Anand- Waheeda Rahman) was a delight. Latadi s Tum toh dil ke taar chhed kar is pure gold (with a tandem by Hemant Kumar), and the title song is quintessential S-J. Cut to the nineties film, and L-P try hard to match their senior s orchestral wizardry, but only end up with a cacophonous din. Add to this Kavita Krishnamoorthy’s shrill singing and the consequence is highly distasteful. Incidentally, both the films were huge flops!

Masoom – Now who can ever forget Gulzar s introspective lyrics in Tujhse naraaz nahii zindagi set to a terrific tune by R D Burman? Flash forward a couple of decades, and Ayesha Julka-Indra Kumar starrer is an ugly blot to the older film s title. It s only when one comes across such blasphemous use of older titles that one wishes there was a legislation stopping the re-cycling of the titles!

Golmaal – Latadi sounds ethereal in Ek baat kahuun gar maano tum, and Kishoreda makes us think in Aane waala pal jaane waala hai. Hrishida kept the funny bone forever tickled in this moustache-mania. It is a sin to even mention the recent gol-maul in the same breath as the older film. Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are just no-where remotely close to Panchamda s skill.

Geet – Kalyanji Anandji created an extraordinary love duet Mere mitwa mere meet re in the older film starring Rajendra Kumar and Mala Sinha. And then there was Latadi consoling tenderly Tere naina kyun neer bahaaye. Zoom to the nineties, and Latadi still held control in the newer Divya Bharti film, with Aap jo mere meet na hote. Regrettfully, the rest of this Bappi Lahiri album didn t have any other geet worth remembering.

Diwana / Deewana – The former is a slightly less known Raj Kapoor film with a bouquet of incredibly fragrant Mukesh melodies, composed by Shankar Jaikishan. The fare includes the bagpiper blast Taaron se pyaare armaan hamaare (Aana hi hoga tujhe aana hi hoga), the spectacularly plush Hum toh jaate apni gaaon, the brilliant Tumhari bhi jai jai humaari bhi jai jai, the lavish title song Diwana mujhko log kahein and the thought provoking Pate kii baat kahega kahega jab bhi deewana. Absolutely A-class music having flawless rhythm, interludes and singing! The second film is the nineties one, and brought current box-office badshah Shahrukh Khan into limelight. The music by Nadeem Shravan, though not matching SJ s work, is very respectable and I am very fond of Teri ummeed tera intezaar karte hain and the title song.

Dhanwaan – The criminally neglected Hridayanath Mangeshkar composed a chocolaty sweet duet Yeh aankhen dekh kar hum saari duniya bhool jaatein hain for the seventies Rajesh Khanna starrer (though picturised on Reena Roy and Rakesh Roshan). In the nineties, Anand Milind gave an energetically charged Holi song Rang di rang di preet ne rang di.

[Update on 29.01.07]

Milan – Three that I recall. The first one was in the fifties with music by Hansraj Bahl. Latadi plucked the heartstrings with Haaye jeeya roye. However, it was some two decades later that Laxmikant Pyarelal scorched the charts and stomped the hearts with bumper hits like the celebratory Bol gori bol tera kaun piya, the Madan Mohanesque Aaj dil pe koii zor chalta nahi, the melodious Saawan ka mahina pawan kare sor and the monumental Hum tum yug yug se geet milan ke – stuff that legends are made of, and remembered for yug yug! But a few more decades down the line Anand Milind’s vapid score in Mahesh Bhatt’s flop Jackie-Manisha starrer by the same name couldn’t last beyond the month the film was released in, leave alone a yug!

Gumnaam – Shankar Jaikishan gave haunting melodies in the old Agatha Christie-inspired film. Turn the century, and Nadeem Shravann come up with haunted wrecks in the lying-in-cans Dino Morea starrer. In the old film, Rafi’s Jaan pehchaan ho and Hum kaale hai toh kya hua kept the charts rocking and rolling, while Latadi‘s title number raised the goosebumps. Helen gave the requisite glamor with Iss duniya mein jeena ho toh sunlo meri baat.

Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya – I remember two films : in the first one, erstwhile Madan Mohan assistants Sonik Omi composed some sublime beauties, which bordered on their mentor’s style. While Suman Kalyanpur got the touching title song, Latadi bagged the best and the most splendid solo – Aaja re pyaar pukaare naina toh ro ro haare. More than three decades later, Latadi was still there in the newer film (Govinda, Tabu in a remake of Ramesh Talwar’s Doosra Aadmi) serenading Uttam Singh’s fluffy orchestra in Saare shahar mein charcha yeh aam ho gaya. Sadly, the rest of the score (by Aadesh Srivastava) was just average.

Saathi – I have no clue about the first one, which had music by Gulshan Soofi, lyrics by Wali Sahab and songs sung by Shamshad Begum. However, I have strong memories of the second one. Naushadsaab went western in sound with this Simi Garewal-Rajendra Kumar-Vyjanthimala film, which had the awesome Mere jeevan saathi kali thii main toh pyaasi in Latadi’s soft-as-silk voice. Then there was Yeh kaun aaya roshan ho gayi mehfil jiske naam se , Mai toh pyaar se tere piya and Aaina hoon mai tera! Mukesh and Suman Kalyanpur created romance and rhythm with Mera pyaar bhi tu hai yeh bahaar bhi tu hai. A very sensible score, indeed. Which is what I personally feel about the newest Saathi as well. Inspite of Anuradha Paudwal’s pathetic pronunciations, Saathi koii bhoola yaad aaya and Aaj hum tum o sanam are decent compositions (by Nadeem Shravan).

Guru – The older Guru starred Mithun Chakraborthy as well – at that time, in the lead role, with his then love interest Sridevi. Their ‘kiss’ at that time created quite a flurry, equivalent to the present day Guru‘s heroine’s lip lock with Hrithik in Dhoom-2. The older movie had some typical eighties cacophonous Bappi Lahiri music with songs where the heroine profoundly proclaimed I am a bad girl.But don’t hasten to write off the film just yet – because Bappida also surprised all with a very sensitive love duet Jaiiyo na jaiiyo na humse door sajan jaiiyo na (Lata Mangeshkar-Shailendra Singh). And linking up with the new age Guru is another common thread: Bappi-da returns as a playback singer for the tipsy but enjoyable number Ek lo ek muft! [Thanks to Anz for the tip]

Bees Saal Baad – After a serious bout of throat problem, which nearly rendered Lataji voice-less, she returned to the studios with a bang, hitting the soul directly with the call that defines ‘horror’ film genre songs in Kahiin deep jale kahiin dil. The song is so irrevocably stamped in every music lover’s psyche that it is impossible to imagine that there could be a newer film by the same name. But, there was! Mithun Chakraborty and Meenakshi Sheshadri tried to raise the spooks again, with Dimple floating in white amidst haunted havelis singing in a horrifying Anuradha Paudwal’s voice Kitne saawan beet gaye.

Jurmana – Hrishikesh Mukherjee created two very sensitive films with the trio of Vinod Mehra-Amitabh-Raakhi. Of these two, Bemisaal is the more known one. But Jurmana had its own strengths. One of which was RD Burman’s music. Latadi got two magnificent solos – Chhoti si ek kali khili thi and the better known Saawan ke jhoole pade. The new Jurmana is a TLV Prasadh- Mithun Chakroborty combined B-grade flick, with mu-sick by Dilip Sen Sameer Sen.

Boyfriend – The older film is a lesser known Shankar Jaikishan film, wherein Latadi did the coquettish Aise na jaao o beraham (with an ultra cute Aadab arz hai thrown in between). The newer film has the in-your-face Jatin Lalit composition Kahdo toh duniya mein aaj baja doon band!

Samundar – Three of them – the first one had music by S.Purushottam, but I have not heard any songs from this film (reportedly with songs by Asha Bhonsle). It is the second one that interests me a lot. Madan Mohan composed the classically handsome Lata Mangeshkar solo Chain nahin aaye kahan dil jaaye – in this, her rendition of the leitmotif sajanwa ho balamwa ho is exceedingly enchanting. Another fascinating solo by the diva was Aaja kahiin se aaja mere dil ka qaraar leke. Jump decades, and Latadi continued to regale under Panchamda’s baton for Rahul Rawail’s Sunny Deol-Poonam Deol film. The peppy Ae saagar kii lahron hum bhii aatein hai thehro (with Kishoreda) was the highlight song. Asha Bhonsle whipped up a creamy lather in the sensuous Yeh rang-e-mehfil badal raha hai, and Kishore Kumar naughtily charmed with Yeh kori karaari kanwaari nazar. Another unsung eighties RD Burman score, which needs to be resurrected.

Elaan– Again, three that I know of. In the seventies, Vinod Mehra starred with a podgy and dusky Rekha in this FC Mehra production about ‘invisible man’ (yes, the idea was used way before Mr. India). Shankar Jaikishan’s music didn’t cut much ice with music lovers, but there is a cute charm in Sharda’s Aath ko aath se jama karo and the duet Aap ki raay mere baare mein kya hai. In the nineties, Akshay Kumar and Madhoo romped on screen to Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s risque Tu ru tu ru kahan se karuun main pyaar shuru. But the biggest delight in this film was Lata Mangeshkar’s breath-taking Naino ko baatein karne do – a mature and mellow duet with Kumar Sanu, which had shades of L-P’s Badalte Rishtey song Meri saanson ko jo mahka rahii hai! The last Elaan is a boring Vikram Bhatt film starring Arjun Rampal, Rahul Khanna and Lara Dutta. The music had some Anu Mallik monstroties like Aandarlu baandalru, et al.

Kartavya – L-P were at their peak in 1979, when they composed the sultry and sizzling solo Doorie na rahein koi aaj itne kareeb aao, sung splendidly by Lata Mangeshkar and picturised on the verge-of-blooming Rekha. Other solos by her included Koii aayega and Chhaila babu tu kaisa dildaar nikla. In the newer film, the perpetually wooden Sanjay Kapoor starred opposite Juhi Chawla. Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s music was good, but just about so.

Hawas – Saawan Kumar’s take on lust consisted of Mohd. Rafi’s towering solo Teri galiyon mein na rakhenge qadam. The newer Hawas (Meghna Naidu in yet another Unfaithful remake) had two good songs – Mai yun miloon tujhe and Tera naam leke marne lenge.

[Update on 31.01.07]

Shola Aur Shabnam – In the old black-and-white film Latadi and Rafisaab sweetly acknowledged hesitant love in Jeet hi lenge baazi hum tum, under Khayyam’s baton. The song is one of the most shimmering duets from this prolific but perfect pair. Leap-forward, and in the nineties we have Govinda croaking Gore gore under Bappi Lahiri’s tutelage. What a comedown! I haven’t seen the older film, but the newer one was, otherwise, a typical David Dhawan dhamaal, with lots of slapstick humor in the first half, and ‘action-packed’ emotions in the second one.

Mohabbat – I don’t have any idea about the first Mohabbat, made by Phani Majumdar, starring the Marathi doyen Shanta Apte. However, the second one is part of my growing up years, and I will,this once, root for the much-maligned composer Bappi Lahiri. Largely for two beautiful songs in the Anil-Vijeta starrer: Kishoreda’s Saanson se nahin kadmon se nahin and Latadi’s Naina yeh barse milne ko tarse. The nineties version has Akshaye-Madhur-Sanjay Kapoor in a trite love triangle, with not-so-brilliant score by Nadeem Shravan. Worse, they blindly aped Stereo Nation’s Don’t break my heart – the original of which was in any case running simultaneously on the charts.

Chor Machaye Shor – Le jaayenge le jaayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge is a cult number, a very peppy and unlikely number from Ravindra Jain. The spectre of this mammoth melody loomed so large that Jatin Lalit confessed that they couldn’t come up with a better number when they did Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Kishore Kumar tugged the heart with Ghoongroo ki tarah bajta hi raha hun ( a song, which I recall reading, he had confessed looked easy, but was otherwise tough to sing). Skip decades, and we have Vinod Rathod and Anuradha Sriram locking tonsils in the terribly written Tum Tata ho ya Birla, under Anu Mallik’s command, in the David Dhawan flop by the same name.

Loafer – When Rafisaab languidly remarked Aaj mausam bada baimaan hai, the clouds drooped in appreciation; the warm L-P melody hugs you with its sensuous allure. In the newer version, we had to content with Anand Milind’s atrocities like Aao karein hum tum kahiin nain-matakka. However, from this Anil-Juhi starrer, the number Teri tirchhi nazar mein hai jaadoo was very catchy and likeable.

Love Marriage – Now what to say of this outstandingly magnificent Shankar Jaikishan score! Every song is the most supreme aural delight, tickling the heart, touching the soul, stirring the hips and hugging the lips. From the romantically romantic Dheere dheere chal chaand gagan mein to the bashful Kahe jhoom jhoom raat yeh suhani to the playful Dil se dil takraaye to the cutting critque of Teen kanastar peet peet kar gala phaar ke chillana, every number is a well polished pearl. However, the same cannot be said about L-P’s boring music in the eighties film of the same name. In this sort of sex-comedy (wherein the lovers are desperate to consummate their marriage), the only number that could be said average is the title number.

Dastak– Quality peaked when Madan Mohan sored. And in Dastak even he surpassed his own tough standards. This small budget Sanjeev Kumar-Rehana Sultana film had a big score. Lataji was ever the heart and soul – her solos Baiyyan na dharo, Hum hai mata-e-kucha-o-bazaar ki tarah and Maai ri main kaase kahuun rank amongst the best from her own mammoth ouvre. And Rafisaab did his own bit in the almost whispered Tum se kahuun ek baat paron si halki. This is an album that you can keep on listening without tiring even once. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Rajesh Roshan’s music in Sushmita Sen’s debut film, carrying the same title. Even though Rajesh Roshan’s score cannot be really termed ‘bad’ (and I quite like Abhijeet’s Tumhe kaise yeh bataaon and Alka’s Pal beet gaya yeh pal), but it cannot match up to the standards set by Madan Mohan!

Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai – Now this is one title where I can strongly say I love both the scores equally well. While S-J gave their own stamp with the frisky Jiya ho jiya kuchh bol do, Jatin Lalit held their own with the frothy O jaana na jaana yeh dil tera deewana.

Anari – Three of them, again – and like Andaaz, with some scion of Kapoor khandaan starring in them! But the most famous musically is, of course, the Shankar-Jaikishan one, starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. Released in 1959, it boasted of such phenomenal songs like Tera jaana dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana, Sab kuchh seekha humne na seekhi hoshiyari, Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, Woh chaand khila woh taare hanse and Dil ki nazar se. The second Anari starred brother Shashi Kapoor, but was a total washout. Music was by Laxmikant Pyarelal, but not a single song seems to have survived. The last Anari had Karisma Kapoor alongside South India superstar Venkatesh. Anand Milind’s music had one good number: Kya mausam aaya hai.

Junoon – Three, once more – and in quite a short span of time. The first is the seventies Shyam Benegal classic based on Ruskin Bond’s Flight of Pigeons. As a art-house movie, it didn’t have music the way we understand it in films, but Vanraj Bhatia’s Phir aayi kaari ghata matwaari was nice. The second Junoon was Mahesh Bhatt’s disastrous horror (more horrifying) film starring his daughter Pooja with his protege Rahul Roy and the wooden Avinash Wadhawan. This early nineties flick comprised of some ‘Gulshan Kumar-type’ music by Nadeem Shravan, with Anuradha Paudwal hogging all the limelight. Still, I would say the music was good – and O meri dilruba tu dil ke kareeb hai is a song that I love immensely. The last Junoon is a super-flop Shilpa Shetty starrer, released in 2002. Adesh Srivastava composed the score.

Lawaaris – Agreed that Kalyanji Anandji’s music in the Amitabh starrer can hardly be termed ‘great’. Yet, because of the overall cult status surrounding Big B movies of that time, we all remember the songs like Kaahe paise pe itna guroor kare ho, Apni toh jaise taise and that super-hit fun-filled number Mere angne mein tumhara kya kaam hai. In 1999, there was one more Lawaaris, and this time the score was handled by another seventies composer – Rajesh Roshan, but there wasn’t any strength in it. The film and the music were miserable flops.

Vishwaasghaat – I admit I am not aware of RD Burman’s music in the seventies Mahesh Bhatt film (Kabir Bedi, Shabana Azmi). But I am simply, madly and crazily in love with Shyam Surender’s score in the nineties flop (Suniel Shetty, Anjali Jathar) having the same name. Lata Mangeshkar sang four songs in this one and each is a complete beauty : the best is a solo Intezaar hai tera intezaar hai – an even paced song, with neat arrangements. The duet Yeh dil kyun dhadakta hai is fast but not furious. It has a loveable rhythm. Unfortunately, the music was released on a now-defunct music company, and perhaps is lost forever. I have a surviving audio cassette, and like to listen to it quite often.

Chaalbaaz – Obviously, Sridevi’s film in the eighties is a better known one. The twin-sisters-separated-at-birth saga inspired from Ram aur Shyam/Seeta aur Geeta was an absolute entertainer. However, I don’t like its loud music (Laxmikant Pyarelal). For that, I would turn to Madan Mohan’s posthumously released small-budget flop. It’s tour-de-force was Latadi’s Raat ujiyaari din andheraa tu jo sajan nahin mera hai. Jaaiye humse khafaa ho jaayiye was another wonderful song. In the fifties, there was one more film having same name, starring Nirupa Roy, but I don’t have any idea about it.

Rajkumar – Another name whereby L-P hopelessly botched up the score, and couldn’t live up to the high standards set by Shankar Jaikishan in the sixties Shammi Kapoor film. The older film had the terrific Aaja aayi bahaar, the steamy Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa and the energetic Jaane waalon zara hoshiyar, alongwith the now-almost-a-maxim Tumne pukara hum chale aaye. And the new one? Well, Payal meri tumko bulati was okayish, but I’d any day prefer to listen to the older one.

Suhaagan – Four of them – with two starring Mala Sinha-Guru Dutt! The first is a 1942 film – details unavailable. The second one released in 1954, and starred Mala Sinha. Again, I am not too aware about Vasant Desai / C Ramachandra’s music. Exactly a decade later, in 1964, Mala Sinha acted as yet another Suhaagan (once more with Guru Dutt) and this is the whose music I have. Rafisaab’s Tu mere saamne hai is a great melody, alongwith Bheegi chandni chhayi bekhudi aaja daal de baahon mein baahon ka haar. But the most remembered number is Latadi‘s Tum hi to meri pooja ho. The last Suhaagan is an eighties tearjerker starring Jeetu-Sridevi. Bappi Lahiri composed the music, and though the words slip me, it had one nice duet by Latadi.

Patita – Two films: in the fifties one Shankar Jaikishan gave great music; the duet Yaad kiya dil ne kahan ho tum is a hot romantic favorite till date, and Mitti se khelte ho baar baar kis liye was heart-wrenching. S-J also composed the most optimistic number Kisi ne mujhko apna bana ke muskurana sikha diya in Latadi‘s voice. Two decades later, Latadi was again at her sun-shine best in another happy number Baithe baithe aaj aayi mere mann ko (composed by Bappi Lahiri).

[Update on 02.02.07]

Karz / Karz -The Burden of Truth – The theme music strummed its way into your hearts – never mind if it was copied. Latadi and Kishoreda, well past their fifties, tucked their tongues firmly in cheek and giggled Mai solah baras ki/Mai satarah baras ka; Asha Bhonsle and Kishoreda raised the storm with Ek haseena thi ek deewana tha – unarguably, Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in Subhash Ghai’s take on Reincarnation of Peter Proud was an immense hit. The newer one (Sanjeev Darshan) was – like the illogical tagline – burdensome and cumbersome score!

Talaash – Remember Rajendra Kumar questioning a wide eyed Sharmila Tagore with Palkon ke peeche se kya tumne kah daala phir se toh farmaana? Spice it up more with the folksy Khai hai rah humne qasam sang rahne kii and the sparkling choral riff of Aaj ko juneli raat ma. And we had a stupendous SD Burman score. The magic was hopelessly lost in Sanjeev Darshan’s score in the newer Akshay Kumar -Karisma starrer.

Saudagar – The new generation danced to the remix of Sajna hai mujhe sajna ke liye. And the older generation loved Tera mera saath rahe. The film was a sensitive and sensible one. In the new one, the budget was upped and the screen widened, but the music didn’t lose its charm. Teri yaad aati hai is a towering duet, and one of the finest from Laxmikant Pyarelal. The common link in both was Lata Mangeshkar’s effusive voice.

Kaali Ghata – The first is a fifties Kishore Sahu film, music by Shankar Jaikishan. The centerpoint of the album was Latadi’s Humse na poochho koi pyaar kya pyaar kya hai. Other pleasures included Madhur milan hai and Ille belle aare. The newer one is not so new – early eighties. And starred Rekha and Shashi Kapoor. I recall only one song – the two part title song Kaali ghata chhayi prem rut aayi, aayi aayi aayi teri yaad aayi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal. Nice song.

Baazigar / Bazigar – Believe it or faint, there are actually four of them! The first came as early as 1938 and starred Trilok Kapoor. Other details unavailable – music could be by Gyan Dutt. The next was a Nirupa Roy starrer, though again the details are not too forthcoming on this one. I suspect this is the one that has music by Chitragupt. The next one released in 1972, probably with music by Sapan Jagmohan. (Details awaited from readers). The last one is, however, the most known one which spiralled Shah Rukh Khan’s career to a dizzying height. Anu Mallik gave some nice tunes.

[Courtesy – Madhu and Juneli, for pointing out to some titles featured in the updates]

Now on to the films which are essentially legendary stories or based on the same literary source, hence forced to have same title:

Devdas – I love the newer film, but prefer the songs of the older one. S D Burman’s composition in the Dilip Kumar version had such shimmering beauties like Jisse tu qabool kar le and O aane waale. In between, there was another version that never got completed, but Latadi’s Ku hu kuh bole koyaliya is outstanding.

Sohni Mahiwal – I think there are more, but I recall two versions strongly. One, is a fifties film with music by Naushadsaab, and was (IIRC) the debut for singer Mahendra Kapoor (Chand chhupa taare doobe raat gazab kii aayii). He got the theme song, while the lion’s share went to Rafisaab. However, it is Latadidi‘s Tumhare sang mai bhi chaluungi and her duet with Rafisaab Aane waale ko aana hoga, jaane waale ko jaana hoga that are the most luminescent numbers. Overall, the music is wonderful.

However, the eighties version (Sunny Deol and Poonam Dhillon) is in my honest opinion an extremely interesting score, composed by a still-struggling Annu Mallik. In this, Anupama Deshpande won the Filmfare Best Singer Award for Sohni chenaab de kinaare. However, it was otherwise Asha Bhonsle s film, and songs like Sohni sohni meri sohni aur nahi koi honi , Bol do meethe bol sohniye and Mujhe dulhe ka sehra gaane do are steeped in Punjabi ethos, have hummable tunes, and hold pleasurable interlude music. (I love Annu Mallik’s music from this era perhaps will do a separate post on this someday).

I have yet to hear the songs of the oldest film by the same name that had music by Lal Mohammad and songs by Zohrabai Ambalewali and G M Durrani, amongst others.

Heer Ranjha – Nothing, absolutely nothing, can surpass the melodies created by the ingenious Madan Mohan in the older version (which I suspect is the middle version ). From the near whisper intonations of Meri duniya mein tum aayi to the pain lashed Do dil toote do dil haare to the effervescent Milo na tum toh hum ghabraaye to the truth-seeking Yeh duniya yeh mehfil mere kaam ki nahi – each composition is a nugget to be savored, to be enjoyed and to immerse in its deep richness. The newer film had a horribly made up Anil Kapoor romancing the talented but ill-cast Sridevi with Rab ne banaya tujhe mere liye under Laxmikant Pyarelal s musical direction. But, clearly they were past their prime. And this Latadi-Anwar duet is the only good song in the entire album.

Umrao Jaan – I have said enough here

Don – Uh oh! Too bad that they had to remix and recycle Kalyanji Anandji’s original score (which in any case wouldn t ever get placed in the top best of the duo). Still, as a stand-alone, the old film s Arre diwaanon and Jiska mujhe tha intezaar are nice numbers. And Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana was a rocking item number when the phrase hadn’t even been created. There was a Mithun starrer The Don as well, but let’s not even talk about it!

Taj Mahal – Despite veteran Naushad at the helm of the affairs, the new film’s music was very ordinary. Music afficiandos will never forget Roshan’s luminous score that included Paaon chhoo lene do, Jo waada kiya and Jurm e ulfat pe humein log sazaa denge.

[This is an open post, and titles will be added to it as and when I remember them or get inputs from readers. Three updates available above]

Related readings – Lata Mangeshkar and Debut Heroines, Madan Mohan and Lata Mangeshkar

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Film Review

Sidharth (Salaam Namaste) Anand moves a step ahead in his craft. Tara Rum Pum, view while retaining all the gloss and glamour associated with Yash Raj Films, infertility is essentially a human story, viagra 100mg narrated in a gracious and genuine way. An absorbing film, Tara Rum Pum keeps the flame of human spirit burning with the warm oil of compassion, concern and candor.

The story revolves around a car race driver (Saif Ali Khan), who meets a severe accident on the tracks. Alongwith the car, his confidence crashes and amongst the debris are his ruined career and the acrid smoke of ruthless cash crunch. His family rallies around him, but he has several lessons yet to learn, and they form the crux of the second half. Of course, keeping in mind Bollywood sensibilities, the story starts right from the beginning where he meets the disciplined and dedicated piano student (Rani Mukerji looking plump yet ravishing in mini-skirts) in a series of – what else? – accidents.

The script is uncluttered, and progresses neatly, adding details here and there that make up the luxurious whole. It imparts a lesson in saving for the rainy day , without being grossly didactic or preachy. The dialogues are crisp. The second half is less humorous, but not heavy; though personally I feel this takes away the punch; and the piercing pain doesn’t cut pitilessly into the heart. Perhaps, a better idea would have been to go whole out in the melodrama, peeling off the gloss and allowing the scenario to be as barren and grim as the walls of the house the family is force to shift in. But Anand prefers to go by the neo-modern grammar, keeping in check any excesses, yet pointing out pretty clearly that the family is in big trouble. Some portions do manage to moisten the eyes, though – for example, Rani playing at boring birthday parties and then packing off the foodstuff for her kids.

A big triumph are the car racing scenes (and they are plentiful), which hold their own individuality without looking duplicated or boring. The last one stirs your adrelanin. (Actually, the film in the last half-hour is stunning!)

Binod Pradhan scores another home-run this year with his camera work (after the painstakingly beautiful Eklavya). The car race scenes are deftly shot, without confusing the viewer. New York is captured in a bright colorful mosaic. The film is well edited, though judging by the audience reaction in the theater, the interval could have been upped a bit, but that’s being overtly finicky. I am deliberately not venturing into the Reader’s Don’t Digest kind of bloopers – I am sure they will be eventually listed out in a magazine that wears the serious-looking dress over its patchy petticoat.

Vishal-Shekhar’s melodious musical score is the most surprising aspect. Frankly, my expectations were very low. But the music is shimmering and sensational. While Shreya Ghoshal’s stupendous solo Ho agar koii gham toh (Ta ra ra rum tararum pum) envelops you in its inspirational and affectionate hug, Vishal Dadlani’s heart-wrenching part-Sufi-ish, part-Junoon-ish Ek banjaara iktaare pe (Saaiyaan) squeezes a tear from the eyes. Both the songs are winners, and have beautiful interludes. Nachle ve taps your feet to dancing and the title song delights. Javed Akhtar’s lyrics are great and Anand uses the music judiciously. Salim-Suleiman’s background score gels with the film’s theme.

Both Rani Mukerji and Saif Ali Khan give honest performances. But Javed Jaafri convincingly steals the show; no extraneous antics; simple clean and cut acting that hits the bull’s eye! The supporting cast supports adequately (and no, there aren’t any surprise appearance, and none by Abhishek Bachchan!). The kids endear. (Master Ali last stole our hearts in Fanaa, and here he effortlessly repeats the feat).

Tara Rum Pum retrieves Yash Raj Films (and producer and mastermind Aditya Chopra’s) lost reputation as sincere filmmakers providing good family entertainment. Of late, their films had been all gloss and no soul, with a one-point mission of raking in the moolah and satisfying the NRI urge of connecting with India without actually showing the country. True, the film is set in NY, and they still eye that sector avidly; true, there is all the glamor (designer house, designer profession, designer dresses, et al); but then the film is basically about human triumph, so all the strappings hardly matter. Plus, the locale or the lustre don’t overshadow the content; it’s an achievement where shine and story co-exist harmoniously! And yes, watch it with your family without being embarrassed one bit: no unnecessary kisses or any faaltu skin-show!

Overall – An Entertaining & Enjoyable Family Outing Film- Watch It!

Technorati : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Tara Rum Pum, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films
Del.icio.us : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Filmfare Power List is out! And Latadidi retains her fifth position this year too in the music makers section. Kudos to the lady to still be amongst the top five- that too, salve
with virtually no musical album release last year! Whoa! That is surely an achievement. Many congratulations!

O.P.Nayyar is no more.

And every person is jumping the bandwagon with cliched statements like ‘maestro par excellence’ and ‘survivor from the golden era’, dosage forgetting that he was virtually neglected in the autumn of his life, and that his valiant comeback in the nineties was received with a freezing shoulder and not-so-charitable remarks.

Worse, the media is doling out mis-informations and factually incorrect statements which makes me wonder if they are really doing any justice to the man in bringing out these pieces. Sample the pile of anomalies thrust on us in the past one day- one daily mentions Jhumka gira re as his composition (it definitely wasn’t – Madan Mohan was the creator there), and the same newspaper talks of Andaz Apna Apna as his ‘comeback film’ (errr… if that is so, then who was Tushar Bhatia credited in the film?). Amar Ujala did quite a heart-felt tribute – till the time they came to mention Junglee as his film. No way! Junglee was out and out Shankar Jaikishan score. This sudden fixation for thrusting the ‘yahoo‘ credit on OPN is very strange. I believe TOI’s Marathi edition has also carried this non-fact. Aaj Tak showed a clip from ‘Kashmir ki kali hun main mujhse na rootho babuji’, another S-J song! Dudes, the film Kashmir Ki Kali was OPN’s baby, not this song. I can’t believe that these oh-so-serious media ‘knowledgeables’ have such paucity in resources that they can’t even verify their facts. And who are they fooling by bringing out such tributes? By mentioning other music director’s numbers (and that too direct contemporary rivals to OPN), they have only belittled the composer’s achievements.

Personally, I really have nothing to say. I can make some politically correct statements as well. But that would then be travesty of having a personal blog in the first place. This is due to the fact that I don’t have much knowledge about his music – in fact, the only cassette I have of his is from a flop film called Hong Kong, which came bundled alongwith Singapore – and since the latter itself is a rare film album to find, hence I had to per force buy this odd combination. Other than this, I have no song by OPN, not even in some odd compilation! It’s quite a record since I can boast of a huge collection (including a large chunk not pertaining to Lataji).

Unfortunately, OPN never used Latadidi‘s voice, stating that his ‘style didn’t match’ (though he had tried to get her on board for his debut film, but due to some reasons she couldn’t make it there). Equally unfortunately, I couldn’t force myself to like his style and stayed away from his music.

May his soul rest in peace!

Technorati : O P Nayyar

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Other than Taj Mahal, hospital Fatehpur Sikri is another important historical place here. Situated around 33 kms from Agra, physiotherapist it is on the border of U.P., visit next to Bharatpur in Rajasthan. The site for Fatehpur was first discovered by Babar, but it was his descendant Akbar who built the fort here. At one point, he had contemplated to shift the capital here, but the water problem thwarted his plans. Folklore has it that Akbar was desperate for a son and had visited Ajmer dargah for blessings. There, he had a dream that he should visit Saleemuddin Chishti at Fatehpur, which he did (reportedly on foot). His queen, Jodhabai was blessed with a son, and Akbar named him after the saint – Saleem. Since then, the dargah is known for fulfilling all wishes and prayers.

The fort’s Bulund Darwaza is stated to be the biggest gate in Asia, and admittedly it is quite an awesome sight. The dargah, in white marble, is pure and serene. And yes, there is also the closed gate leading to a tunnel that supposedly links Agra with Red Fort in Delhi. Mughal-E-Azam was reportedly shot here, probably the last time the tunnel gates were ever opened.

Otherwise, there have been several films/songs shot on the premises, including Yateem, Lal Pathar and the most famous of all – Pardes (Do dil mil rahe and the climax qawaali).

Fatehpur is still the property of Saleemuddin Chishti’s descendants, and hence has free entrance. The neighboring (and more clean and well maintained) Sikri , however, is with ASI and there is a nominal entry charge of INR 20 (for Indian nationals).

(Clockwise, from top left) 1. Bulund Darwaza- It was tough fitting it on the camera phone’s miniscule lens. Still I think I managed well. 2. The ‘Mughal E Azam’ tunnel-as the local guides there will describe. Supposedly it links to Delhi’s Red Fort 3. The ‘Dargah’ at Fatehpur – Very serene!

Photographs: Deepak Jeswal, Kislay
Taken on : Nokia 3230
Dated : 28.01.07

More on Fatehpur : The Mughal Gallery , Fatehpur , Tourism-Fatehpur/Sikri

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Other than Taj Mahal, hospital Fatehpur Sikri is another important historical place here. Situated around 33 kms from Agra, physiotherapist it is on the border of U.P., visit next to Bharatpur in Rajasthan. The site for Fatehpur was first discovered by Babar, but it was his descendant Akbar who built the fort here. At one point, he had contemplated to shift the capital here, but the water problem thwarted his plans. Folklore has it that Akbar was desperate for a son and had visited Ajmer dargah for blessings. There, he had a dream that he should visit Saleemuddin Chishti at Fatehpur, which he did (reportedly on foot). His queen, Jodhabai was blessed with a son, and Akbar named him after the saint – Saleem. Since then, the dargah is known for fulfilling all wishes and prayers.

The fort’s Bulund Darwaza is stated to be the biggest gate in Asia, and admittedly it is quite an awesome sight. The dargah, in white marble, is pure and serene. And yes, there is also the closed gate leading to a tunnel that supposedly links Agra with Red Fort in Delhi. Mughal-E-Azam was reportedly shot here, probably the last time the tunnel gates were ever opened.

Otherwise, there have been several films/songs shot on the premises, including Yateem, Lal Pathar and the most famous of all – Pardes (Do dil mil rahe and the climax qawaali).

Fatehpur is still the property of Saleemuddin Chishti’s descendants, and hence has free entrance. The neighboring (and more clean and well maintained) Sikri , however, is with ASI and there is a nominal entry charge of INR 20 (for Indian nationals).

(Clockwise, from top left) 1. Bulund Darwaza- It was tough fitting it on the camera phone’s miniscule lens. Still I think I managed well. 2. The ‘Mughal E Azam’ tunnel-as the local guides there will describe. Supposedly it links to Delhi’s Red Fort 3. The ‘Dargah’ at Fatehpur – Very serene!

Photographs: Deepak Jeswal, Kislay
Taken on : Nokia 3230
Dated : 28.01.07

More on Fatehpur : The Mughal Gallery , Fatehpur , Tourism-Fatehpur/Sikri

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In case you find this site entertaining and useful please contribute your own bit by making a nominal donation

Sidney Sheldon passed away – and however cliched it might sound, case
but the fact is that an era of pulp fiction writing has come to an end. I am speechless, shocked and very sad. May his soul rest in forever peace. And may he continue to regale the audience to whichever place he has departed to.

Even though I was critical of his last few works, still Sheldon has left behind a huge bulk of excellent work. Rage of Angels, If Tomorrow Comes, Bloodline, The Other Side of Midnight and Memories of the Midnight are works that will be forever etched in my memories!

God bless his soul!

Related Readings : Books I Love

Technorati : Fiction, Novels, Sidney Sheldon

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Picking up a leaf from Ashish s blog (or should I say, cialis picking up an ingredient from Ashish s masala?), mind I am starting this series of posts on my own favorite composers Shankar Jaikishan. Since I am already covering the Lata Mangeshkar songs on the other blog, generic the series here will concentrate on the male songs (or at the most, the duets). The first part of the series Lata/SJ-Black and White Era Songs is already up on my other blog (click here).

For those who have been regular in following the Expressions here, they might have often wondered at the lack of mention of any male voices. It is not that I do not listen to male songs at all; it is just that beyond Lata Mangeshkar I hardly get any time to concentrate on them.

Amongst the male singers, I am a big fan of Mohammad Rafi. I like the tenor and the range of his malleable voice; there is a pristine honesty in his voice, which reflects his own real life persona. Though there have been myriad clones of his in the recent years, but Rafisaab still remains on top.

Moving forward from Rafi, I have a small fascination for Mukesh’s rich baritone. His voice had a limited range, but when it came to the sad songs, he had absolutely no parallel. He gave weight and depth to the pathos.

In this list, I have picked up fifteen of Mukesh’s heart wrenching and philosophical numbers composed by Shankar Jaikishan that I always love to hear whenever the mood gets blue. I understand many of my readers are in their twenties and might have not listened to them; or, might find them too archaic . But, I started my discovery of SJ in my own twenties. It is a good age to begin unravelling these gems. You will never be alone.

(The list is compiled in the chronological order of the release of the films; though I have tried to cross verify through various sources on the web, the dates might still have some inaccuracies).

1. Raat andheri door savera, barbaad hai dil mera – Aah (1953) A short three minute song packed with emotions! I love the haunting violins following the lines of the mukhda (the same violins end into a spine-shivering dimmuendo at the end of the song); it is almost like a wisp of wind playing on a dark and stark night. The miserably frustrating lines aah bhi roye, raah bhi roye, soojhe na baat koie / lamba safar hai sooni dagar hai / dega na saath koi capture the helplessness of a given situation. These wistful words are penned by Hasrat Jaipuri.

2. Rammaiya Vastavaiyya – Shree 420 (1955) one of the three songs that I am including here which is not a Mukesh solo. But then, it is one of those rare numbers that has Lata, Mukesh and Rafi present together. However, since Rafi sang for the sidey , and Mukesh for the hero, the latter walks away with the centerstage lines meri aankhon mein rahe, kaun jo mujhse kahe, maine dil tujhko diya it never fails to bring a lump in my throat. The guilt washed lyrics are penned by Shailendra.

3. Ae pyaase dil bezubaan – Begunaah (1957) A lesser known fact is that this Mukesh number was picturised on Jaikishan, perhaps in the only film that he did as an actor. It is a rhythmic number, and the alaap placed in between the mukhda is amazing. Also, the lines aag ko aag mein dhal ke, kab tak jee bahlayega have a wonderful beat to it; the tune tugs at your heart like a naughty child. I am fond of Shailendra’s imagery in this number.

4. Yeh mera deewanapan hai – Yahudi (1958) A quintessential Dilip Kumar number, though it is strange that SJ used Mukesh rather than Rafi, who was the voice for the thespian. For this song, the thespian had insisted on Talat Mehmood; however Shankar locked horns with Dilip Kumar to retain Mukesh. It was a song that yet again SJ proved that they could march into the Naushad terrain and conquer it with lan. (Earlier they had done the classical based Basant Bahar, a film wrenched away from Naushad, due to the commercial pressures of that time). Shailendra s lyrics are more forceful and vengeful in this one jitana jee chaahe pukaro, phir nahi aayenge hum . Mandolin, a favorite instrument of SJ, is the lynchpin here.

5. Mujhe mere haal pe chhod do – Kanhaiya (1959) – The veena/sitar and the violins combination of the song clasps the heart and wrings it out. Mukesh sings the pain-dipped Shailendra lyrics in a deep bass. It is a shimmering number from an album that had a fine collection of songs. The other Mukesh numbers Yaad aayi aadhi raat ko (a delight to sing when a bit sozzled) and Ruk ja o jaanewaali were also interesting.

6. Mai nashe mein hoon – Mai Nashe Mein Hoon (1959) Shailendra does a neat use of the Meer couplet to form the title song of this Raj Kapoor- Mala Sinha starrer. The opening couplet Zaahid sharaab peene de masjid mein baith kar, Ya woh jagah batade jahan khuda na ho is marvelous. Though not exactly a sad song, it is serious in content, hence I have included it here; it speaks about a dull drone of pain permeating the soul, which is negated by the intoxication of alcohol. A perfect number after a few drinks. Mukesh combines ‘dard‘, ‘nasha‘ and ‘masti‘ in a flawless cocktail. There is a marked orchestral clarity; and SJ s rhythmic beats are lip-smacking.

7. Sab kuchh seekha humne, na seekhi hoshiyari – Anari (1959) The simpleton Raju (Rajkumar, actually, in this particular film) laments at the cruel and calculating ways of the world through the words of Shailendra – ‘dil pe marne waale, marenge bheekhari ‘. This is another sad party number that SJ had pioneered and perfected (and carried on by Nadeem Shravan in the nineties). I don t think I need to write anymore about the song as everyone knows about it. Of course, the SJ orchestral finesse is in full display as ever. SJ won their second Filmfare award for this film and their lead singer, Mukesh, won the coveted trophy for his outstanding singing of this very number.

8. Aa ab laut chale – Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti (1960) A very unfortunate number for Mukesh, because Lata Mangeshkar stole the song with just half a line and an alaap that she sings at regular intervals in it. Still, I am including it here because essentially it is a Mukesh solo only; the song has a lot of positivity and is a difficult to classify. I am including it in the list simply because of its deep philosophical content laced with lament and loss. The orchestra is breathtaking. Overall, in my view, Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti was musically the weakest of all SJ-Raj Kapoor directed films.

9. Teri yaad dil se bhulane chala hoon, mai khud apni hasti mitane chala hoon – Hariyali Aur Raasta (1962) I saw this soppy Manoj Kumar-Mala Sinha starrer only for the music (not too fond of either of the lead stars). I was also lucky enough to find a solo cassette of the film that had some additional numbers and pieces. Again, it is a complete album- be it Allah jaane kya hoga aage or Bol meri taqdeer mein kya or Yeh hariyali aur raasta, every song is hummable and enjoyable. SJ really worked hard on the details of this film. Of the sad songs, I like this one a lot better than the Mahendra Kapoor solo, Kho gaya hai mera pyaar. Another sad number was the Lata Mukesh duet Laakhon tare aasman mein (will take this up surely in some other list, probably on the Lata blog). My favorite lines from the selected Shailendra lyric are Ghataon tumhe saath dena padega/ main phir aaj aansoon bahane chala hoon the use of phir is exceptional, as one does return to this mood time and again in practical real life.

10. Dost dost na raha – Sangam (1964) The song that Shankar and Jaikishan fought over; while the former composed this one, Jaikishan did the prem patra number with Rafi, and both claimed their composition to be better than the other. An impossible choice, and so also said the paying public as both the numbers went on to become bumper hits. The piano riffs in this song are awesome (reportedly played by Shankar himself, who was an efficient pianist). It is a song that always comes up whenever two friends even have the smallest of tiffs. Also, a ditty that the nation sang whenwent to war with! Once again, Shailendra does the honors with the lyrics with Mukesh’s intense voice capturing each nuance in its entirety.

(As can be seen, most lyrics here are of Shailendra, that is because the other half, Hasrat Jaipuri wrote the more romantic numbers)

11. Duniya bananewale kya tere mann mein samayi – Teesri Kasam (1966) I confess, I am in awe of this album. Every song of this film is a gem to be treasured. The film was produced by lyricist Shailendra and was a major dud at the box office; however, SJ s brilliant music survived the crash. Even today Paan khaaye saiyan hamaro and Chalat musafir are fondly remembered. The film had two pathos filled numbers that give ample scope to Mukesh to display his virtuosity at such numbers this was one of them; the other is Sajanwa bairi ho gaye hamaar.

12.Hum toh jaate apne gaaon – Diwana (1967) Six Mukesh solos make up this magnificent album the title song , Hum to jaate apne gaaon apni Ram Ram Ram , Ae sanam jisne tujhe , Pate ki baat kahega / kahega jab bhi deewana , Tumhari bhi jai jai hamari bhi jai jai / na tum haare na hum haare and Taaron se pyaare. Though Shailendra and Hasrat Jaipuri gave decent lyrics, the album gets more weight duo to the SJ s musical form. Very uncomplicated and unassuming songs – perhaps like the simpleton hero! The audio that I have contains the Mukesh solos together believe me, it is heavenly to hear them one after the other (the album I have is a combo with Around The World, which also has great songs). This song and Tumhari bhi jai jai pick the essence of parting is such a sweet sorrow coupled with some majestic singing by Mukesh.

13. Duniya isi ka naam hai – Duniya (1968) Though the Rafi song Falsafa pyaar ka was a more popular number, I prefer this one because of its easy tune and philosophical tone of the lyrics. Although it is not a Mukesh solo (Shankar’s protege Sharda is the co-singer), the song can very well be termed his only as he gets the bigger and better lines; this is the third of non-solo songs in this list. Incidentally this film had the comedy number Tu hi meri laxmi, tu hi meri chhaya, o Laxmi Chhaya! By this time, the formidable team was disintegrating. The lyrics for this song are by S H Bihari.

14.Woh zindagi hai meri bebasi, apna koi na tha, apna koi na hai – Sapnon Ka Saudagar (1968) A lesser known number of the duo, but nevertheless a shining piece of composition. It is a subtle song, and the lyrics (once more, Shailendra) convey an altruism in the simplistic form jo yeh sapne sach ho jaate, toh yeh sapne kyun kahlaate . The piano riffs are engaging.

15. Jaane kahan gaye woh din and Jeena yahan marna yahan – Mera Naam Joker (1970) the official swan songs of SJ team. Though Shankar continued to work under the banner of the joint name of the duo in films like Lal Pathhar, Chorni, Sanyasi, Paapi Pet Ka Sawaal Hai, Do Jhoot, Aaj Ki Taaza Khabar, still the reign had ended. I don’t think I really have to write anything on these two Mera Naam Joker numbers – they are evergreen, and the latter captures Raj Kapoor’s maxim ‘that the show must go on’ in a lovely manner. While the former was written by Hasrat Jaipuri, the latter was penned by Shaily Shailendra. The film got Shankar Jaikishan their eighth Filmfare Award.

It is a very sad scene that one half of the duo that ruled the charts once had to resort to doing films with names like Jangal Mein Mangal, International Crook and Tarzan Mera Saathi.

When the evenings end with their deep and heavy sigh, these timeless and immortal melodies are perfect companions. Do tell me your views on them.

Technorati : Mukesh, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Total Number of Books I Own

Plenty. I do not have a count as both my father and myself buy books separately and the collection just keeps growing.

The Last Book I Bought

Last Sunday – Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons
Chetan Bhagat’s Five Point Someone

The Last Book I Read

Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons it turned out to be a perfect read for the Qatar trip. A thrilling, anemia page-turner, A&D is a step ahead of Da Vinci Code in execution and has one of the most spectacular climaxes! I would love to see a film version of the book, especially the sweeping and lush flourish of the denouement.

Five Books That Mean a Lot To Me

(Not exactly novels, will write more on authors that mean a lot to me; and I will change it to six of them)

All Jeffery Archer novels – of all the popular fiction writers, Archer has been my one constant source of inspiration for story telling and description. He is the only author whom I have read completely, including his Prison Diaries. It is very difficult to choose a favorite out of his collection. I started off with Not a Penny More Not a Penny Less, which was incidentally his first published novel also. I still recall reading the book in class XIIth keeping it camouflaged beneath the sultry course books. Even today , when he almost does a Manmohan Desai like trick of children separating at birth due to the idiosyncrasies of overzealous nannies (Sons of Fortune), he is the best in his class he carries the same pizzazz and chutzpah of Desai, knowing exactly how much masala to put in, without overdoing it or spoiling the taste palate!

A Passage to India by E M Forster it was in my Eng. Hons. Course in the final year. I was simply bowled by the style and structure impeccable and symmetrical: Mosque, Caves and Temple. Also, symbolising three main seasons of India winter, summer and monsoons. After the unbearable heat of the scorching summer where Adela Quested makes the heinous allegation against Dr. Aziz, the rains arrive to quell the burns; simultaneously, the rains are also equated with Janamasthmi, the birth of the Lord, a cleansing of sins. I quoted “centuries of carnal embracement” in a couple of posts back from this book. Another favorite was “the secret understanding of the heart” .

As a confession, a lot of my scene ending is borrowed from Forster, esp in Meera. In APOI, he ended a lot of chapters with a note akin to a background music wafting to its dying crescendo. An example :

Pretty dear said Mrs. Moore to the wasp. He did not wake, but her voice floated out, to swell the night’s uneasiness.

One can almost feel the camera panning out towards the night, with the strains of an orchestra fading away in the background.

Agatha Christie novels – Though I have a small fondness for the Hercule Poirot series, I do enjoy her other works too, esp Miss Marple. I have read plenty of them, of which The Murder on the Orient Express stands tall. Also, N or M was brilliant in its execution.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte another course book that left a deep impact. I have a strong leaning towards prose, hence I concentrated more on the novels than plays and poems during these three years. WH is about the the high-volatile but ill-fated love affair of Catherine Earnshaw with the dark and brooding Heathcliffe set against Victorian London. Due to their differing backgrounds they are unable to marry. While Catherine is betrothed to the wimpish Linton, Heathcliffe (on a rebound, more revengeful) marries Isabella.

Again, structure of the book is amazing. In this the second part of the novel re-writes the first part but to a more logical conclusion. Here, Catherine s daughter falls in love with Heathcliffe and Isabella s son! It s a revisit of the romance that could not flower to its full at the dull-fated mansion Wuthering Heights.

For those who have seen Lamhe, would realise that the script structuring of the film is nearly same as this classic; in that too, the second part is a revisit and re-write of the first half.

Enid Blyton – She had to make this list; after all, my initiation to reading was through her only. In my school in Greece, every week we had a full class devoted to reading and then doing a book analysis of the same. There, library class did not become an euphemism to bunking/canteen sessions ( It is sad that the same is not true in Indian schools; I am quite pained to see my nephews devoid of the pleasure of reading, even though they go to the best public school of Delhi).

At that time, I was introduced to the delightful world of Enid Blyton. I spent a lot of time with Noddy, the Famous Five and Secret Seven the lemonades, the cookies, the hangout at the garage, the passwords to enter it, are all part of my initial book-reading memories.

To Kill a Mocking Bird by Harper Lee – It was a gift from Ms. Chaphekar, my English teacher in class Xth and teacher-coordinator for school magazine during my tenure as the school editor. She couldn t have chosen a better book to give; seen from the eyes of a youngster, the turbulent racist times have been vividly captured. A point to note is that the way the rape is described and handled; our Hindi films can take major lessons from it.

Roots by Alex Hailey : A novel spanning seven generations, this is the journey of an African-American who traces the roots from the wild jungles of Africa to the slave trade to the modern day. Poignant is one word that comes to the mind, and it left me shaken. For those who have not read it, my strong suggestion to buy it immediately. Though thick, it is an easy read. The novel traces various human emotions, but the major one is the triumph through tribulations. A masterpiece, indeed.

Papillon by Henri Charriere : This was a book gifted by my brother in law to my sister during their courtship period, post-engagement. At that time, I read it but was probably too young to understand it. Perhaps, I shouldn t have done so too. It left some nightmares. The true-life story of the escape from the French prison colony of Guyana, has lots of tense and terse moments; it is at once a thriller and a compassionate human account. Some of the scenes where in Cherriere hides money stacked in an iron rod, shoved up his anus to avoid detection still send shivers down my spine. I am not sure, but I think he tries to escape at least seven times from the tough prisons there.

The Hardy Boys Series and The Nancy Drew Series – Though the latter was considered more girlish I have read quite a lot of them. The Hardy Boys were almost my role idols during adolescence. Their adventures and trails, often through many exotic places, are enthralling.

John Grisham – Another writer in the Archer mould, his novels have enough pace and grit to make reading a pleasure; they also have lots of sordid details about American lawyers that are often brushed hurriedly beneath the carpet of propiety. No small wonder his novels are often converted into films for he writes in a script-writing manner! Barring his last two works, I have read all of his novels.

Sidney Sheldon Anyone who is a fan of pulp fiction cannot afford to miss the original and grand master of storytelling. As a fan, I have been hugely disappointed by his recent works, but his earlier bulk of work are amazing. My favorites include If Tomorrow Comes, The Other Side of Midnight, The Memories of Midnight, The Bloodline and Doomsday Conspiracy.

Sheepishly, I have to confess that my reading habits are highly erratic now; and yes, being a bit old fashioned, I have missed out on some of the newer writers like Rowling and Coelho. Perhaps, like my choice of films and songs and singers, I am stuck in an old-groove!

Technorati : Agatha Christie, Books, Chetan Bhagat, Dan Brown, E M Forster, Harper Lee, Novel, Reading, Sidney Sheldon

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I live near a marriage hall. It is on the plot immediately next to the one which houses my apartment. It can be quite an irritant, allergy sale considering Indian marriages are all about pomp, ed show and noise. Especially last month was terrible – when the Gods and their messengers had opened a small window to entangle as many willing couples as possible (so much so that as many as 30,000 couples tied the knot in just one single day!). Every evening I would come home to the din of speakers blaring out the latest hits. On the positive side, it helped me keep abreast of the latest in music. Often, the song selection was hilariously incongruous. For example, Mujhko pehchaan lo main hoon Don. I wonder what the bride’s family would think if the groom actually turned out to be one. Considering that I live in a belt known more for its crime than courtesy, you really never know!

Sitting in my flat, I would try to fathom what would be happening below. It is easy to recognize when a baraat arrives. Usually, the band and the music reach their output’s zenith. And when they quieten after some moments and the strains of Baharon phool barsaao play out, one can be sure that the bride has arrived. In Agra, another very jarring trend is of mobile orchestra accompanying a baraat, along with the ubiquitous band-wallahs. Invariably, the singers are so off-key that they make Himesh Reshammiya sound the sweetest voice on the earth. And their pronunciations often had me in splits. For instance, Just cheeel cheel just cheeeel made me wonder why the lady was calling the inauspicious cheel – kauwas! Maybe she was really referring to the inebriated dancers that always accompany the hapless groom perched atop a wary mare! The baraat and wedding celebration are still fine. I can bear them. What irks me the maximum is the unearthly time of most bidaais. It can be devastating to wake up five or six in the morning to the sounds of the band playing the only one number they seem to know of for the occasion – Mohd. Rafi’s Babul ki duaayein leti jaa. Come to think of, isn’t it strange that the maximum ‘occasional’ numbers, be it a dulhan‘s cheerful arrival or her tearful bidaai, or even of popular festivals like Holi and Rakhi, come from older films? Why aren’t are new songs capable of catering to these universal occasions?

[composed and posted with ecto]

The maid is on leave; in fact, emergency she has not come in since the time I returned back. For the first two days I gave her the benefit of doubt of not knowing /remembering my return date. Today, psychiatrist I verified from a couple of other places where she works, and learnt that she has indeed been on an extended Holi holiday.

A quick glance at the kitchen sink made my heart sink faster than Titanic. Not that I have many utensils in the first place, but the way they were thrown into the narrow steel basin made the Everest look like Snow White’s entourage! The grease/grime and the sticky, browny look were not encouraging either (though I always take care to soak them in the night)

Last night I had skipped cooking dinner, hoping that she would be here today morning. My optimistic outlook lasted till the evening when I went to verify her whereabouts, sheepishly knocking at unsuspecting people’s places asking about her.

Since her return might take an indefinite time, realization dawned faster than Archimedes could scream eureka that if I had to avoid any further eating out binges, I needed to clean this stuff fast.

With the deepest sigh that would make Romeo proud, I put on a favorite Lata Mangeshkar CD, and started the rub-and-scrub session.

Half-way through the tedious process I concluded that all advertisements were a big farce. Neither the super-cleaning Vim bar nor the powder cleaned away the grease with the effortless stroke shown in such ad-films. Worse, how can the ladies shown in the film beam through the act as if they have won a million-dollar lottery? Or, are these ad-films a case study in masochism? Or, do ladies genuinely get orgasmic pleasure in scouring sullied utensils?

Though the melamine plates were easy, the pressure cooker and the kadhai proved to be tough customers. I swear I could not have created so much foam in the bathroom ever as I did on these two stubborn artifacts to have them reach a semblance of cleanliness. I attacked them viciously and lecherously with a singular shakti till they succumbed to my curse-sting grouch!

The two have never looked more cleanly ever!

I let out a silent prayer that thankfully, just yesterday, I had broken a glass, which meant one item less to clean. Perhaps, I should buy the paper glasses now. As I reached the turn of the humble steel glasses, I realized that there were only two of them left. Now, I am sure that I had brought a full set of six glasses. With hands covered in vim and foam, I looked over the house to find the rest they were scattered all over the place; one, outside in a corner at the porch; another, below the bed, which proved to be a blessing in disguise because from there I also unearthed a lost pair of socks; the balance were on various window-sills. Relieved that all six of them had not deserted me, I went about my mission.

After a grueling three-quarters-of-an-hour, I had the kitchen sink cleaned up; since, in the background, Lataji was urging kisise darrna nahin, darr darr ke jeena nahin I decided to follow her advise, and not be scared or cowered down by the mess all over. Thus, I spent the next half hour tidying up the entire kitchen cleaning the shelf and the gas, placing things where they are meant to be, removing empty ketchup and water bottles and mopping off all the extraneous dirt.

As I stepped back to admire my own hardwork, I noticed that the sun had set. At the same time, it dawned on me that after putting in so much trouble I was in no mood to cook and soil and spoil my efforts. Hence, it will be a dinner out today also, I told myself resolutely.

Thus, the entire chakra that started off with my unwillingness to go out, ended up being the reason for my actually stepping out into the balmy Kathmandu evening and rushing to my favorite fast-food joint. Touche.

Technorati : Humor, Kitchen, Life, Utensils

I must have been around 12 or so when the writing bug got permanently installed within the grey matters of my brain ( more on that some other time). And ever since the day I started to write, sildenafil my ambition has been to write on Lata Mangeshkar. But whenever I have started to do so, diagnosis words have terribly failed me ( how do you describe this great voice- its like saying describe the heat of the sun, about it can anyone do that?) , and I have been compelled to stop, and pick up some other topic.
I did write a few “Letters to the Editor” in Filmfare defending Lata Mangeshkar (if there was any adverse comment on her, and criticising a female called Anuradha Paudwal who thought she could oust Lataji) but never a full fledged article or essay on her. But today, having started this Blog, and having forced open a new avenue of writing, I return to my favorite, and respected, topic. I am still not convinced if I can write even half as comprehensively as what my mind wants me to write, but I will definitely give it a try.

When I close my eyes, and sit back and reflect, and try to figure out what my earliest memories in this life are, the one voice that sways in with its melliflous lilt is that of Lata Mangeshkar. From the age of three to six we were in Sri Lanka due to my father’s assignment there. At that time, I recall vividly, my father and my eldest sister used to listen ardently to Radio Ceylon, especially Ameen Sayani’s brilliant programme Binaca Geet Mala ( yes, it was called Binaca at that time). They even used to record their favorite songs onto blank Sony Audio Cassettes – it had a green and black cover with space to list down the songs only on the inside and lasted for full ninety minutes. It was a different era, audio cassettes of films were not available, and you had to buy those huge LP records which were quite expensive. So recording from radio was an economical and better proposition. In any case, the sound clarity was tremendous ( I still have some of these cassettes!) and the presenters were more interested in playing the songs than flaunting their voices or advertisements as they do today. I would sit with them, and listen to all the film songs- papa recorded the older numbers, while my sister got hold of the newer ones – the ones that were hot and happening . “Ni sultana re pyaar ka mausam aaya” sung by Lata and Rafi was a hot favorite with us youngsters. It was during those innumerable and immensely pleasurable sessions that my affair with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar began.

I was completely and indisputedly mesmerised with this honey-sweet melodious and magnificent voice. And since those were her heydays, I got to listen to her a lot.

A few years later we came back to India; this was the time of the early eighties. Lataji was cutting down her assignments- though I did not realise it at that time, because there was always a constant flow of music from the ubiquitous green and black audio cassettes which had more than 80% songs sung by the diva. In fact, when my sister got married off, she dutifully re-recorded those cassettes onto fresh tapes ( by now Sony had come out with a newer and more flashy red design) and took them along with her as part of her dowry.

During this time I also realised that there was another voice alongwith Lata that was much less sharp, and less fulfilling- Asha Bhonsle. To a eight or nine year myself I compared the two voices to strings- one perfectly wound up, taut and tight; the other, loose and sagging. I would even playfully try to mimic those two by composing some gibberish and give the better part to Lataji.

Another assignment of dad brought us to Europe and once again, it cut down our supply of Hindi film songs. But Dad being innovative, we found a new way to keep our stocks replenished. Our video player ( a bulky Akai one weighing a whopping 18 kgs) arrived; and since, Hindi films were easily available on video, we used to record the songs from the tv to the audio by placing a cassette player in front of the television speaker. Of course, at that time when the songs were being recorded we had to ensure that no one spoke lest those external sounds also get recorded. That was the time when Amitabh Bachchan was reigning supreme, and in his films invariably we found one or two odd Lata songs- Naseeb, Desh Premee, Bemisal to name a few. Of course there were other gems also like Baseraa, Sanyasi (the video was available in the eighties only), Kranti , Karz and many more. Naturally the recording quality was dismal, but then, where were there those hi fi systems then to play them even?

Then dad got me the ultimate gift… a small audio player ( dictafone, I came to know much later) manufactured by Philips and having really cute small sized cassettes. My, my, I had a field day recording months after months my own collection of songs- all Lata’s, needless to add, though to be honest at that time I was not sure why I was even doing this selective recording.

One incident I remember clearly. I had watched Aarzoo the night before. In the film there is one very beautiful song “bedardi baalma tujhko mera mann yaad karta hai”. I was so taken up by that song that I kept singing it ( and trying, in my puerile manner to imitate Lataji) and when my teacher caught me humming that number in class room, she even made me sing it in front of the entire class. Not that those Europeans would have ever understood the meaning, but the sad part is they got to hear it in my considerably off tone voice.

Its only when I was in college, and independent enough to buy my own collection of audio cassettes( I was getting a reasonable pocket money by then), that I once sat down to realise what turned me on whenever I listened to Lataji. Then, as I do now, I tried to list down a few reasons: ( they all overlap, and they all sound repetitive)

a) She has the most perfect voice that God ever created. Its as pure as listening to a stream on a mountain side, as fresh as the dawn that breaks over the horizon every morning, and as soothing as the moon that rules the night.

b) She sings in impeccable accent

c) Her voice suits all the heroines
d) She never sings off-key

e) Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she is the one voice that has been part of my growing up- from my childhood to my youth and now middle orders; she has been there in my happiness, sorrow, heartbreak, first love, marriage – you name the occassion, her songs have inspired me, motivated me, moved me, soothed me, stirred me, and loved me

Her songs have been there at all the memorable times of my life- my school times, my passing out of school ( Maine Pyaar Kiya and Chandni had been just released then); college and those innumerable discussion on Lamhe ( she sang all the songs in the film ) in the canteen, to my first job and now, the current assignment that I have taken.

Of course, by now her voice is permanentely fossilised in my entire being ( its as indelible as the moles on my skin) and I cannot even think of any other singer besides her. To be honest, Lata is the only lady of whom I can say I have been a honest and true fan. All the rest, be it actors or actresses do not matter, and keep changing. But she is one favorite who has stood the test of time in my life.

And, she is the only star to whom I even wrote to once, wishing her on one of her birthdays ( September 28th). Expectedly, she did not let me down, I received a personally signed thank you note- my most cherished possession apart from her songs.

I have embarked on a mission of restoring and converting all the songs that were there in those lovely green and black audio cassettes- I have found many of them, but a lot many of them still elude me, and seem to have got permanently lost into the sands of time. I hope I succeed.

And phew, look, I have finally managed to finish writing a piece on my affair with Lata’s voice. ( I am sorry, but memories once visited should not be repeated too soon as they lose their charm. I have relived my childhood while writing this piece, I will not go over it again to even check it, so I let the spellings and grammatical errors remain. Please forgive me for my little idiosyncracies)

All the best Lataji…keep enchanting us as ever!!!

Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Today morning, stuff I heard Yaara seeli seeli*** for the umpteenth time – a very satisfying and fulfilling number. As the song ended with its impossibly high and collosally breathtaking crescendo, there I switched off the player – seeping in the reverberations of the voice that had once again shaken, cystitis stirred and stimulated the core of my soul; a thought struck my mind that I hadn’t done any post on Lata Mangeshkarji for a long long time now.

So here is one, a mosaic of memories from my lifetime. I am afraid the post has gone longer than intended, but I didnt have the heart to cut it out, or post it in parts.

For me, discovering songs sung by Latadidi (Lata Mangeshkar) is a passionate quest for a lifetime; and often, the results have been more often than not extremely satisfying.

As I wrote earlier, my love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice began when I was too young to understand the feeling of love or being enthralled. I was too little to comprehend as to why I was selectively recording her songs when my dad got me a mini-diktaphone. I was too kiddish to grasp as to why my heart beat stopped when I heard her voice soar in the impossibly high-pitched Jahan pe sawera ho**! (Today, I heard the song again and I am convinced they must have invented laser beam hearing her unwavering-hitting-the-soul voice!)

My collection

My urge to build my own personal collection began during college years, when I was somewhat financially better off due to a constant stream of pocket money. At that time Lata didi had made a resounding comeback post-Maine Pyar Kiya with a flush of films like Pathar Ke Phool, Lekin, Sanam Bewafa etc. Naturally, these were the first choice for purchase.

Simultaneously, I scoured dad’s old collection, picking up likeable songs and finding their film names. Those were pre-historic times sans internet or google search, so I had to rely on his knowledge and fortify it further with information given by like-minded friends (particularly Bhaskar*, who was quite into old film songs). Hours were spent in various music shops browsing through cassettes to buy the optimum one since the budget was limited and I had to lay my money on the best option. Those were not the days of Music Worlds or Planet M’s either. So, I had to rely on the shop-keepers’ goodness as well. Often, they would be irritated because I would ask for various names.

During the decade of 1990-2000, I built up the volumes in my collection so much so that by the end of that era, I was purchasing albums just for one or two songs, having the rest in some other collection.

A newly opened shop in H-Block of our area was a favorite place. The owner couple became good friends and allowed me to stay on, just looking around at the titles and often (if the cassette wasn’t sealed) playing out some numbers to let me get the feel. I amdit, just looking through album covers provided me a high, and I still enjoy spending time in music-shops.

I recall my desperation when my sister informed that she had heard the title song of Henna at some shop where she had gone shopping that day. Impatiently I waited for evening, and set out to get hold of the cassette. The delight in seeing Lata Mangeshkar’s name listed in all the songs was immeasurable.

Likewise I had kept a keen tab on the audio release of Lamhe and paid several visits to the H-block shop to purchase it, but it hadn’t arrived. I was there when the HMV man came to deliver the cassettes, and I bought my copy straight off his bag; definitely the first buyer to get hold of the album in our area at least! That night, while my parents watched Dil Hai Ke Maanta Nahiin on video (a film which I had childishly sworn not to see since it had Anuradha Paudwal’s awful voice, and also because she was trying to rival Didi; I saw the film much later when Paudwal’s career had crumbled), I locked myself in my room and immersed myself in the engrossing strains of Kabhi mai kahuun (Lata Mangeshkar) and Mohe chhedo na (Lata Mangeshkar)on my walkman!

Sadly, that shop had to close down in a few years. I made the best of the clearance sale that the owners held. Some years later, my new haunt was another small shop, in the main market. This one also closed down soon, and had a considerably small collection, but I have to mention the shop since this is where I bought the audio of Singapore – a little known Shammi Kapoor starrer, but with outstanding Shankar Jaikishan compositions. From this shop, I also bought the comeback album of Naushadsaahab and Lata Didi together – the flop Teri Paayal Meri Geet.

At that time, my fulcrum of search rested on two pillars: either they were Lataji’s songs or they were Shankar Jaikishan’s musicals. Since they worked together for quite a long time, buying a combination of their talent helped. During 1990-1993, I bought several of their film audios including Kanhaiya/Mai Nashe Mein Hoon, Hariyali Aur Raasta, Dil Ek Mandir/Dil Apna Preet Paraayi, Singapore, Anari/Chori Chori, Amrapali, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane, Shikast/Poonam and others. Apart from this, of course, I bought several Anmol Rattan-Lata Mangeshkar series that HMV had released. When the money would be lean, Bhaskar and I split the purchase and then record the cassette from each other.

At other times, when she sang only one or two numbers in a film, I would get them recorded. Hence, I have a cassette which I titled Lata Mangeshkar-Songs from 1990-91 that has numbers from both popular films like Ghayal and Thanedaar, but also from lesser heard ones like Farishtay (Saat kunwaron mein ek kunwari (Lata Mangeshkar)and Tere bina jag lagta hai soona (Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Aziz)) and one very curiously unheard but an extremely likeable duet Zara sa mujhe chhoona toh dekh kahiin khwaab na ho(Lata Mangeshkar, Amit Kumar) from an ill-fated Raj Babbar-Dimple starrer Karamyodha (composed by an off-beat Ajeet Verman).

When I started earning, I invested a large part of my salary in buying more musiccassettes – all Latadidi! By then, I had purchased a latest model of Sony audio system and after every such purchase, I would rush home and listen to the resounding voice in full glory of surround sound. Bliss couldn’t get a better definition ever!

I still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face when I told her I had bought a 5-CD Legends series collection of Lata Didi for a whopping Rs. 1500 and that, when my net salary wasn’t more than Rs 8-9000!!!!

Travel

Alongside music, my other interest is traveling and exploring new areas. Hill-stations excite me a lot and I have been lucky to visit several hill towns in India.

Instead of buying a souvenir that would be later relegated to some obscure shelf in the drawing room, I made a policy of buying one audio cassette from that place. Thus, whenever I listen to the music of Fauj, other than enjoying Latadi’s vivacious number Haaye main marjaawaan tere sadqe jaawaan, it brings back happy memories of the days spent in Mount Abu (during an autumn break in college) – the days when I got allergic to the blanket provided by our hotel and I kept sneezing the entire night, or how I cut my finger with a razor blade (no, the modern and more convenient Gillette Sensor Excels still hadn’t arrived) or how we trudged on its Mall Road leading towards the serene Nakki Jheel. The contours of the melody are irrevocably welded with the intricate marble work at Dilwara Temples and the hushed movement of the music is blended with the uncanny silence of the Kanyakumari Ashram.

Similarly, listening to Yeh Dillagi’s soundtrack refreshes my memory of another visit a few years later in 1994 – this time, to Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

And Calcutta doesn’t so much evoke strong reminiscence of its narrow roads stuffed with over-sized Ambassador Taxis, as it does of the leisurely two-hours spent in the HMV Showroom. There, I bought a lip-smackingly delicious Lata Mangeshkar collection’s vinyl record (I still had the player then), containing some long-forgotten gems.

In 1999, I paid a visit to Bombay due to my company’s training. It was the first (and probably the only) time that I stayed in that claustrophic city for a considerable length of time. Apart from discovering it at length- this included a boat ride at Gateway of India and a visit to a dance bar, I also stepped into the Planet M showroom at the Times of India building on Dr. D.N.Road. (Visit to the road was also monumental in the sense that I had written several letters to Filmfare, with this address and I was curious to see the place where all those missives ended). Planet M hadn’t made a foray in Delhi till then, and it was my first such visit to such a showroom where one could browse audio cassettes, without any hitch or hinderance. I was like Alice in a musical wonderland and came out loaded with fresh CD’s and cassettes!

Likewise, when I came to Agra, one of the first few things I did (other than seeing the Taj, of course) was to enter Planet M and purchase a cassette – needless to say, that of Lata Mangeshkar’s!

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja

Once, a class-mate (who was doing part-time work for the newly revamped DD Metro channel) told me that he was working on an episode that dealt with film songs from same titles of different era. He added that he was on the look-out for an old Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. At that time, the newer film with the same title ate up lots of newsprint due to its big budget. The classmate also mentioned that Shankar Jaikishan had composed the music for the older film and that Lata Mangeshkar had sung all the songs, which made my curiousity strong. I wasn’t too close to him, so I couldn’t press further (later, he entered Bollywood and worked in several films; he bowled me over with his superb performance in The Legend of Bhagat Singh). But I filed the name in my memory archives and set out on its search.

Several unfruitful days were spent in Palika Bazar shops to find the album. Given the confusing architecture of the underground Palika Baazar, I would often hilariously reach the same exasperated shopkeeper again and demand for Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja! I don’t think I left any shop un-visited. But the album was nowhere to be found. Thereafter, I had to as much as sight anything resembling a music shop – however small or dilapidated – and ask for this album.

The soundtrack eluded me for several years.

During my first job, I traveled to Gujarat. It was a tough experience for a novice, visiting interior towns like Mehsana, Sabarkantha and Anand (Today, I’d be hardly bothered, but at that time it was nerve-wracking!). Mercifully, the itinary ended at Ahmedabad, from where I was to take a train back to Delhi. Due to the available reservations, I also got a day extra there. Keeping in mind my policy of buying one audio cassette from a new place, I started looking around for music-shops.

It was a hot mid-summer day, and my memory is a bit weakened now. But I know it wasn’t a regular music shop – just an Archies kind of outlet, that has gift items, audiocassettes and greeting cards all together. I wasn’t expecting anything much from there. So imagine my ultimate joy, delight and euphoria when the tackily done blue audio cover with just the name Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja printed in an old fashioned font, beamed up at me!!! It is impossible to describe the sheer magnitude of my excitement when I held the cassette in my hand. I was so excited that my hands were shivering when I picked up the cassette; the shopkeeper didn’t know this, but at that time, I would have readily and gladly paid any price he would have asked for!

Bountiful Joys

Over the course of the years, my search for songs has led me to several joyful moments as well. For example, it was while looking for the song Neelaam ghar mein from Clerk that led me to join the online Fan club of Latadidi on Yahoo Groups. I got the song, but I also made many friends during my interactions there. I also got the privilege of being the moderator for one such fan club- a title that I am mighty proud of, though frankly, I don’t get enough time to do justice to the group. Still, I love the place:- it is like a small sangeet mehfil, with music lovers from diverse backgrounds and differing countries (including non-Indians), all brought together for the love of one voice that evokes instant divinity. Some discussions have been very gratifying, and with one friend in Mumbai I continue to have ‘sms’ chats over Latadi’s songs.

Often, my absence from the blog can be directly linked to a spurt of posts on the group.

Offline, I have discovered many new jewels that I hadn’t originally set out for. This happens when I begin looking for a song armed with just a line or two. For example, I found the enriching Ek baat poochhti hoon when I was searching for a similar worded Mai tumhi se poochhti hoon (Black Cat).

Now, with the rampant usage of internet, finding songs and their details is an easy task. There are several people out there who have devoted so much time and energy to create web-sites and pages only to list out songs and their informations. It is amazing, and often I feel very small and dwarfed at their effort.

Rare?!

Over the years I find that not only have I managed to build up an honorable collection, but also some of them are songs that are rare and now virtually on their way to extinction.

These can be dividided into two categories one, which were always hard to find, but I had managed to get know of them, thanks to my dad’s rich collection recorded from Radio Ceylon. I have conscientiously tried to find those gems, and succeeded in getting their digitized versions.

In this, my friends from the Yahoo Group have aided me; several members have gifted these rare songs, recognizing my need is not because I am a hoarder (oh yes! There is a mercenary lot that keeps the rare numbers for selling purposes) but because of my genuine love for Lata Didi.

The second category is what I call ‘by default rare’ . These are the nineties films, often released on now-defunct music labels, but which I had bought without thinking that they would cease to be on public memory. Films like I Love You or Kanoon, Megha or Vishwasghaat (four Latadi songs composed by an unknown composer duo Shyam Surender, erstwhile assistants to Nadeem Shravann) are forgotten now but I own their cassettes, some on the verge of decay. I hold on to them precariously, hoping to convert them to mp3’s before they completely give up. When I had bought them, I hadn’t imagined that they would be a treasure to behold.

One such name is of a film called Jaan-E- Tamanna, which never got made and was supposed to star Karisma and Saif. It has three Latadidi songs composed by Aadesh Srivastav!

Then there are the songs that I hadn’t known at all, but my friends still gave me, as a beautifully kind gesture. It would be impossible to list them out but I think all such gifts can be epitomized by one song Peeke chale from Paakeezah. Oh! What a delightful discovery it was. I can’t ever thank my friend enough for gifting this! (I had the good luck to meet this friend offline recently, when he came to Delhi from London, where he stays).

When I was in Kathmandu I was living on a very meagre collection (it was next to impossible to carry the entire collection in the limited airways baggage allowance, plus I didnt have the requisite machine to listen to the cassettes). Hence sometimes the desire to listen to one or the other song was so strong that I would at once ping another friend (in Canada) to email it to me. In the due course, he also opened the windows to another set of exceedingly superb songs. His contribution in enhancing my collection can never be ignored.

I must say I am an intense advocate for buying original cassettes/CD’s – for two main reasons: a) Lata Didi gets a royalty from the album sales , so why deprive her her valid income? b) more sales will force the commercially inclined music companies to keep churning out her collections. However, sheepishly I have to admit I broke my own rules in Nepal – both by rampantly asking for songs from friends, as also by buying those pirated mp3 CD’s which prolifiterate every city’s gray market. My only consolation is that I have invested quite a lot in buying genuine audio cassettes and CD’s and might get forgiven for this trespass.

Hawalat -last weekend!

Today, my purchases are few and far between; primarily because most releases by the audio cassette companies (HMV or Universal/Music Inida) are merely unimaginative rehashes of their older collections, and I already have those numbers. The more unheard of numbers come from friends only. Still, if I find a song that I have always yearned for tucked away in a collection, I don’t hesitate in buying it. For example, in Agra I bought a very common Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet double-cassette pack, only because it contained Tumhare bin guzaare hain kai din ab na guzrenge from a lost Shankar-Jaikishan film Atmaram!

Yet, Lata didi‘s ouvre is a limitless ocean, where I know there are several gems waiting to be unearthed. For example, I am dying to listen to the music of an old fifties film Mehndi since it is the original Umrao Jaan story, and I am keen to hear Latadidi’s interpretation of the pain of the courtesan which I am hundred percent confident will be much more deep than what Asha Bhonsle or Alka Yagnik gave us.

One other such song is Tere pyaar pe bharosa kar toh loon from an obscure eighties film, which I had heard on FM once. Even a google search couldn’t throw up any definitive clue, except for informing the name of the film Hawalat. I sent out messages on the Yahoo Group also. I was in the impression it was a R D Burman composition. But sadly, no one had the song, though I eventually learnt it wasn’t RD Burman, but Anu Mallik who had composed the music. The tune remained with me and hats off to Mallik for creating a tune that is so easy on lips that with just one hear (and that too only once in my entire lifetime) I had quite memorized it!

Last week, when the posters of Hawalat erupted on the walls quite near my house, curiosity gripped me. The only hitch – the film was re-releasing in a shady hall called Meher – the kind of halls that decent people don’t visit, and which usually put up these eighties Mithun ‘action packed’ flicks at regular intervals. But still, the urge was strong. On Saturday, I ended up at the theater. Admittedly, I felt very odd. Mine was the only car parked. And I hate to say this (and sound awfully condescending), but the few people that had turned up in the cold Saturday evening were mostly from the lower strata of society.

I bought a balcony ticket (for a meager Rs 25) and entered the hall. It scared me to notice that I was the only person in the entire balcony section. The film had already started, and it was pitch black. The screen displayed some banter by Rishi Kapoor, one of the heroes. With more than just edgy nervousness, I sat in the nearest seat to the door, and kept hallucinating about what would happen should the management lock the door forgetting that a sole patron sat inside. During interval, I took a quick tour of the hall – shady and seedy, it was a derelict place, with stains all over the place; smelly rubbish cans, overflowing with spit, cigarrette butts and paan remnants; and dusty unswept floor. The balcony seats were ok, but a quick peek into the lower stall made me realise the extent of decay in the hall.

The movie print was horrendously poor, with visible lines of over-use. In between, it would blank out, when probably the reel changed, and there would be hoots and calls from the lower stalls. The voice quality was barely ok.

In all this, I prayed that I had come to the correct film, and that the song would come on soon, so that I can leave immediately. Till interval, there was no sign of the number, and it kept me guessing as to which of the three heroines ( Padmini Kolhapure, Mandakini and Anita Raj) would lip-sync it. To my horror, even the story had moved on to more serious aspects, and I wasnt sure as to how the director would place a song that sounded a romantic one.

During interval, I also realised that they closed the gates, hence there wasnt any chance of leaving immediately after the song.

Finally, the song came on. And boy was I delighted! It was sheer bliss to hear Lata Mangeshkar ‘s sweet and mellifluous voice, despite not a very robust sound system. I found the song was better than I had imagined! That subtle force at the word ‘jhooti’ and the intoxicatingly languid ‘dil’ were a delight to hear. Even Dilip Tahil’s ‘rapa paara,raapa paara’ added to the masti of the number.

The situation is vastly different from what I had imagined. The song comes at a place where Padmini Kolhapure is caught in the villain’s den; she sings the song to divert the attention of the villains ( Prem Chopra, Dilip Tahil) so that she and some other captives can run off. Quite a sensuous number, very unlike what I had thought.

Throughout the number, I forgot where I was, and was in a rapturous awe, and in a way, it was good I was alone there!

The song continues to dodge me. I have hunted for it at various shops. I have furrowed through the webspace to get any version of it. Yet, no good luck till now. Another such number, from yet another Mithun-da eighties flick is ‘Ram kare ke umar qaid humein saath saath ho jaaye re’ from Aadat Se Majboor (Music by Usha Khanna, if I am not too wrong!)

Maati Maangey Khoon

Last night, I got the chance of watching another film having songs that I have searched for eagerly – Raj Khosla’s eighties blunder Maati Maange Khoon. The film has four Latadidi solos – and each one is a nugget to be treasured. The best of the lot is Sang sang saari duniya le hum dono ka naam, ang lagake Shyam kardo Radha ko badnaam, followed by Lo saahib mai bhool gayii (a song mentioned in this post here). The film – a longwinding saga about poor kisaans v/s rich thakurs, with dacoit angle awkwardly juxtaposed on it) starred Shatrughan Sinha, Rekha, Reena Roy, Amjad Khan and Raj Babbar. In fact, Rekha has the most ‘musical’ role in the film – if she is on screen, she sings a song. I could catch only one small scene where she didnt break into a song. I think her dubbing portion would have got over in half a day itself. Nevertheless, I sat through the rut, to pick up Latadi‘s mindblowing rendition of the songs.

During the course of viewing the film, I was constantly texting my Mumbai friend the details, knowing that she would avidly enjoy it. Her reply was

I sincerely appreciate your patience and tolerance for the sake of Lataji’s songs where such flop films are concerned.

I don’t think I can ever claim I am ‘patient’ and ‘tolerant’, but yes I do get an indescribable energy when it comes to listening to Latadidi‘s voice. Once again I feel that words are blunt tools to describe the magnitude of emotions that I go through whenever I hear her voice. Of course, I have songs that are ‘more favorites’ than the other – but if it is a Lataji song, I would naturally give it more than a casual hear. And in the end, sometimes it doesnt matter what the tune is or what the lyrics are – it all melts down to that voice – the voice which is part of my heart, my soul and my very existence!

Alongwith the sweetness that she has added to my life, Latadidi has gifted me a quest for lifetime – a quest that has given me uncountable memorable moments, and one that I hope never ends, so that I continue to be enthralled and surprised by discovering more and more songs.

Long live Lata Didi!

*Name changed
**’Jahan pe saveraa ho from Baseraa; Music: RD Burman; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
*** Yaara seeli seeli from Lekin; Music: Hridayanath Mangeshkar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Technorati : Anu Mallik, Bollywood, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Movies, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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The sun set with its entire innate splendor into the sea. Two lonely figures sat on the beach viewing the bright red disc disappear into the now dark purple waters. The young child, website
perhaps not more than five years of age, view
was closely held by the old lady, recipe
his grandmother; she held him tightly as if he might also get lost into the sea if she loosened her grip; they did not speak, they just watched the sea and the sun. The waves swept the sandy beach with its warm foamy waters and retreated with quietness; the tide was low; and a small warm wind playfully teased the ocean s belly. The same wind blew a few loose strands of the old lady s gray hairs in a mock slow motion. Yonder, on the edge of water body, where it met the sky in a dim dark blue line, stood a ship, small by appearance now, and seemingly still; on closer inspection, it could be made out it was moving towards the left of these two lonely figures, perhaps towards the port, that marked the edge of the city. It was quiet, disconcertingly quiet, just the way it usually is once a great storm has finished off its fury. In fact, the low warm wind held in its loose palms unmistakable signs of spent ferocity. There was no noise except for the sea grumbling towards the beach, and the low pants of the wind, like a runner who has run his race and is now resting and catching up his breath.

The grandmother wore a dull off-white saree, and no make up; her hair was tied loosely behind her in a disgruntled braid, and she sat with a prominent slouch, cross-legged. The boy was leaning on her side, resting in the security of the warm bosom, and his arms were placed over the lady s who held him around the shoulders. He could feel the sweat at the place where the fluffy arms of the lady touched his body. He rested his head on her, and felt even more warm and secure.

The two bodies that sat there were the past and the future, with the present just lost and ruined somewhere. The past held a wide secret, about the present s life. But there was enough luminosity on it, and in its cradle also lay the future, the future that still had to come onto its own as a present, enveloped in glistening, crackling, unruffled, wrinkle-free wrapping paper of its virgin entity- a future, that has to learn from the past, using those experiences as weapons and fighting all the callous storms that devoured the present.

Together they sat, for many hours, till the sun disappeared into the ocean and the night took over with its finality.

(The scene described above is inspired from the final shot of a stark but brilliant film Ankush. Released in the mid-eighties, the film was a vanguard to all the cross-over films that have become so fashionable these days. There also, the present, symbolized by four youths and a girl who reforms them, is destroyed by harsh circumstances. Incidentally, apart from some riveting performances by the lead stars, the film had a very endearing and enduring bhajan- itni shakti humein dena data, mann ka vishwas kamzor ho na I pray we all have the strength to stand by our beliefs!)

Latadi has sung for a wide spectrum of heroines over several decades now – for some she sang in the first film itself. Others were not as lucky. In fact, illness many names that later became synonymous with Lataji’s voice didnt have her singing for them – for example, cheap Rekha (Saawan Bhadon) and Jaya Bhaduri (though she got Lata’s voice in a back-door way, since she lipsync-ed Madhumati’s song Aaja re pardesi in Guddi). Even from the older lot – like Asha Parekh and Sharmila Tagore – didnt have Latadi singing for their adult/Hindi debuts!

Here is a brief list on some debuts which I recall (in no specific order) – these are mostly post-seventies as my film knowledge is a bit stronger from that era onwards.

Jiya jale – Priety Zinta – Dil Se – This song fascinates me on each hearing. I have heard it a thousand times and every time it is like a fresh one. From the whispered opening to the cascade of alaps in the end, it is a mind-boggling array of vocal virtuosity.

Tu mere aage mai tere peechhe – Saba – I Love You – A forgotten 1991-2 film that couldn t sustain itself beyond the first week at the box office. Views on the songs are always mixed. However, I surely like Raamlaxman’s brisk score. All female songs were by Latadi which included Tu mere aage, Kaash koi likhe, Sunday ko bulaaya and Dil kho gayakya ho gaya. As a heroine, Saba was a sad recipient of Lataji‘s luminous voice. Unfortunately, the album was released on Sterling audio, which no longer exists. And my cassette piece on the verge of dying!

Gapuchi gapuchi gam gam – Poonam Dhillon – Trishul – A cherubic Poonam Dhillon pranced to Lataji‘s endearingly cute voice, set to foot tapping music by Khayyam (quite unlike his trademark style, this one!). As an actor, Poonam was zilch; but she sure had a strong screen presence, an appealing prettiness and immense star value which made her popular. Her full-fledged heroine role was in Noorie, which also had Latadi’s elegant numbers Aaja re and Chori chori koi aaye.

Ja ja mere bachpan / Ehsaan tera hoga, etc – Saira Banu – Junglee – Saira Banu’s peaches-and-cream stunning looks with Latadidi‘s honey-and-milk melodic voice were a lethal combination. The Beauty and the Best met together to create a cinematic debut history.

Jhilmil sitaron ka aangan hoga – Raakhee –Jeevan Mrityu – Laxmikant-Pyarelal‘s towering duet (Lata-Rafi) was the mainstay of this Raakhee-Dharam starrer, produced by the ever dependable Rajshri Productions banner. The song has any lover’s dream lyrics sung with malodorous and melodious finesse by Latadidi and Rafisaab.

Khelo na mere dil se / Zara si aahat hoti hai – Priya Rajvansh – Haqeeqat – You just can t get any lucky than her. With her talent (or rather, the lack of it), she was blessed to get such lovely songs. It is painful to see one after the other brilliant Madan Mohan-Lata Mangeshkar combination songs sacrificed on her deadpan expression! Both these Haqeeqat classics are well known. My personal favorite is ‘Khelo na mere dil se’ wherein Latadi sounds very different – difficult to describe but it’s like a wrapped up rose, and one by one the petals open up as the song progresses.

Mujhe kuchh kahna hai / Jhooth bole kauwa kaate, etc – Dimple Kapadia – Bobby – Another film that needs no mention. Moreover, Latadidi sounded like a dream when she sang on a nervous and nubile Dimple Kapadia. The ‘aah‘in between ‘mujhe kuchh kahna’ is breathtaking, indeed!

Koi pathhar se na maare / Iss reshmi paajeb ki jhankaar, etc – Ranjeeta – Laila Majnu – Ranjita looked achingly attractive in this star-crossed romance. And Lata’s fiery singing of Koi pathhar se na maare mere deewane ko , added fire to Ranjita’s golden aura – making the entire sequence absolutely resplendent.

Jab hum jawaan honge / Baadal yun garajta hai / Apne dil se badi dushmani thi – Amrita Singh – Betaab – A hefty Amrita with Lata’s delicate voice was a distinctive combination. The movie was a hit, and the songs very popular. While Jab hum jawan honge and Baadal yun garajta hai romanced the charts, the lesser known Apne dil se badi dushmani thi plucked the heartstrings. A fantastic score by the versatile R D Burman.

Baadal pe chalke aa, etc – Sonam – Vijay – For this, one has to permanently suspend disbelief. I mean, since Sonam has a voice that is a replica of her uncle Raza Murad’s, therefore, it’s a bit difficult to digest Latadi‘s melodious voice on her. In ‘Baadal pe chalke aa’ , Sonam wears a horrendous bright purple dress that had no design or purpose, except to reveal her cleavage and legs amply. A few years down the line, she was more soberly dressed , and looked appealing, when she proclaimed ‘Zindagi mein pahli pahli baar pyaar kiya hai’ in Lataji‘s harmonious voice in Mitti Aur Sona.

Rajnigandha phool tumhare mahke yunhi jeewan mein – Vidya Sinha – Rajnigandha – Not very sure, but I had read this was her debut film. At least http://www.imdb.com/ informs it is in her debut year. IIRC, the song was not lip-synced, and was used in the background. Still, if it is her debut film, I will grant this one ‘coz the number is firmly associated with her. The song on its own is fragrant and fabulous.

Suno ek baat bolein, humein tumse mohabbat hai / Tumhari palkon ki chilmanon mein – Swaroop Sampat – Nakhuda – This simple but hugely talented actor made a handsome debut in this middle-of-the-road Yashraj production. To complement the theme, and the heroine, Khayyam created some unpretentious and down-to-the-earth melodies. These two Lata-Nitin Mukesh duets were the best ones. Both are such that they immediately bring warm memories of a languid afternoon in a small town.

Bachhe mann ke sachhe – Neetu Singh – Do Kaliyan – Neetu starred as a roly-poly kid in this Parent Trap remake. Latadi modified her voice a lot to suit a kid. And ends up sounding enormously cute! Ravi’s excellent music included Lata-Rafi’s hummable duet ‘Tumhari nazar kyun khafa ho gayi’

Bansi baajegi, Radha naachegi / Teri yaad aati hai – Manisha Koirala – Saudagar – A dew-drop fresh Manisha made a blockbuster debut in this Subhash Ghai mega-drama. From the two Latadi numbers, ‘Teri yaad aati hai’ is absolutely and convincingly a greatly great song. That reverberating orchestra, with hugely evocative veena riffs that meet and part with the anguish of the separating lovers, the underlying chorus and Lata and Suresh Wadkar’s pain-lashed voices take the number to dizzying heights. The sargam/alaap at the end of the song is incredibly outstanding. One of the best scores from the illustrious duo Laxmikant Pyarelal in the twilight of their careers.

Kabhi tu chhalia lagta hai / Maut se kya darrna / Tumse jo dekhte hi , etc – Raveena Tandon – Pathhar Ke Phool – Ooooh, was I mad about these songs? There was no end to it…seriously! I had to buy this album thrice – as each one got corrupted due to overuse! Having Lata Mangeshkar to sing for all songs is nothing short of manna from heaven. And Raamlaxman’s tunes, orchestration, interludes et al were all superb. Another fine 1990-91 musical release with Latadi holding centre stage

Dil deewana bin sajna ke / Aaja shaam hone aayi / Kabootar jaa jaa , etc- Bhagyashree – Maine Pyar Kiya Rajshris, Raamlaxman, Salman Khan (after a flop, nonsensical and nebulous debut in Bahu Ho To Aisi) and Latadidi made a reverberating come-back (after her near-retirement, though her popularity never ever dipped one bit despite not singing much pre-MPK), which also heralded the return of melody to Hindi cinema. Bhagyashri s girl-next-door looks got her rave reviews, and Latadidi s voice matched her persona note by note.

Jinke aage ji, jinke peechhe ji…main unki saali hoon, woh mere jijaji – Kanchan – Sanam Bewafa – Again, http://www.imdb.com/ tells me that her debut was in the 1971 Seema (is this the Shankar Jaikishan one, which had the beautiful Rafisaab song Jab bhi dil udaas hota hai?). I guess that would be as a child star. Thus, Sanam Bewafa was her adult debut. This was the sole number given to her (where Chandni was the main heroine). It is quite a frothy song, though not very great. I like ‘Mujhe Allah ki kasam’ the best from this movie, followed by the title song.

Mai hoon khushrang Henna / Anaardaana /Chhittiye , etc – Zeba Bakhtiyar and Ashwini Bhave – Henna – I still recall how excited I was when one day I came back from college and my sister informed that she had heard the title song playing at some shop. I was sure the cassette was released and rushed to buy it. The listing itself gave me a thrill. Again, all songs by Lata Mangeshkar. Surely, it was a delight that knew no bounds. Sadly, now that happiness and joy seems to be irretrievably lost…sigh! Anyways, Henna’s music was quite good. My topmost fav numbers were the sad version of the title song and ‘Chhittiye‘ (which I suspect was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan tune and not really Ravindra Jain). For long I would hum ‘Mai der karrta nahin der ho jaati hai’ whenever I reached late anywhere!

Painter Babu I Love you / O mere sajan barsaat mein aa , etc – Meenakshi Sheshadri – Painter Babu – If you hv read my blog’s post on ‘Kab talak shama jali’ it captures quite a lot on the film’s music overall as well. I am not very fond of the songs except for ‘Kab talak’ which is on Aruna Irani in any case. Meenakshi’s next release was Hero, which had two extremely fine songs – ‘Nindiya se jaagi bahaar aisa mausam dekha pahli baar’ (very refreshing, very soothing early morning number) and ‘Pyaar karne waale kabhi darrte nahi’ (very rebellious, very popular number)

Lo chali main apne devar ki baaraat lekar – Renuka Shahane – Hum Aapke Hain Koun – Renuka made an adorable but respectable bhabhi, and the song suited her to the T!

Kahan tha jo tumne kyun maine maana / Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya / Kaash mai piano hoti – Anita Ayub and Mink Singh – Pyar Ka Tarana – Errr, like all Dev Anand movies in recent times, I haven’t seen this one too. But I have it’s audio cassette. Music was by Raamlaxman, and Latadi sang three songs. The title number (which had a tandem by Asha and SPB) was loosely based on ‘Saagar kinare dil yeh pukaare’ (which in turn was based on ‘Thandi hawaayen lahraake aayen’). My favorite is the silly worded but sweetly tuned ‘Tumse jo kahungi woh karoge kya…’ – you should listen to it, Lata’s ‘na baba na, abhi nahi abhi nahi abhi nahi’ is a heart stealer!

Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se –Shikha Swaroop – Police Public – Ok, this again is a bit of a confusion as both Police Public and Awaaz De Kahaan Hain came the same year. I recall Police Public more than the other – it was a good whodunnit – pretty taut and gripping. A lion’s share of the song went to Asha Bhonsle, and they had some very risque lines like ‘Chataaoongi mai chamche se chaat, chalo ji chalo chandni chowk mein’ and ‘Bichhua ne das liya, arre arre itne bade bichhua ne das liya…gore gore ang pe neel pade, bichhua ne das liya’ – but it was Lata-Amit’s Mai jis din bhoola dun tera pyaar dil se, that had a unique taste and aroma… much later I came to know the song is lyric-and-tune-wise a blatant lift of a Mehdi Hassan ghazal!

Sun sahiba sun / Tujhe bulaayen yeh meri baahen , etc – Mandakini – Ram Teri Ganga Maili – Mandakini never looked the same beyond this film. And surely Raj Kapoor knew how to package his heroines – even the so called ‘bold’ scenes were all placed suitably and situationally in the narrative. I love Raj Kapoor as a director – his style of telling a story on celluloid was very relaxed, just like a grandfather narrating a bed-time story to kids. Mandakini fast slipped into B-and-C-grade potboilers – I really doubt she had another song of Latadi‘s to lip sync.

Jaisa des waisa bhes phir kya darna / Aap kahen aur hum na aaye – Tina Munim – Des Pardes – That was the time when Dev Anand’s films had good music and quite a cohesive storylines. Lata sounds as nervous and scared as the young Tina when she sings ‘mai nahin karna yun nahin ban-na’ in the theme song. A lovely tune by Rajesh Roshan.

Jaisa tera pyaar waisa gussa hai sanam / Yaad aa rahi hai, etc – Vijayta – Love Story – A screechy Vijayta Pandit, a droopy eyed Kumar Gaurav and a romance-on-the-run set the boxoffice jingling. RDB’s terrific score added glamor. My fav song? Dekho mainedekha hai ek sapna – that ‘aai aai aai’ is irresistable!

Technorati : Hema Malini, Lata Mangeshkar, Mandakini, Poonam Dhillon, Priety Zinta, Rekha

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This post has no form or purpose, melanoma and should be taken as an idle chitter chatter -a conversation with my fellow readers. And like all good conversations, prostate let’s start with the weather. The intolerable cold wave has passed away; like always, page the mercurial downswings kept the fires of the press media burning as they kept informing us on the plummeting temperatures; the race for breaking records was on by the weather gods. Now if only our cricket team could emulate that swiftness – in reverse, that is, for they are already dipping where run rates are concerned!

The days are pretty warm now, but the evenings can be quite chilly.

Media

The media has much to cheer these days. First, Ash-Abhishek gave enough fodder to the grist mill, with their innumerable poojas and hawans and whatnots. Then, they finally acquiesced and gave more bytes to them with their impromptu (?) engagement. One full page was devoted to this news item (along with several related articles) in a national daily (and I am not naming it because historically it has a reputation of sending legal notices to bloggers not that my blog is very popular, but still why take the risk? I am sure everyone would guess which one I am talking about). Today, they carried a feature on how Ash’s community would celebrate the wedding, replete with all possible details down to the last ceremonial custom that they would observe. It remains to be seen whether a more cosmopolitan Aishwarya follows the traditional method or not. Perhaps it will give some litigator reason to file yet another sham PIL. A list of such cases was published in the same paper, and I found that the only worthy article in the entire bulk that got delivered in the morning!

The second debate on is about Big Brother and the alleged racial attack on Shilpa Shetty, which has pushed Rakhi Sawant and her shenanigans, in the show’s Indian avatar, on the back-burner. I haven’t seen Big Brother but from what I have read I couldn’t really see too much of racialism there, but then I could be missing out on something. However, I don t find it too surprising after all this was the same country that romped all over the world usurping territories under the guise of “white man’s burden” to cleanse the “lowly black people” . When we haven’t been able to wipe out our obsequious mentality for six decades, it is impossible to imagine they would come out clean from their centuries of cardinal carriage. Since Shilpa Shetty is a celebrity, and was on television, so it makes good news, but I think every ordinary person also gets subjected to this sometime or the other -subtle or overt- in any foreign land. Some years back there was a film on it too ( I – Proud to be Indian) but since it starred Sohail Khan, I guess no one really bothered to watch it.

What amuses me no end is the way we screw up our noses, when we have perfected our very own brand of racialism: casteism!

So what s my take? Ekdum neutral! While I wouldn t bet a penny or paisa on Shilpa Shetty’s acting talent (except for a riveting performance in Phir Milenge, she has done nothing very worthwhile), I am pretty sure that she is an intelligent girl who would have known what she is getting into. Having seen quite a bulk of Bigg Boss, I realize that that in this game the tools of attack can be anything personal, racial or anyother!

That’s all from TV!

Films

On the film front saw Guru on the first day of its release! I tried writing its review but couldn’t complete it. The reason being, while there is nothing really overtly wrong with the film, somehow I found something essential missing in the film which didn t make me gasp in admiration. Perhaps, the glossing over the finer details was a prime reason. However, the movie becomes worth a view due to some sterling performances especially Abhishek Bachchan, who breathes a potent energy into the character of Gurukant Desai (The film carries the obligatory disclaimer about it being a work of fiction, but we all know better!). Even Aishwarya looked good in her supportive role. But the other two performances that kept you hooked were of Madhavan (very underrated in Hindi cinema) and Mithun Chakravorty (why did he waste those years doing inane B-grade films?)

One film magazine that usually has good fare to offer (again not naming it since it belongs to the same group) would have us believe that Vidya Balan is the next best thing to happen to cinema. Frankly, I find her very thanda and lacking screen presence and no better than a Gracy Singh! In Guru, she has a wishy-washy role, but she acts even as if she is making some ehsaan on the director! Let s hope she improves, after all it takes just Ek do teen steps to transform a girl-next-door Abodh girl (who once played sister to Meenakshi Sheshadri, of all people!) to become a national sensation that made every lusty Dil’s dhak dhak proclaim ke maar daala! . But then, Madhuri Dixit was well, Madhuri Dixit! And I hope she makes a comeback soon.

On cable, I saw a re-run of Chandni Bar good movie but extremely depressing. Also saw Maati Maange Khoon, on which I have already written in the previous post.

Personal

On personal front, I made a quick tour to Delhi for a family function on Sunday. It was bitterly cold, but was amazed to see the tenacity of ladies flaunting their skin, sarees and saaj-singaar sans any shawl or woolen wear. Even in my suit and with two large Bacardis down, I was shivering.

The return trip was slightly eventful. My car, which is bursting at its seams due to over-abuse, protested loudly and screechingly literally! Suddenly, I found myself enveloped in a loud din and was shaking vigorously. The right-hand rear tyre burst itself, taking along with it my drowsiness and balance. Fortunately, the highway was empty, and there was no vehicle behind or on the sides of mine.

I had a spare tyre, but to my horror learnt that the tool-kit was missing. Since we were just on the outskirts of Palwal (a small town en route), we managed to find a tyre-wallah to change the wheel. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the whole experience and drove at a saner speed after that. Also, I have to now loosen up my wallet to purchase another tyre!

Careerwise, things are ok nothing too luminous about it. While I made the big shift, I couldn t really carry on with something that I would have loved to do. So I continue to lament, crib, grumble alongwith day-dream, but essentially do nothing about it, and tuck myself cowardly behind million excuses and mundane reasons. It’s like being a stuck record, which looks as if it is moving, but is in reality jammed in the same groove. I am not sure if I will ever do something that truly excites me. I don’t think I will ever have the courage to break the glass ceiling. And let me be candid enough to admit I get these thoughts only when I am alone. Sigh!

Technorati : Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai, Big Brother, Bigg Boss, Rakhi Sawant, Shilpa Shetty

The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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The mind is a complex maze of alleys holding forth myriad sounds, medications smells, advice sights, synergies, each pressing its own response trigger, meshed with the present views, all clamoring for their own wails to be noticed by a video screen in a corner of that same small space, or perhaps, the soul. Analytically, it is a whirlwind, much like the bowels of a washing machine, relentlessly churning in its own cyclonic epicenter; experientially, it throws up images with crystal like clarity, and the most advanced stereophonic acoustics, leaving in no doubt the purpose of its call.

A year to this month, I was caught up in a series of catastrophic events, turning a perfect world upside down, hurtling me into a frenzied atomic motion from home to hospital to work and back to the hospital, trying to save as much as sanity that I could with no help from my dwindling energies. The warp and woof of those petulant days (and nights) still blights the tattered but recuperating nervous mechanism. My father’s by pass surgery, and the ten days of Apollo Hospital, are firmly etched on the grey vinyl record of memory, and the stylus, unforgiving and uncaring, falls into the dreaded groove in an alarmingly steady rhythm.

Sitting in the uncomfortable and uncaring beach chairs of the ICU waiting room, in the indifferent, anesthetic environs of the hospital s first level, surrounded by anxiety driven countenances of other patient’s relatives, with the frosty marble floor sending up spurts of sharp electrifying freezing pulsations of coldness up the sole and soul, every negative thought pounced on me with their hydra like multitude heads in obvious subterfuge, waving in front of my darkening eyes their ghastly grins, and devious dins; all, ready to swallow me in their vicious python-like jaws.

When I saw my father on the cold ICU bed, with wires and pipes and machines and masks, puncturing, covering and entwining his frail, naked, blanched body, the futility of life socked me with a deadly punch making me stagger and lose balance. Is life really a drama of noise enacted grimly between the womb and the tomb, with only one audience, who, it could happen, might not be there at all?

In this drama a lot of time is wasted on silly, juvenile relationships that do not really count, or account for, any value, any tangible trophy.

In the heat of time, sweet, aromatic, chocolaty relationships melt into a sticky mass of morass, the sweetness fermenting into a sickening acridity, and the aroma combusting into a foul putridity, leaving behind a dirty, gluey stain, which all the waters and detergents of memory fail to wash off; rather, they only oxidize it into a further darkened spot for posterity to look at and cry. Then why succumb to this urge, this demonic pull to get into a relationship; or, the reluctant will to come out of one, especially if it comes with a cost.

In the end what remain with you are but of course your own soul, your own self, and the blessings that you gather. But just before that, one more thing sticks by you, like a faithful dog that needs a wee bit of training: money. Its licks are humid and hurting, but they only assert its faithfulness, demanding a rough rub on its underbelly. All the monies in the world could not have saved my father at that time, had it not been destined. But neither could have all the relationships. Money only made the road to his recovery much smooth, less bumpy, giving him the best of treatments in the most advanced of hospitals. Money cannot buy happiness; it can buy a lot of means to that happiness.

I learnt my lesson the hard way; with this piece, I wish to throw a feeble torchlight to some other darkened path. In the balance of events, let money be the wife, and the relationship, the mistress, and not vice versa, as presented by all popular fiction and writers; because, in all fairness, money does not leave you on its own if you save it, nurture it, treasure it. Its walk out is a reflection of your attitude; it s not independent enough to just sit up and decide to go; a relationship, on the other hand, is much too dependant on the other person, who can leave, break off or die!

I have always ferociously maintained that praise for one should not be offset by the negation of the other; both can, and should, be viewed in separate lights if they have individualistic entities. My purport of the post is not to vitiate the importance of relationships by praising the virtues of money; no one can harangue their significance in the complex map of human subsistence, and I am too small for that, in any case.

It is only to warn and hark that should ever the hard choice between money and relationship thunder at your face, select money!

Technorati : Life, Money, Pain, Trauma

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Every time I read a film review in the newspapers, contagion
I am always left wondering how much of it is true and genuine, symptoms
and how much a mere extension of the PR plan of the producers. If in a good week some four films are released, is it humanly possible for someone to see all four and write comprehensively or cohesively on each of them?

I have a lot of friends who decide to watch a film basis the next Times of India review; Nikhat Kazmi (their resident critic) is an excellent writer (in fact, she is one of my inspirations) and her views are often right on track; but, I never form my opinion of films purely on her comments. For me, she is an enjoyable writer who just happens to comment on films!

In the past couple of days, I have allowed myself to trek into the jungles of the web world, following various links and sites; largely, reviewing films seems to be quite popular with many bloggers. I have myself been writing quite a few of them on this very blog and tormenting readers with an alarming regularity; for me, it is an interesting pastime; I hope it is not too much of a pain for the readers as well.

I can very confidently say, that most reviews can be written without much thought or effort going into them. Also, they can be written without seeing the films too! (Please, don t drop your jaws and widen your eyes, I will explain)

I have not seen Vastushaastra as on date. However, I have penned two different versions of a review; one that praises the film; the other that rips it apart. A sample is given below:

The criticism:

RGV s factory has been churning out films with the speed of an assembly line; the strain on the quality is now distinctly visible. In Vaastushaastra, the entire effort seems to be not to make a genuinely interesting film, but to be better and bitter than Bhoot. This film is a hastily put up project wherein the story seems to be woven around the horror scenes rather than the other way round. Using the innocence of a child to enhance the horror quotient is something that all filmmakers of this genre deploy at random; but, Saurabh Narang is no M Night Shyamalan, whose masterpiece (Sixth Sense) is clearly the reference point here. However, even a ghost story needs some justification for their introduction, which is sadly missing here. Barring a Sushmita Sen, whose acting talents are as debatable as her arch rival s, the lack luster star cast is not a reliable aide or aid. This genre can be made more interesting if the fear is psychological; but Narang goes all out in introducing the ghosts right on your face, which, though scary, leave a bad aftertaste in the mouth. The climax with the protagonist fighting off the ghosts is not only ludicrous, but torturous as well. The pace of the narrative, especially in the first half, needed briskness. Agreed, RGV is re-defining the meaning of cinema; but we Indians love our films with their accompanying loudness, songs and melodrama; that is our tradition, and we are best at it. By changing the definition, RGV is merely distorting the face of Indian cinema into an ugly replica of the West, which stands neither here nor there; this, at a time when our films are getting its due acknowledgement the world in their original form. In the end, a question for Mr. RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, the horror is there, but where is the film?

The praise:

RGV s factory, despite churning out films at an incredible speed, have produced films that carry an irrepressible stamp of quality, except for an oddity here and there, which is understandable in any production company. In Vaastushaastra, clearly the effort is to come out with a product that is better and more polished than Bhoot and release this genre finally out of the clutches of the Ramsay-type of films. The superlative production value and the well-cut out scene structures are the major highlights of the film. Juxtaposing a child s innocence with terror always has a chilling effect; Narang deploys this tool to a wonderful affect. The fear of the dark and the unknown is beautifully etched out, as we face each strange incident in graphic but not gory detail; a simmering subtext of Freudian magnitude keeps the viewers mind constantly whirring, while not losing sight of the entertainment value. The story moves with a grace of a well orchestrated symphony; like a master conductor, Narang takes the film to a chilling but rising crescendo with an absolutely knuckle gripping climax. In avoiding a big star cast, the team of RGV and Narang has retained the interest in the story without any one s charisma or image hovering like an unwanted ghost. The narrative pace keeps you bound without losing the thought process in unnecessary haste. RGV is redesigning the Indian cinema with the nimbleness of a dexterous plastic surgeon; he retains the original expression and visage, but enhances the beautiful aspects. In the end, a pat on the back of RGV: sir, you claim you made the scariest horror film ever- true, you have at last mastered the combination of horror and film.

Now, all I have to do to these reviews is add a couple of paragraphs on the story, a line or two on the music, and perhaps expand a bit on the performances, which any decent production house s PR company would easily oblige me with.

And after that, if I am a critic worth half the ink that I write with, I should take the review to RGV and demand my pay cheque! If he concedes happily, the second review is handed over; if he does not, well, I am a reviewer and a critic; I can rip his handiwork to shreds!!

Now, before your jaws completely fall of your face, let me just round off this post by saying that I had actually watched all those movies while doing the reviews; but, as the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, so does the worth of a work of art or cinema lie in the mind of the beholder; please, do not reject a film on basis of a mere review er, except for mine, that isJ

I am writing this scathing piece because no publication has yet acknowledged my talent.

Finally, my oversized bloated ego is jumping up and down with glee like an excited juvenile! I take my bow; do I hear a thunderous applause? And, my tongue is getting hurt from being in the cheek for so long!

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Ok, viagra
Ok, patient
I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, unhealthy and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

In spite of this, one can, and often has been, writing Hindi words in Roman script to a good effect, till the time Balaji Telefilms burst on the television scene, distorting and destroying not only the way serials were made, but also the way titles were written.

Thus, a simple word like ki got extended into kii (as in Kyunk Kii Saas ) or, worse as kay (as in Kasauti Zindagi Kay). Soon, the fad passed on to other serial-makers also. Hence a beautiful name like Sakshi ended up as Saakshhi (or some such thing). And of course, our lovely Bollywood, always ready to ape, jumped into the bandwagon. So the word kabhi got a schizophrenic personality with one ending with e and other without; and this, all in the title of only one film (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham)! The two neighboring kabhi s in the title were e stranged, e volving into an e nigmatic e chelon of e ccentricism!

Due to this, Kareena became Kariena, Sunil Shetty transformed to Suniel, and Deepak Tijori reduced to Depak. It is a different story altogether that none of the above had any e xtra illustrious output at the box office.

Of course, the kii to this lock hangs in the immense faith that film wallahs have on numerology, rather than good script or direction! Despite the latter being a more faithful aide than a few additions or deletions of alphabets in the titles, our filmmakers continue to boggle us with strange titles. If numerology was such a strong factor, how come all of Ekta Kapoor s films have crashed at the box office? Or, does numerology have selective

Strangely, Ekta has herself not changed the spelling of her name. But taking a cue from her, I am just considering a change in my name. No way am I going to do what the Tijori guy has done to our name; it sounds obscene- I am not giving any pak off me, nor am I inclined to make people fun of it by rhyming it with a well-known four letter word! But, how about Diipak? Or, Deipakk?

Aaap kii maddaaad chhaiyiyah!

Technorati : Ekta Kapoor, Serials, Soap Opera

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Since I have no decent topic to write on, ambulance here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, story sliced midway, gynecologist lest some stalker finds his way to my home.

I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.

The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.

Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.

Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar‘s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.

Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.

Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.

On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?

I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.

I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.

The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.

It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.

First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.

So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!

Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.

I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.

“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.

He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.

“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!

A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Six

When I opened my eyes, malady the first thing I was conscious of was that my head felt heavy. It was as if I were carrying a huge load within my skull. I could make out it was daytime. At first I felt I was home and Mom had forgotten to wake me up. But as I looked at the ceiling, nurse I found it unfamiliar the fan that hung in my room was missing. My hand itched, and I saw that there was a bandage with a plastic wire entering it an intravenous contraption, leading from a half-empty glucose bottle hung on a thin wire stand nearby.

I spanned the unfamiliar room while agonizingly trying to get up on my elbows.

“Please lie down,” an unknown but sweet voice said. Through my half-opened eyes I saw a young girl in a starched white dress. With a subtle but firm push, she forced me down to the bed.

“Where am I?” I asked, with a considerable effort. My lips were parched, and my throat felt thorny and dry.

“Escorts Hospital,” she replied in the same sweet tone. “Please don’t get up, I will just call the doctor.”

And why am I here? I wanted to ask, but she had quietly left the room.

I closed my eyes and tried to piece my shattered memory. The pain… no, it was the rain? Through the misty memory, I could see a man lying on the ground doubled up in pain. Again the pain, and the load in my brain throbbed brutally against the forehead. Pain… man… hedges… puddle… college. Yes, college. I was there last… college, scandal… Scandal in college. What scandal? Scandal! Scandal! The word pounded along with the blood throbbing through the veins at the temple. Scandal! Scandal!! It was there for several minutes, in between I think I dozed off too, scandal… yes, scandal of beating up a boy… no that boy… white T-shirt sullied in the puddle where he lay writhing in pain. Pain! Pain, again!! That boy… oh yes, Ashish… Ashish Sehgal. Lying there.For? For what, dammit. For doing some wrong… yes some wrong… that wrong… Some child! Yes, yes, it was coming back Smita’s child!

Smita!

I got up with a jerk; an excruciating pain raced through my spinal cord and my heart missed several beats.

I lay back, easing myself and thought of the events that had led to this day. Smita and her unmarried pregnancy. Did she meet the doctor she was supposed to? What day was today? What happened to Ashish? But more importantly, what had happened to me? I concentrated, and soon clarity returned. I was bashing up Ashish, and had started to walk away and then? Then, something hard had hit me. Blank.

“So Rip Van Vinkle has woken up,” said a booming voice. I looked up to see a middle aged person in a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. I managed a weak smile. “Good morning, Dinesh, I am Dr. Chatterjee. How are we feeling now?”

Terrible, I thought, but just lay back while he checked my pulse.

“You were hit quite badly and have been unconscious for two days. But I am sure you will pull through. You are a strong boy,” the doctor went on cheerfully, while he examined my bruised body. He left a little later, after injecting me with another doze of a tranquilizer and optimism, “I am sure when you wake up next, you will be fit enough to run a marathon!”

After he left, I lay back, swimming in a mild state of dizziness. Various images kept flitting in and out of my memory’s screen Smita and her confession: “I am pregnant.” The talk at her place, where she had been ready to even murder Ashish. My reasoning with her. The visit to the doctor and my embarrassing faux pas there. Vineeta and her low-waist jeans. The beer at Vasu’s place. Vishal’s sermon. Vineeta and Ashish holding hands together. The conversation with Prof. Arora. Smita’s rebuke. And before I knew, I was in deep sleep.

When I woke up next, the doctor’s prophecy was quite on its mark. I couldn’t have run a marathon, but at least I was able to walk towards the bathroom. More importantly, I felt refreshed and clearer in my head.

My parents were in the room. I felt ashamed to meet their tender gaze. What misery had they undergone when they found out their only son caught in a college brawl? They tried to be normal, and spoke of the aunts and uncles who had visited. I could see that my mother’s eyes were red with crying. Seeing their concern, I felt bitterness towards my own self. My mother continued to talk about mundane things, carefully and deliberately avoiding any mention of the reason of my coming here. But the more they avoided, the worse I felt. At last I broached the subject.

“We know the whole story,” said Papa, in a quiet tone. “Smita was here.” She told us all about it I wondered how much she had revealed, and how much had she concealed. I looked away from them, I could not face them, I was feeling bad. If only I had…

Bloody hell! I, I, I… It was always about ‘ I ‘ . In all this I had never thought of what impact my actions would have on my parents. When would I learn to respect other’s feelings? When will I grow up? When will I… Again that ‘I’ . That self centered, selfish and self-indulgent attitude of mine! The arrogant attitude which led to the creation of this havoc!

“Don’t worry, everything will be ok,” Mom said, placing a reassuring hand on my forehead. I felt like hugging her, but the gesture felt too small before her greatness, and I allowed the lump in my throat to dissolve into unheeded tears from my eyes.

************************************

Hospital was boring. Since I was now recovering well, my father left for his office. Mom also went home to take care of things there. The entire day I was left alone, caged in the gray square room, with nothing to do but sleep.

The room was typically like in any other hospital cold, bare and awfully unwelcoming. The bed, on which I lay recuperating, was a huge steel one, with a mechanism to raise half of it to enable the more invalid patients to sit up. Next to it, there was a small side cabinet, on top of which lay the myriad medicines which the nurse fed me at regular intervals. Inside the cabinet, I noticed a few other items, including a thermometer and some saucepans for the ill who couldn’t go to the toilet on their own. Two chairs were the only other furniture. The room had only one window, which overlooked the frontal lawn of the sprawling hospital campus.

It was late in the afternoon when the nurse announced that Ms. Chopra was there to see me. I eagerly asked her to be sent in.

Smita entered the room, with a small but beautiful bouquet in her hand. She looked beautiful in the simple lemon yellow suit, her hair tied in a neat pony tail and her lips carrying a faint trace of lipstick. As always, the bold kohl lines accentuated her bronze eyes.

She placed the bouquet on the side table, and sat on the chair next to my bed, with a soft smile on her lips. “Hope you are feeling better now?”

“Much better,” I replied honestly and more so with her fragrant presence around me. We talked a bit about routine issues; she gave me detailed news on college.

Eventually, we came to the main topic. Ashish.

“He was arrested,” she informed clinically, looking at her hands, daintily kept on her lap. I raised a questioning eyebrow – so the police was involved in it? I felt a fear in my heart. That means, they would reach me soon too. I was surprised my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“No, not for this brawl,” she replied, sensing my alarm. “The fight was hushed and wrapped up by the Principal. It never reached the cops. But Ashish was arrested on the charges of molesting a girl. I don’t have full details, but that’s what I have heard.”

“Good for him,” I said, “Now you realize what sort of person he is!” I couldn’t help adding. She looked at me sharply, and I regretted having opened my mouth, yet again. I guess I was never destined to learn any discretion in speech!

I tried to cover up my blooper, by turning back to the more pressing question, “But how did it all happen?”

“As I said, I am not sure. Vineeta hasn’t spoken to me since then. So all that I know is what Vishal told me when he last called.

“Vineeta?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, she seemed to be the one who got him arrested,” informed Smita. It didn’t make any sense to me at all. She sighed, “It looks like you were really right after all. He is such a villain!”

I smiled, with more than traces of smugness. My next question was pretty obvious, “Did your parents find out about this… I mean, your…your preg…?”

“No. It seems the whole world has except them. And after your…” she left it trail.

“It’s all my fault,” I mumbled disgruntedly. “It always is. Whatever good I try, always fall short…”

“No, no. Mera woh matlab nahi tha,” she tried to assure albeit very feebly.

“Did you meet the doctor?”

“Yep. She has scheduled it for this Friday, and I will be rid of this- ” she stopped, holding back her tears, biting her lip, “- this group of cells,” she completed. She got up to leave. “I have to go now.”

Before leaving, she stopped at the door, and said, “Dinesh, thank you for all that you have done for me.” I looked at her, trying to see if this was sarcastic remark or genuine gratitude. I think it was the latter. But still, her thanks made me feel bitterer. What exactly had I done? Irrevocably publicized the whole situation! But then, I argued with my self, whatever I did, I had done with the best intentions certainly, not to hurt her!

In that one moment, as she stood by the door, with a lost look in those terrified wine-like eyes, I felt another gush of emotion in my heart, and I said, “I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just held my eyes in a quiet gaze, and left without replying. For a long time, I kept looking at where she had stood, from where she had disappeared from my sight.

And from my heart? Never!

And from my life? She had never entered it not in the role that I wanted her to be in!

Will she ever?

The answer was only an overbearing silence.

To Be Continued

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Due to an unexpectedly late ‘monthly meet’ at office, hair I was back in Delhi for a consecutive weekend – a first ever since I shifted to Agra. It kept parents happy, approved though my car and me were extremely grim when we heard of the trip. You don’t have ‘monthly review’ meets when the next month is just ten days away from its own closure! But admittedly, unhealthy the bigger concern was to get my lazy bones moving towards the tyre shop to get the burst one replaced. I postponed and procrastrinated till the very end, and eventually trudged to a nearby shop on Friday late evening. Since I had no experience of buying a tyre – and neither did any of my colleagues – so listened half heartedly to the talk given by the shop-owner about ‘double rubber’, ‘ZVT’ as just another sales pitch. The third hurdle was that to reach Delhi on time, I would have had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Which I did.

Monthly review meets are essentially same in all organizations; I will skip the details.

Movies

Some childhood memories – often pretty silly ones too – get so sharply etched in the mind that they form the basis of one’s persona. I have a list of few movie scenes that disturbed me no end, and continue to do so even now. One such scene was in a Reena Roy starrer where her cruel mom-in-law (at the instigation of the villain) tries to remove her by serving her kheer cooked with a lizard. However, Roy is saved since another lizard jumps from the chandelier just as she is about to eat the poisoned dish. The villain remarks ‘Chhipkali bhi chhipkali ka saath de gayi’ – an implication more for Roy than for the animal. Whether it is due to my innate fear of the reptile, or perhaps the fear arises from watching this scene, the film has been there in my sub-conscious throughout. Till date, when I am boiling milk, I refuse to be away from the heated pan even for a millisecond lest some enterprising lizard jumps into it (not that I can stop it if it wants to do this daring act)!

When I saw the film listed in a channel’s schedule in a daily some days back I was curious to watch it again. But the timing didnt suit me. Knowing that Sahara Filmy (or for that matter any channel) has a fetish for re-playing movies at short intervals, I didn’t fret too much. The film got shown twice or thrice, but each time I couldn’t catch it. But on Sunday morning, I was free – and finally watched Sau Din Saas Ke – an eighties family drama, with content not much different from various daily soaps. Will watching it again have a cathartic effect on me? I can’t say!

Also saw a bit of Khosla Ka Ghosla while having a haircut at the barber’s shop. Hilarious as always, love this film!

Too Much

Clearly, the media is unaware when to call it quits. Too much of a good thing isn’t really good. And they have stretched the Shilpa Shetty episode longer than her legs! I kept away from news channels, but then the print media was awash with her tears and its repercussions. Till Sunday it was fine, but opening the op-ed page today to find more write-ups on it was puke-inducing!

Ordinarily, I am not the one to comment on someone’s money – I find it really in bad taste. In that sense, I would have naturally gone with what her mother says – just because she is paid well, doesn’t mean she can be treated like shit. However, Vir Sanghvi‘s argument struck a chord – her contract would have mentioned that she would have to endure tough times, including verbal abuse; plus, she would have seen footages of previous episodes as well. Hence, the need for a reality check on this issue. Another hilarious piece was in another daily (no I am not still naming it , despite praising the article) on its centre page – though Shobha De‘s article on the same page was very thanda and bland! As the former writer wrote (I am forgetting his name) that the moral outrage in Bihar sounds funny. In all probabilities they would burn effigies of Blair and co. against racialism, and the same evening go on to burn a couple who would have dared to marry outside their respective castes.

I hope this is the last that we hear from Shilpa Shetty and clan, and hope she wins Big Brother – as another article mentioned, we are bound to get overjoyed if she does so, but her win is not akin to winning the Olympics. Let’s keep the distinction sharply visible.

Technorati : Big Brother, Reena Roy, Shilpa Shetty, Vir Sanghvi

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It was to be a routine trip to Etah through bumps, malady bambas and breakers -but it ended up with something very interesting and exciting.

Indeed, rx it started off in a routine manner. The journey began from National Highway No. 2 (NH2), from Agra towards Firozabad. Driving on that stretch of NH2 is bliss: the six-lane carriageway is sans traffic, well marked and extremely smooth, and much better than the sector between Delhi and Agra. Lest we forget that we are actually in east UP, the bliss had to end pretty soon. Leaving the butter-smooth NH-2 en route at Tundla, we turned left on the high-way towards Etah, and were immediately greeted by broken roads, impossibly rough jerks and a cloud of dust.

Mercifully, the narrow road to Etah is overall much better compared to other places I have visited, except for the grueling stretch at a place called Nagla Beech. No, there is no ocean here, though there is enough sand to give the ‘beach’ effect. Nagla, as we learnt later, is a local word for small or mini , equivalent to dera in Punjabi.

The scenery was pretty much the same also except that on Basant Panchmi, the sarson fields seemed to sway in full bright basanti color!

On route we stopped at Awagarh, our first visit.

Etah

Etah is hardly a town to write about crippled and crumbling, it is an ugly mass of concrete and dirt thrown together, with traffic sense conspicuous by its absence. We got caught in the first of the many jams of the day. Worse, we had to go to a place near the Ghantaghar, which is in a narrow market place where my Santro could barely fit in.

Finishing work in Etah by two, we took G.T.Road towards Aligarh, to visit a small village called Pilua. It was on this route that my eye caught onto a signage displaying the name of Soron, some 45 kilometers off the road, on the right hand side. My adventure antenna was buzzing hard Soron is on the banks of River Ganges, and I was keen to visit it. However, my colleague reasoned that we would get too late, and it wasn t really safe to be on the drive on this route very late.

Pilua

A village that springs up from nowhere on G.T.Road, Pilua is like any other that I have visited so often in the past few months. Purely an agriculturist belt, it has no businesses not even proper shops where one can buy decent biscuits, as our host informed us.

The manager of the office that we were visiting gave enough information on the road and route to Soron to have me enough perked up. Brushing aside my colleague s complaints and grumbles and fears and reasons, I turned the car back towards Etah and turned on the way, just before entering the city, towards Soron. It was three pm, and I promised him that we will reach in an hour and start off back from there by 5 pm maximum!

Kasganj

Admittedly, the road was a delight and even in the narrowness, I eyed the speedometer cross the eighty mark several times. The good part lasted till we reached Kasganj. I had thought it would be just a village. However, Kasganj turned out to be a full town, and here we drove right into its long market place, and got stuck there! The road was so restricted that two cars couldn t pass simultaneously. Plus, the shops, the rickshaws, the thelas, the cyclists all added to the confusion. It took us half-an-hour to trudge our way out.

Soron

It is a village of pundits, poojas and prasads. Almost a mini-Hardwar, the place is often visited to do shraadhs and assorted other rituals. The market was lined with an array of halwais, with tempting jalebis stocked up tantalizingly. We visited the office we had to and hadn t really bargained for a garrulous officer, who was overall kind but ate up a lot of our time. Pulling ourselves away, we asked him where the Ganges Ghat is. He sent a guide along to help us find the way.

And it was a major disappointment! The ghat was just a small kund , with several temples on the sides, but there was no river. I eyed the greenish water of the kund with a heavy heart; surely, this couldn’t be the reason for the town’s popularity in this part of the country!

No, it isn’t, the helpful person informed. The flowing river is only seven-eight kilometers away, and the road is quite fine. I looked at the kund , and then at my colleague, internally debating whether to take the risk or not after all it was already past five pm. No! It was boldly written across his face. But, I argued, having come this far we couldn t just drive away without seeing the river- especially when it is only seven kilometers away.

Well, the winner is usually the one who has the control and in this case I was driving. So, we set out to find the holy river.

Even before we could exit Soron, we were caught in the third of the major traffic jam- which chewed up some more of our precious time.

Ganga

The river is eight kilometers ahead of Soron, on the road to Bareilly and the route is partially good. The pot-holes are not visible, but the car swayed up and down as if on a slow-motion merry-go-ride- and the road is disconcertingly empty.

At last, the majestic river the pride of India and the holiest one for Hindus was on our sight. In our hurry, I drove the car right upto the banks and to my horror found it stuck in the bank s sand. The more I accelerated the deeper it stuck in till the time it refused to budge.

Local children ran towards us shouting excitedly “Gaadi phans gayi! Gaadi phans gayi!!”

The sun was about to finish its day s chores, and that was the one single moment I felt a small fear clamp my heart.

The children offered to help but at a price. The negotiations ended at Rs 150, with not much leverage on my side. After all, it was my car that was stuck and I had to take help if I wanted to reach home!

They pushed and heaved the car out from the shifting smooth white sand, and I was relieved.

O Ganga Mayya

Strange I had heard Latadidi ‘s song Ganga mayya mein jab tak paani rahe that very morning, and its choral leitmotif Ganga, O Ganga Mayya was playing in my mind’s loop.

Another enterprising kid offered to take us in a boat to the middle of the river, to enable us to carry back the holy water (in the plastic miniature bottles that we had purchased in Soron itself). For the size of the child, he displayed quite a bit of strength in ferrying the boat.

The river was beautiful, and the setting sun added to the complete experience. The wind was mild and balmy. The water though not clean- shone in the dying light, as it lapped luxuriously on its onward journey, where multitudes would be taking a dip on this day.

Yesterday was Basant Panchmi also the day of Shaahi Snaan at Ardh Kumbh Mela. We couldn’t obviously take a dip. But I managed to bow before the Mother River Ganga on this auspicious day and take Her blessings. I believe there was an upper force that worked full-time to enable me to reach there a visit that was never planned or thought of.

Return Trip

On our return- from Ganga to Yamuna – we were caught in an insufferably long traffic jam, caused by a punctured tractor. If that wasn t enough, after entering Agra, I was caught in yet another long queue on the arterial M.G.Road and reached home at 11:30 in the night – exhausted but sated.

The trip was a success and I loved each moment of it. Can’t say the same for my colleague, though!

Related Posts : Bamba And Bumps , On The Road , …And Some More Travails

Technorati : Etah, Ganga, Ganges, Road, Soron, Traffic, Travel

After another satisfying trip to Banchcha Ghar, health system my colleague and I decided it was a bit too early to call it a night. The casinos were an option, healing but having tried out most of them, I was not keen. Fleetingly, I mentioned a restaurant that had been in my eyes for long; however, I had been wary of going there alone. It had some of the most corny music playing always, and I had an inclination from the dimly lit sign-board what to expect. Catching at the slightest nod from the colleague, G, I pulled him towards the Belly Dance Bar and Restaurant, on the main Darbar Marg.

Even before we could enter the slim entrance, shady and dirty, with the walls and staircase with myriad graffiti, G remarked, “Man, this seems sleazy”

I laughed out aloud. “Adventure, my friend” and continued my confident stride up the stairs. What hit us when we reached the first floor restaurant cannot be described by the mild term ‘sleazy’. The dark interiors beckoned with flashy strobe lights, and an ill-clad, hefty girl was dancing to some cheap and loud Hindi film number. A plethora of girls caught us at the entrance, and literally pulled us into the cavernous interiors. To say G was scandalized would be an understatement. However, I played along. The girls piled on, forcing us to drink something. In one far off corner, two guys sat with garishly dressed ladies. Behind us, a couple was snuggling cozily. As one of the girls pestered, I ordered my forbidden second drink ( I had the first at Banchcha Ghar), and poor G settled for a coke (he is a tee-totaller).

The raunchy music played on; at the stage, the same hefty girl, with a belly the size of an of over-done pitcher, danced to the shady number “Log aate hain log jaate hain, pyaas apne dilon ki bujhate hai, raat din husn ki rangraliyan hai, yeh toh badnaam logon ki galiyan hai”. They could not have found a more apt number to dance on ever! If the name of the restaurant was anything to go by, there was ‘enough of belly’ being displayed; beyond that, the dance was irregular and awkward, and meant purely ot tittilate.

My drink came – neat! I asked for a soda. The same girl who had stuck on to us and pestered us for the drink, smiled suggestively. “Iss mein kya milana” Keeping in mind the ambience and the entire scene, I smiled leerily and said, “Ab issme raat guzaardi toh kya mazza, please get me a soda”

The flashy dance of the girl on the stage continued, complete with strobe lights and spotlights. Man, was she some bulk! She could have gone for the WWE contest and passed without any overt efforts. She wore a skimpy and hot shorts with a top that started late and ended early. For one of the songs ( err, that went, Kiss me come quick, jaanu jiya or some such shit ) she was accompanied by a guy, who wore a vest and an open checked shirt.

With spirits soaring, I gave a few hoot calls, and G looked at me flabbergasted. “In the past one hour, you seem to have upgraded yourself by several notches” he remarked, sarcastically. I gave a loud drunk laughter. Jokingly, I asked G if he wanted to make his night out in Nepal colorful (well, I used the word ‘rangeen‘, and it sounds much better). Too shocked to react, he simply shook his head convulsively. I said he would never forget this visit to Nepal ever! I enjoyed his abundant discomfiture.

The girl was back. “Hamein kya pilyaenge?” she questioned.

Playing on the charade, I replied with a naughty smile. “Pilayenge? Aap saaqui ho, aap pilao humein; Waise kya lenge?”

“Aap kya denge?” she asked huskily. “Bolo na kya pilayenge?”

“Aapko peeni hai toh aankhon se piyo, na” I winked.

“Aankhon se pyaas nahin bujhti“

“Woh bhi bujhadenge, pahle humein to geela honede” I picked up the glass and pointed to towards it. “Let me finish the drink, and then we shall see” The girl understood that we were not exactly her ‘clientele’, and backed off. She never returned.

One more song, and G was upto the neck. Gulping my drink, we called for the bill. It came, we paid, and G rushed out of the place. I lingered for a moment at the entrance at the crowd of the girls. Putting my entire heavy weight in front of one, I asked, “Kya daam mein?”

Dressed in a decent saree, she clutched the menu card tighter and shot back, “Kya kya daam mein?”

“Aapko pata hai mai kis cheez ki baat kar raha hun? Daam bolo!”

A giggle came out of the girls behind me. Pointing towards one of them, the lady said, “Usse poochho, woh batayigi“

I turned towards another outlandishly decorated female. “Daam?”

“Aap kitna doge saahib?” she asked, putting on her best seductive professional smile.

“Tum batao…”

“1500”

“500 se ek rupaya zyada nahin”

She nodded. I got a cold feet, and murmured. “Aaj dost hain saath, kal aayunga” and fled down the staircase.

I came out on the Darbar Marg corner; G was nowhere in sight. I called out; he had gone off at some distance. “Hey G,” I exclaimed. “Since I have been negotiating your shopping deals here, done one more for ya”

He stared at me incredulously, and started walking with a furious pace. If only I had a camera to shoot the shocked cum scandalised cum surprised look on his face! I let out a hearty laugh.

(After this, still in mood for more adventure, we went to the hotel casino; for the INR 200, we won a profit of INR 34 at the slot machines; not bad, it was an evening well spent, I guess)

Statutory Warning : I am a decent guy; the above incident was only a reckless piece of adventure; I am not given to such vices; please do not mistake me

Sitting in the plush environs of the restaurant at Radisson, hospital Kathmandu, what is ed with the head of our company’s advertisement agency, I casually enquired, Why do Nepalis hate Indians? At first he evaded the question with an incoherent mumble. I laughed. He couldn t fool me, I informed him. It was evident and there was enough documentary proof available for this. On a small persistence, he opened up, and what he told me was something that I was aware of, but that day it hit a bit harder. What he said can be paraphrased as such: Nepalese are not born hating Indians, certainly not the way we do our other neighbor, but there is a significant number of Nepali students who go to India for studies. There, they are subjected to ridicule, called unfriendly names like Bahadur and chowkidar and they return with a strong and seething resentment. (This is a simplistic view, without taking into account the political policies, but still it is a strong ground).

For years, we have been taught about the disparaging attitude that the Britishers meted out to Indians in our own country. The dogs and Indians not allowed tag-line is a sharp hook where all the hatred gets concentrated at whenever there is a talk about the British Raj. We bleed even if we merely brush against the pointed barb of this statement. Our films (ever the barometer of social temperature in their exalted and enlarged kaleidoscopes and collages) have always brought this sentence in be it the classy The Legend of Bhagat Singh or the crassy Kranti. Any self-respecting Indian would spit on the racial connotations of that age.

Thankfully, that era is over. The times have changed, the era has melted away, and the heated wind has blown over. Yet, however light it may be, the stench of that racialism lingers on. In the neo-world of global village, it might not be overt, but yes it does manifest itself surreptitiously. A few months ago, in a vitriolic post, Kaush (who lives in the grand capital of commericialism, the United States of America) had written about the racialism that she faces at some unwanted and unwarranted situations.

Are we not guilty of doing the same that the Britishers did to us some hundred years ago? Is not the situation of the Indians in America (or anywhere away from home, but in a better and higher land, commercially at least) similar to that of the Nepalese in India? Then, why do we screw up our noses at them, and flare our nostrils when the Americans do it to us?

When I told my friends that I was leaving for Nepal, I was subjected to endless jokes about chawkidaar and shalaam shaab kinds. Even now, when I talk to my friends (online), I still get similar responses. A joke or two is fine and acceptable; it is imperative that as a mature nation we do learn to laugh at ourselves; but often, this crosses the limit of being just humor. I have stayed in a hostel which had a lot of North-Eastern and Nepali residents; often the fun exceeded the limit of propriety. Our films have typecast this stereotype in an iron mould. (I will not blame the film-makers for they are ever-ready to underline sociological good/bad with their blunt and dull pens till the time the parchment sears).

Having stayed in Nepal for eight months now, I can say with conviction that as a race, Nepalese are as good or bad as any other on this planet.

Spare a moment as you read this, and think what would be our reaction if we have a Nepalese sitting right next to us in a bus? (Perhaps, I am highlighting a more North Indian viewpoint, but that is because I have my origins from there and can speak more vociferously about it).

It happens. Whether we like it or not, the fact is that the distrust of fellow human beings, or racialism, does happen. Often, it happens without thought and sometimes even without intention. It is more likely to flow from the more successful to the lesser one. The Americans will do it to Indians, the Indians to the Nepalese, and perhaps the Nepalese to the Bhutanese. The chain continues.

But there is a scarier side to it as well: the discreet racialism that happens within the own country. Widening the scope of the discussion, leave alone Nepalese, as North Indians, we wouldn t be too kind to our own fellow-brethren from the south or (God forbid), if the person happens to be from the eastern part of the country (the vice-versa is equally true). The physical difference is marked, and immediately our distrust antenna starts whirring convulsively, without even logically seeking any explanations. If we can tide over that, the religion will sneak in! Like the gnawing sand-trail of a termite, it stands visibly and eating away into our social woodwork! I do not have to mention or write anything more than this; as a Hindi phrase goes a clap is completed with two hands, both sides are equally in the wrong. It always takes two to tango, or tangle.

The Unity in Diversity is an excellent slogan, but in the end, it remains just that – a slogan. Like a Coke or Pepsi catchline, we will utter it thoughtlessly, but following it becomes a bit of an issue. The only time we unite is when we have a common enemy, be it the Britishers, the Pakistanis or the Chinese. Beyond that, we are still a fragmented country.

As E.M. Forster wrote, Centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man !

Nepalese and Indians (largely) share the same greeting Namaste. When within this umbrella there are so many differences, joining a salaam to it is asking for the moon.

We have still a long way to go when Salaam Namaste becomes a joint catch-phrase of the nation, and not merely a name of a forthcoming Hindi film!

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Zindagi toh hai amal, hepatitis sabr ke qaabu mein nahin
Nabz ka dharm lahoo, meningitis thande se aansoon mein nahin*

A chilled vein freezes the imbecile heart. The brain crystallizes into a venomous residue. Dead passion’s python strangulates emotions. Lethargy slithers through the tissue’s sieves. Fear crawls, tadalafil biting into thought pores. Stillness, heavier than lead, crushes the soul.

Yet, life’s purpose is to be eager, and not be contained within patience; the vein’s rule is to flow with warm blood, not congeal with cold tears. There is light in my eyes, and not only water. I am reality, not some story!

How does one reconcile the two thoughts?

The evening comes empty handed. The evening departs empty handed. Nothing has moved. Nothing moves. Nothing will move. After this, the night tiptoes in. The night is quiet. It does not cry. It does not laugh. It is a blank night. Neither do I cry. Neither do I laugh. The blank night will pass away. But I have to wipe out the night’s stain. If I do not do it, it will return tomorrow. And the day after. Time has lost essence. I have seen time slip by. Slowly. Ardously. It is black. And white. I want to fill it with colors. I cannot do it. I want to stuff it. Yet, I am unable to move. I am helpless. The effort is coagulated within my thoughts. I am my own spectator. I want to intervene in my own life. Yet, I feel tied. Time slips by. Life slids by.

*Lyric: Kaifi Azmi; Tunesmith: Anu Mallik; Voice: Sonu Nigam; Film: Tamanna

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Repeat of movie names is not a new phenomenon. And with the volume of our Hindi film industry’s output, there it sometimes becomes a necessity as well.

In the age of FM, the announcers (or better known as RJ’s) hardly inform the film’s names of the song playing, let alone any other detail. But when I grew up listening to the ever dependable Vividh Bharti, the entire music credits were often mentioned including the always sidelined lyricists’ names. Then, it used to be disappointing to hear for example – the announcer speak out the name of Mahal, only to hear a song from the newer one (starring Dev Anand).

Blame it on my penchant for old songs, usually I prefer the older titled film’s numbers. Here is a list of films that have had similar names – again in no specific order:

Barsaat – There are three of them that I know of: 1949 film, which skyrocketed Lata Mangeshkar ‘s career to the zenith of success, established Raj Kapoor as a director par excellence and introduced Shankar Jaikishan one of the finest composers ever, in my opinion; 1990’s version which was the debut for Twinkle Khanna and Bobby Deol, and had music by the then kings Nadeem Shravan; the new millennium film which also starred Bobby Deol and had same music composers, albeit now beyond their prime time. Unarguably, the music standard declined progressively with each era’s film. The first Barsaat had such beauties like Chhod gaye baalam, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan, Patli kamar hai and Hawa mein udta jaaye. The second one was quite above average, and I quite like Teri adaayon pe marrta huun and Humko sirrf tum se pyaar hai. The last Barsaat hardly has anything worthwhile to mention.

Andaz – Four of them! And the first three starred one member of the Kapoor khandaan. 1949- Raj Kapoor and Nargis whipped up the passion along with the thespian Dilip Kumar; Naushadsaab composed nuggets like Tu kahe agar jeevan bhar gaata jaaoon and Hum aaj kahiin dil kho baithe. And Latadi found a toe-hold in the industry, giving stiff competition to Shamshad Begum (who sang alongside her in Darrna mohabbat karle).

The second came in or around 1972 and it starred Shammi Kapoor in the lead, but the reigning superstar Rajesh Khanna’s vivacious guest appearance stole the thunder. Shankar Jaikishan composed the bumper hit Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana (often taken as Jaikishan’s swan song, though technically and factually it isn’t true).

1994 Andaz saw the Gennext from Kapoor family Karisma starring in this David Dhawan double-entendre laden remake of Sundar Kaandam. Bappi Lahiri commandeered the music room and gave us bloopers like Khada hai khada hai and Tu maal gaadi mai driver tera!

The fourth one is the most recent one with Akshay Kumar, but better known as the debuts for Priyanka and Lara raising the mercury in their tight and tiny clothes. Nadeem Shravan s music was just about bearable.

Chori Chori -Three films! The first one is the fifties comedy based on It Happened One Night. Raj Kapoor and Nargis the industry s First Romantic Pair tickled the funny bone. And Shankar Jaikishan s music was simply scintillating. Just look at the lavish fare they gave: the eternally romantic Yeh raat bheegi bheegi, the joie-de-vivre charged Panchhi banoon uddti phiroon, the chirrupy Jahan mai jaati hoon wahiin chale aate ho, the heart-wrenching Rasik balmaa dil kyun lagaya, the silly but nevertheless funny All line clear and the syrupy Aaja sanam madhur chaandni mein hum. In the seventies, there was one more Chori Chori again with compositions by Shankar Jaikishan, but I haven’t heard any number from this film.

The last Chori Chori is the Milan Luthria flop in the nineties starring Ajay Devgan and Rani Mukerji. Sajid-Wajid’s music was despondently dull.

Seema – Two, which I know of. The first is the exceptional social drama starring power-house performers Balraj Sahni and Nutan. Again, Shankar Jaikishan gave some shimmering melodies the serene prayer Tu pyaar ka saagar hai , the hurt Kahaan jaa raha hai, the classical Manmohana bade jhoote and the optimistic Baat baat mein rootho na. It also had one of my most favorite Latadi solo Suno chhotisi gudiya kii lambii kahanii. The second Seema came in the seventies and once again had music by Shankar Jaikishan. From this Rafisaab s Jab bhi yeh dil udaas hota hai (penned by Gulzar) is exceptional.

Kathputli /Kattputli – I adore the music of the fifties version Bol ri kathputli dori kaun sang baandhi is such a marvelously magnificent number that I can hear it anytime; and a song that I fell in love with when I was a kid and had heard it on Chitrahaar. Once more, it was Shankar-Jaikishan’s creativity at its peak. And Latadi sounds so soft and sublime. There was another Kathhputli in the seventies as well, this time music by Kalyanji Anandji. Details not available with me. The last is a recent flick, produced by and starring Mink Singh, with a little twist in the title s spelling musically, it was a complete washout!

Karm/ Karam – The seventies film (starring Vidya Sinha and a rapidly losing popularity Rajesh Khanna) was an interesting critique on astrology. The music wasn t that great but Asha Bhonsle s Samay tu dheere dheere chal (with a sad version that went Samay tu jaldi jaldi chal) was a nice song. The newer Karam had the current poster boy John Abraham playing a hit-man. Musically, it was a zilch except for Alisha Chinai s effectively sung Tinka tinka zara zara.

Saajan – I grew up listening to Latadi s Saajan saajan pukaaroon galiyon mein, a typical Laxmikant Pyarelal ditty, picturised on Asha Parekh it was quite a staple on Chitrahaars. I haven’t yet seen this film. The second Saajan was a phenomenal hit, and Nadeem Shravan gave some hummable chart-busters. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Madhuri starred in this fluke Sudhakar Bokade love triangle hit.

Baharon Ki Manzil / Baharon Ke Manzil – Both the films are not very well known. And I have seen both! The first one stars Meena Kumari and is a whodunit. Laxmikant Pyarelal gave the music in which Lata Mangeshkar was the sole singer (no male songs in this film!), of which Nigaahen kyun bhatakti hai is quite well known. However, despite no Latadi, I find the second film s music really appaudable and better. Raamlaxman scored some excellent numbers in the voices of Poornima, Udit Narayan and Amit Kumar. Meri jaan dua karna is a towering duet with lip-smacking interludes and fine singing. The film was a miserable flop and was the debut for Mona Singh (in case you don t know her, she played the wet nurse in Mangle Panday oops, Mangal Panday).

Khel – I recall two of them. The first is a decent Anil-Madhuri 1992 film, directed by Rakesh Roshan, but unfortunately was a dampener at the box-office. The music by brother Rajesh Roshan was exceptionally good. Latadi‘s duet with Mohd. Aziz Khat likhna hai par sochti huun is a hot personal favorite. Sister Asha Bhonsle displayed immense vocal virtuosity in the cabaret number Ek baat maan lo tum (with a cutely reversed and suitably toned down bhajan version as well!). And Amit Kumar’s pathos-laden Soone shaam savere is superb (though having a pretty funny picturisation). The newer Khel (Suniel Shetty, Celina Jeitly) was a musical disaster.

There was the oldest Khel as well with music composed by Sajjad Hussain. Latadi‘s Jaate ho toh jaao is a heart-achingly beautiful number. [Thanks to Madhu for the tip]

Julie – Again, I recall two of them. The first is a musical hit. Bhool gayasab kuchh is an ardent love duet and Dil kya kare jab kisise kisiko pyaar ho jaaye builds up a zealous steam. The debut heroine Laxmi might have bloated to a shrill matron (Hulchul) and the hero Vikram is lost in the annals of cinematic history, but Rajesh Roshan’s score continues to be still dew drop fresh and is remembered fondly by music-lovers. The newer Julie is more known for Neha Dhupia s bare-dare act than for its songs, but I found Himesh Reshammiya’s score very mellifluous and deserving. Ae dil yeh bataa kyun hone laga is the best number, followed by Dhadkan ho gayii tumse aashna and Hum tumse dil laga baithe.

Waqt / Waqt Race Against Time – I admit I don’t like the older film s songs too much, though Ae meri zohra jabeen is a retro-hit, and a source of many-a-remix. The philosophical title song by Rafisaab Waqt ke din aur raat is , in my opinion, the best number. Let me not beat the bush, the rest of the songs by Ravi were marred by Asha Bhonsle’s voice, which in that era had assumed a strange phlegmatic thickness, which I don’t quite appreciate.

But cut to the present times and the newer film help! The raucous Anu Mallik warbled Do me a favor let s play holly {sic} no, no, no!!! God save my ears from this painful assault!

Aankhen – Four films but again the best music is from the two oldest version (that I know of). In 1950, Madan Mohan made his debut with Aankhen that had Mukesh’s Preet lagake maine yeh phal paaya. For some reason, Latadi couldn’t sing in this one, but MM didn’t make this an ego issue, and got her on-board with the next few films (Adaa , Madhosh) – and what a team it turned out to be!

In the second film, composer Ravi gave very melodious music in this Dharam-Mala Sinha thriller. Milti hai zindagi mein mohabbat kabhi kabhi and Gairon pe karam apnon pe sitam belong to my childhood memories and are firmly etched as beautiful songs. The nineties Aankhen was a super-duper Govinda-David Dhawan combine hit; Bappi Lahiri s score was strictly functional and in sync with the film’s mood. Laal dupatte waali tera naam toh bata was the biggest hit from this film.

The fourth Aankhen (starring Amitabh Bachhan and a posse of supporting cast) hardly had any song worth mentioning – unless you prefer tepid tapori numbers like Phatela jeb sil jaayega!

Charas – After Aankhen, this is another Ramanand Sagar-Dharamendra combination thriller whose name got stolen. In the seventies film, Laxmikant Pyarelal whipped up a frenzy with the naughtily vivacious Kal ki haseen mulaqaat ke liye (Lata-Kishore) and the tranquil Ke aaja teri yaad aayi (Lata-Rafi-Anand Bakshi). There were other good numbers too Raja na jaa (Lata) and Mai ladki badnaam ho gayii (Lata). The newer film by Tigmanshu Dhulia was a cropper where music was concerned. I haven t heard a single good song from this film.

Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja – Shankar Jaikishan’s music in the older film (Dev Anand- Waheeda Rahman) was a delight. Latadi s Tum toh dil ke taar chhed kar is pure gold (with a tandem by Hemant Kumar), and the title song is quintessential S-J. Cut to the nineties film, and L-P try hard to match their senior s orchestral wizardry, but only end up with a cacophonous din. Add to this Kavita Krishnamoorthy’s shrill singing and the consequence is highly distasteful. Incidentally, both the films were huge flops!

Masoom – Now who can ever forget Gulzar s introspective lyrics in Tujhse naraaz nahii zindagi set to a terrific tune by R D Burman? Flash forward a couple of decades, and Ayesha Julka-Indra Kumar starrer is an ugly blot to the older film s title. It s only when one comes across such blasphemous use of older titles that one wishes there was a legislation stopping the re-cycling of the titles!

Golmaal – Latadi sounds ethereal in Ek baat kahuun gar maano tum, and Kishoreda makes us think in Aane waala pal jaane waala hai. Hrishida kept the funny bone forever tickled in this moustache-mania. It is a sin to even mention the recent gol-maul in the same breath as the older film. Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are just no-where remotely close to Panchamda s skill.

Geet – Kalyanji Anandji created an extraordinary love duet Mere mitwa mere meet re in the older film starring Rajendra Kumar and Mala Sinha. And then there was Latadi consoling tenderly Tere naina kyun neer bahaaye. Zoom to the nineties, and Latadi still held control in the newer Divya Bharti film, with Aap jo mere meet na hote. Regrettfully, the rest of this Bappi Lahiri album didn t have any other geet worth remembering.

Diwana / Deewana – The former is a slightly less known Raj Kapoor film with a bouquet of incredibly fragrant Mukesh melodies, composed by Shankar Jaikishan. The fare includes the bagpiper blast Taaron se pyaare armaan hamaare (Aana hi hoga tujhe aana hi hoga), the spectacularly plush Hum toh jaate apni gaaon, the brilliant Tumhari bhi jai jai humaari bhi jai jai, the lavish title song Diwana mujhko log kahein and the thought provoking Pate kii baat kahega kahega jab bhi deewana. Absolutely A-class music having flawless rhythm, interludes and singing! The second film is the nineties one, and brought current box-office badshah Shahrukh Khan into limelight. The music by Nadeem Shravan, though not matching SJ s work, is very respectable and I am very fond of Teri ummeed tera intezaar karte hain and the title song.

Dhanwaan – The criminally neglected Hridayanath Mangeshkar composed a chocolaty sweet duet Yeh aankhen dekh kar hum saari duniya bhool jaatein hain for the seventies Rajesh Khanna starrer (though picturised on Reena Roy and Rakesh Roshan). In the nineties, Anand Milind gave an energetically charged Holi song Rang di rang di preet ne rang di.

[Update on 29.01.07]

Milan – Three that I recall. The first one was in the fifties with music by Hansraj Bahl. Latadi plucked the heartstrings with Haaye jeeya roye. However, it was some two decades later that Laxmikant Pyarelal scorched the charts and stomped the hearts with bumper hits like the celebratory Bol gori bol tera kaun piya, the Madan Mohanesque Aaj dil pe koii zor chalta nahi, the melodious Saawan ka mahina pawan kare sor and the monumental Hum tum yug yug se geet milan ke – stuff that legends are made of, and remembered for yug yug! But a few more decades down the line Anand Milind’s vapid score in Mahesh Bhatt’s flop Jackie-Manisha starrer by the same name couldn’t last beyond the month the film was released in, leave alone a yug!

Gumnaam – Shankar Jaikishan gave haunting melodies in the old Agatha Christie-inspired film. Turn the century, and Nadeem Shravann come up with haunted wrecks in the lying-in-cans Dino Morea starrer. In the old film, Rafi’s Jaan pehchaan ho and Hum kaale hai toh kya hua kept the charts rocking and rolling, while Latadi‘s title number raised the goosebumps. Helen gave the requisite glamor with Iss duniya mein jeena ho toh sunlo meri baat.

Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya – I remember two films : in the first one, erstwhile Madan Mohan assistants Sonik Omi composed some sublime beauties, which bordered on their mentor’s style. While Suman Kalyanpur got the touching title song, Latadi bagged the best and the most splendid solo – Aaja re pyaar pukaare naina toh ro ro haare. More than three decades later, Latadi was still there in the newer film (Govinda, Tabu in a remake of Ramesh Talwar’s Doosra Aadmi) serenading Uttam Singh’s fluffy orchestra in Saare shahar mein charcha yeh aam ho gaya. Sadly, the rest of the score (by Aadesh Srivastava) was just average.

Saathi – I have no clue about the first one, which had music by Gulshan Soofi, lyrics by Wali Sahab and songs sung by Shamshad Begum. However, I have strong memories of the second one. Naushadsaab went western in sound with this Simi Garewal-Rajendra Kumar-Vyjanthimala film, which had the awesome Mere jeevan saathi kali thii main toh pyaasi in Latadi’s soft-as-silk voice. Then there was Yeh kaun aaya roshan ho gayi mehfil jiske naam se , Mai toh pyaar se tere piya and Aaina hoon mai tera! Mukesh and Suman Kalyanpur created romance and rhythm with Mera pyaar bhi tu hai yeh bahaar bhi tu hai. A very sensible score, indeed. Which is what I personally feel about the newest Saathi as well. Inspite of Anuradha Paudwal’s pathetic pronunciations, Saathi koii bhoola yaad aaya and Aaj hum tum o sanam are decent compositions (by Nadeem Shravan).

Guru – The older Guru starred Mithun Chakraborthy as well – at that time, in the lead role, with his then love interest Sridevi. Their ‘kiss’ at that time created quite a flurry, equivalent to the present day Guru‘s heroine’s lip lock with Hrithik in Dhoom-2. The older movie had some typical eighties cacophonous Bappi Lahiri music with songs where the heroine profoundly proclaimed I am a bad girl.But don’t hasten to write off the film just yet – because Bappida also surprised all with a very sensitive love duet Jaiiyo na jaiiyo na humse door sajan jaiiyo na (Lata Mangeshkar-Shailendra Singh). And linking up with the new age Guru is another common thread: Bappi-da returns as a playback singer for the tipsy but enjoyable number Ek lo ek muft! [Thanks to Anz for the tip]

Bees Saal Baad – After a serious bout of throat problem, which nearly rendered Lataji voice-less, she returned to the studios with a bang, hitting the soul directly with the call that defines ‘horror’ film genre songs in Kahiin deep jale kahiin dil. The song is so irrevocably stamped in every music lover’s psyche that it is impossible to imagine that there could be a newer film by the same name. But, there was! Mithun Chakraborty and Meenakshi Sheshadri tried to raise the spooks again, with Dimple floating in white amidst haunted havelis singing in a horrifying Anuradha Paudwal’s voice Kitne saawan beet gaye.

Jurmana – Hrishikesh Mukherjee created two very sensitive films with the trio of Vinod Mehra-Amitabh-Raakhi. Of these two, Bemisaal is the more known one. But Jurmana had its own strengths. One of which was RD Burman’s music. Latadi got two magnificent solos – Chhoti si ek kali khili thi and the better known Saawan ke jhoole pade. The new Jurmana is a TLV Prasadh- Mithun Chakroborty combined B-grade flick, with mu-sick by Dilip Sen Sameer Sen.

Boyfriend – The older film is a lesser known Shankar Jaikishan film, wherein Latadi did the coquettish Aise na jaao o beraham (with an ultra cute Aadab arz hai thrown in between). The newer film has the in-your-face Jatin Lalit composition Kahdo toh duniya mein aaj baja doon band!

Samundar – Three of them – the first one had music by S.Purushottam, but I have not heard any songs from this film (reportedly with songs by Asha Bhonsle). It is the second one that interests me a lot. Madan Mohan composed the classically handsome Lata Mangeshkar solo Chain nahin aaye kahan dil jaaye – in this, her rendition of the leitmotif sajanwa ho balamwa ho is exceedingly enchanting. Another fascinating solo by the diva was Aaja kahiin se aaja mere dil ka qaraar leke. Jump decades, and Latadi continued to regale under Panchamda’s baton for Rahul Rawail’s Sunny Deol-Poonam Deol film. The peppy Ae saagar kii lahron hum bhii aatein hai thehro (with Kishoreda) was the highlight song. Asha Bhonsle whipped up a creamy lather in the sensuous Yeh rang-e-mehfil badal raha hai, and Kishore Kumar naughtily charmed with Yeh kori karaari kanwaari nazar. Another unsung eighties RD Burman score, which needs to be resurrected.

Elaan– Again, three that I know of. In the seventies, Vinod Mehra starred with a podgy and dusky Rekha in this FC Mehra production about ‘invisible man’ (yes, the idea was used way before Mr. India). Shankar Jaikishan’s music didn’t cut much ice with music lovers, but there is a cute charm in Sharda’s Aath ko aath se jama karo and the duet Aap ki raay mere baare mein kya hai. In the nineties, Akshay Kumar and Madhoo romped on screen to Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s risque Tu ru tu ru kahan se karuun main pyaar shuru. But the biggest delight in this film was Lata Mangeshkar’s breath-taking Naino ko baatein karne do – a mature and mellow duet with Kumar Sanu, which had shades of L-P’s Badalte Rishtey song Meri saanson ko jo mahka rahii hai! The last Elaan is a boring Vikram Bhatt film starring Arjun Rampal, Rahul Khanna and Lara Dutta. The music had some Anu Mallik monstroties like Aandarlu baandalru, et al.

Kartavya – L-P were at their peak in 1979, when they composed the sultry and sizzling solo Doorie na rahein koi aaj itne kareeb aao, sung splendidly by Lata Mangeshkar and picturised on the verge-of-blooming Rekha. Other solos by her included Koii aayega and Chhaila babu tu kaisa dildaar nikla. In the newer film, the perpetually wooden Sanjay Kapoor starred opposite Juhi Chawla. Dilip Sen Sameer Sen’s music was good, but just about so.

Hawas – Saawan Kumar’s take on lust consisted of Mohd. Rafi’s towering solo Teri galiyon mein na rakhenge qadam. The newer Hawas (Meghna Naidu in yet another Unfaithful remake) had two good songs – Mai yun miloon tujhe and Tera naam leke marne lenge.

[Update on 31.01.07]

Shola Aur Shabnam – In the old black-and-white film Latadi and Rafisaab sweetly acknowledged hesitant love in Jeet hi lenge baazi hum tum, under Khayyam’s baton. The song is one of the most shimmering duets from this prolific but perfect pair. Leap-forward, and in the nineties we have Govinda croaking Gore gore under Bappi Lahiri’s tutelage. What a comedown! I haven’t seen the older film, but the newer one was, otherwise, a typical David Dhawan dhamaal, with lots of slapstick humor in the first half, and ‘action-packed’ emotions in the second one.

Mohabbat – I don’t have any idea about the first Mohabbat, made by Phani Majumdar, starring the Marathi doyen Shanta Apte. However, the second one is part of my growing up years, and I will,this once, root for the much-maligned composer Bappi Lahiri. Largely for two beautiful songs in the Anil-Vijeta starrer: Kishoreda’s Saanson se nahin kadmon se nahin and Latadi’s Naina yeh barse milne ko tarse. The nineties version has Akshaye-Madhur-Sanjay Kapoor in a trite love triangle, with not-so-brilliant score by Nadeem Shravan. Worse, they blindly aped Stereo Nation’s Don’t break my heart – the original of which was in any case running simultaneously on the charts.

Chor Machaye Shor – Le jaayenge le jaayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jaayenge is a cult number, a very peppy and unlikely number from Ravindra Jain. The spectre of this mammoth melody loomed so large that Jatin Lalit confessed that they couldn’t come up with a better number when they did Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Kishore Kumar tugged the heart with Ghoongroo ki tarah bajta hi raha hun ( a song, which I recall reading, he had confessed looked easy, but was otherwise tough to sing). Skip decades, and we have Vinod Rathod and Anuradha Sriram locking tonsils in the terribly written Tum Tata ho ya Birla, under Anu Mallik’s command, in the David Dhawan flop by the same name.

Loafer – When Rafisaab languidly remarked Aaj mausam bada baimaan hai, the clouds drooped in appreciation; the warm L-P melody hugs you with its sensuous allure. In the newer version, we had to content with Anand Milind’s atrocities like Aao karein hum tum kahiin nain-matakka. However, from this Anil-Juhi starrer, the number Teri tirchhi nazar mein hai jaadoo was very catchy and likeable.

Love Marriage – Now what to say of this outstandingly magnificent Shankar Jaikishan score! Every song is the most supreme aural delight, tickling the heart, touching the soul, stirring the hips and hugging the lips. From the romantically romantic Dheere dheere chal chaand gagan mein to the bashful Kahe jhoom jhoom raat yeh suhani to the playful Dil se dil takraaye to the cutting critque of Teen kanastar peet peet kar gala phaar ke chillana, every number is a well polished pearl. However, the same cannot be said about L-P’s boring music in the eighties film of the same name. In this sort of sex-comedy (wherein the lovers are desperate to consummate their marriage), the only number that could be said average is the title number.

Dastak– Quality peaked when Madan Mohan sored. And in Dastak even he surpassed his own tough standards. This small budget Sanjeev Kumar-Rehana Sultana film had a big score. Lataji was ever the heart and soul – her solos Baiyyan na dharo, Hum hai mata-e-kucha-o-bazaar ki tarah and Maai ri main kaase kahuun rank amongst the best from her own mammoth ouvre. And Rafisaab did his own bit in the almost whispered Tum se kahuun ek baat paron si halki. This is an album that you can keep on listening without tiring even once. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Rajesh Roshan’s music in Sushmita Sen’s debut film, carrying the same title. Even though Rajesh Roshan’s score cannot be really termed ‘bad’ (and I quite like Abhijeet’s Tumhe kaise yeh bataaon and Alka’s Pal beet gaya yeh pal), but it cannot match up to the standards set by Madan Mohan!

Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai – Now this is one title where I can strongly say I love both the scores equally well. While S-J gave their own stamp with the frisky Jiya ho jiya kuchh bol do, Jatin Lalit held their own with the frothy O jaana na jaana yeh dil tera deewana.

Anari – Three of them, again – and like Andaaz, with some scion of Kapoor khandaan starring in them! But the most famous musically is, of course, the Shankar-Jaikishan one, starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. Released in 1959, it boasted of such phenomenal songs like Tera jaana dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana, Sab kuchh seekha humne na seekhi hoshiyari, Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, Woh chaand khila woh taare hanse and Dil ki nazar se. The second Anari starred brother Shashi Kapoor, but was a total washout. Music was by Laxmikant Pyarelal, but not a single song seems to have survived. The last Anari had Karisma Kapoor alongside South India superstar Venkatesh. Anand Milind’s music had one good number: Kya mausam aaya hai.

Junoon – Three, once more – and in quite a short span of time. The first is the seventies Shyam Benegal classic based on Ruskin Bond’s Flight of Pigeons. As a art-house movie, it didn’t have music the way we understand it in films, but Vanraj Bhatia’s Phir aayi kaari ghata matwaari was nice. The second Junoon was Mahesh Bhatt’s disastrous horror (more horrifying) film starring his daughter Pooja with his protege Rahul Roy and the wooden Avinash Wadhawan. This early nineties flick comprised of some ‘Gulshan Kumar-type’ music by Nadeem Shravan, with Anuradha Paudwal hogging all the limelight. Still, I would say the music was good – and O meri dilruba tu dil ke kareeb hai is a song that I love immensely. The last Junoon is a super-flop Shilpa Shetty starrer, released in 2002. Adesh Srivastava composed the score.

Lawaaris – Agreed that Kalyanji Anandji’s music in the Amitabh starrer can hardly be termed ‘great’. Yet, because of the overall cult status surrounding Big B movies of that time, we all remember the songs like Kaahe paise pe itna guroor kare ho, Apni toh jaise taise and that super-hit fun-filled number Mere angne mein tumhara kya kaam hai. In 1999, there was one more Lawaaris, and this time the score was handled by another seventies composer – Rajesh Roshan, but there wasn’t any strength in it. The film and the music were miserable flops.

Vishwaasghaat – I admit I am not aware of RD Burman’s music in the seventies Mahesh Bhatt film (Kabir Bedi, Shabana Azmi). But I am simply, madly and crazily in love with Shyam Surender’s score in the nineties flop (Suniel Shetty, Anjali Jathar) having the same name. Lata Mangeshkar sang four songs in this one and each is a complete beauty : the best is a solo Intezaar hai tera intezaar hai – an even paced song, with neat arrangements. The duet Yeh dil kyun dhadakta hai is fast but not furious. It has a loveable rhythm. Unfortunately, the music was released on a now-defunct music company, and perhaps is lost forever. I have a surviving audio cassette, and like to listen to it quite often.

Chaalbaaz – Obviously, Sridevi’s film in the eighties is a better known one. The twin-sisters-separated-at-birth saga inspired from Ram aur Shyam/Seeta aur Geeta was an absolute entertainer. However, I don’t like its loud music (Laxmikant Pyarelal). For that, I would turn to Madan Mohan’s posthumously released small-budget flop. It’s tour-de-force was Latadi’s Raat ujiyaari din andheraa tu jo sajan nahin mera hai. Jaaiye humse khafaa ho jaayiye was another wonderful song. In the fifties, there was one more film having same name, starring Nirupa Roy, but I don’t have any idea about it.

Rajkumar – Another name whereby L-P hopelessly botched up the score, and couldn’t live up to the high standards set by Shankar Jaikishan in the sixties Shammi Kapoor film. The older film had the terrific Aaja aayi bahaar, the steamy Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa and the energetic Jaane waalon zara hoshiyar, alongwith the now-almost-a-maxim Tumne pukara hum chale aaye. And the new one? Well, Payal meri tumko bulati was okayish, but I’d any day prefer to listen to the older one.

Suhaagan – Four of them – with two starring Mala Sinha-Guru Dutt! The first is a 1942 film – details unavailable. The second one released in 1954, and starred Mala Sinha. Again, I am not too aware about Vasant Desai / C Ramachandra’s music. Exactly a decade later, in 1964, Mala Sinha acted as yet another Suhaagan (once more with Guru Dutt) and this is the whose music I have. Rafisaab’s Tu mere saamne hai is a great melody, alongwith Bheegi chandni chhayi bekhudi aaja daal de baahon mein baahon ka haar. But the most remembered number is Latadi‘s Tum hi to meri pooja ho. The last Suhaagan is an eighties tearjerker starring Jeetu-Sridevi. Bappi Lahiri composed the music, and though the words slip me, it had one nice duet by Latadi.

Patita – Two films: in the fifties one Shankar Jaikishan gave great music; the duet Yaad kiya dil ne kahan ho tum is a hot romantic favorite till date, and Mitti se khelte ho baar baar kis liye was heart-wrenching. S-J also composed the most optimistic number Kisi ne mujhko apna bana ke muskurana sikha diya in Latadi‘s voice. Two decades later, Latadi was again at her sun-shine best in another happy number Baithe baithe aaj aayi mere mann ko (composed by Bappi Lahiri).

[Update on 02.02.07]

Karz / Karz -The Burden of Truth – The theme music strummed its way into your hearts – never mind if it was copied. Latadi and Kishoreda, well past their fifties, tucked their tongues firmly in cheek and giggled Mai solah baras ki/Mai satarah baras ka; Asha Bhonsle and Kishoreda raised the storm with Ek haseena thi ek deewana tha – unarguably, Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in Subhash Ghai’s take on Reincarnation of Peter Proud was an immense hit. The newer one (Sanjeev Darshan) was – like the illogical tagline – burdensome and cumbersome score!

Talaash – Remember Rajendra Kumar questioning a wide eyed Sharmila Tagore with Palkon ke peeche se kya tumne kah daala phir se toh farmaana? Spice it up more with the folksy Khai hai rah humne qasam sang rahne kii and the sparkling choral riff of Aaj ko juneli raat ma. And we had a stupendous SD Burman score. The magic was hopelessly lost in Sanjeev Darshan’s score in the newer Akshay Kumar -Karisma starrer.

Saudagar – The new generation danced to the remix of Sajna hai mujhe sajna ke liye. And the older generation loved Tera mera saath rahe. The film was a sensitive and sensible one. In the new one, the budget was upped and the screen widened, but the music didn’t lose its charm. Teri yaad aati hai is a towering duet, and one of the finest from Laxmikant Pyarelal. The common link in both was Lata Mangeshkar’s effusive voice.

Kaali Ghata – The first is a fifties Kishore Sahu film, music by Shankar Jaikishan. The centerpoint of the album was Latadi’s Humse na poochho koi pyaar kya pyaar kya hai. Other pleasures included Madhur milan hai and Ille belle aare. The newer one is not so new – early eighties. And starred Rekha and Shashi Kapoor. I recall only one song – the two part title song Kaali ghata chhayi prem rut aayi, aayi aayi aayi teri yaad aayi, composed by Laxmikant Pyarelal. Nice song.

Baazigar / Bazigar – Believe it or faint, there are actually four of them! The first came as early as 1938 and starred Trilok Kapoor. Other details unavailable – music could be by Gyan Dutt. The next was a Nirupa Roy starrer, though again the details are not too forthcoming on this one. I suspect this is the one that has music by Chitragupt. The next one released in 1972, probably with music by Sapan Jagmohan. (Details awaited from readers). The last one is, however, the most known one which spiralled Shah Rukh Khan’s career to a dizzying height. Anu Mallik gave some nice tunes.

[Courtesy – Madhu and Juneli, for pointing out to some titles featured in the updates]

Now on to the films which are essentially legendary stories or based on the same literary source, hence forced to have same title:

Devdas – I love the newer film, but prefer the songs of the older one. S D Burman’s composition in the Dilip Kumar version had such shimmering beauties like Jisse tu qabool kar le and O aane waale. In between, there was another version that never got completed, but Latadi’s Ku hu kuh bole koyaliya is outstanding.

Sohni Mahiwal – I think there are more, but I recall two versions strongly. One, is a fifties film with music by Naushadsaab, and was (IIRC) the debut for singer Mahendra Kapoor (Chand chhupa taare doobe raat gazab kii aayii). He got the theme song, while the lion’s share went to Rafisaab. However, it is Latadidi‘s Tumhare sang mai bhi chaluungi and her duet with Rafisaab Aane waale ko aana hoga, jaane waale ko jaana hoga that are the most luminescent numbers. Overall, the music is wonderful.

However, the eighties version (Sunny Deol and Poonam Dhillon) is in my honest opinion an extremely interesting score, composed by a still-struggling Annu Mallik. In this, Anupama Deshpande won the Filmfare Best Singer Award for Sohni chenaab de kinaare. However, it was otherwise Asha Bhonsle s film, and songs like Sohni sohni meri sohni aur nahi koi honi , Bol do meethe bol sohniye and Mujhe dulhe ka sehra gaane do are steeped in Punjabi ethos, have hummable tunes, and hold pleasurable interlude music. (I love Annu Mallik’s music from this era perhaps will do a separate post on this someday).

I have yet to hear the songs of the oldest film by the same name that had music by Lal Mohammad and songs by Zohrabai Ambalewali and G M Durrani, amongst others.

Heer Ranjha – Nothing, absolutely nothing, can surpass the melodies created by the ingenious Madan Mohan in the older version (which I suspect is the middle version ). From the near whisper intonations of Meri duniya mein tum aayi to the pain lashed Do dil toote do dil haare to the effervescent Milo na tum toh hum ghabraaye to the truth-seeking Yeh duniya yeh mehfil mere kaam ki nahi – each composition is a nugget to be savored, to be enjoyed and to immerse in its deep richness. The newer film had a horribly made up Anil Kapoor romancing the talented but ill-cast Sridevi with Rab ne banaya tujhe mere liye under Laxmikant Pyarelal s musical direction. But, clearly they were past their prime. And this Latadi-Anwar duet is the only good song in the entire album.

Umrao Jaan – I have said enough here

Don – Uh oh! Too bad that they had to remix and recycle Kalyanji Anandji’s original score (which in any case wouldn t ever get placed in the top best of the duo). Still, as a stand-alone, the old film s Arre diwaanon and Jiska mujhe tha intezaar are nice numbers. And Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana was a rocking item number when the phrase hadn’t even been created. There was a Mithun starrer The Don as well, but let’s not even talk about it!

Taj Mahal – Despite veteran Naushad at the helm of the affairs, the new film’s music was very ordinary. Music afficiandos will never forget Roshan’s luminous score that included Paaon chhoo lene do, Jo waada kiya and Jurm e ulfat pe humein log sazaa denge.

[This is an open post, and titles will be added to it as and when I remember them or get inputs from readers. Three updates available above]

Related readings – Lata Mangeshkar and Debut Heroines, Madan Mohan and Lata Mangeshkar

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Film Review

Sidharth (Salaam Namaste) Anand moves a step ahead in his craft. Tara Rum Pum, view while retaining all the gloss and glamour associated with Yash Raj Films, infertility is essentially a human story, viagra 100mg narrated in a gracious and genuine way. An absorbing film, Tara Rum Pum keeps the flame of human spirit burning with the warm oil of compassion, concern and candor.

The story revolves around a car race driver (Saif Ali Khan), who meets a severe accident on the tracks. Alongwith the car, his confidence crashes and amongst the debris are his ruined career and the acrid smoke of ruthless cash crunch. His family rallies around him, but he has several lessons yet to learn, and they form the crux of the second half. Of course, keeping in mind Bollywood sensibilities, the story starts right from the beginning where he meets the disciplined and dedicated piano student (Rani Mukerji looking plump yet ravishing in mini-skirts) in a series of – what else? – accidents.

The script is uncluttered, and progresses neatly, adding details here and there that make up the luxurious whole. It imparts a lesson in saving for the rainy day , without being grossly didactic or preachy. The dialogues are crisp. The second half is less humorous, but not heavy; though personally I feel this takes away the punch; and the piercing pain doesn’t cut pitilessly into the heart. Perhaps, a better idea would have been to go whole out in the melodrama, peeling off the gloss and allowing the scenario to be as barren and grim as the walls of the house the family is force to shift in. But Anand prefers to go by the neo-modern grammar, keeping in check any excesses, yet pointing out pretty clearly that the family is in big trouble. Some portions do manage to moisten the eyes, though – for example, Rani playing at boring birthday parties and then packing off the foodstuff for her kids.

A big triumph are the car racing scenes (and they are plentiful), which hold their own individuality without looking duplicated or boring. The last one stirs your adrelanin. (Actually, the film in the last half-hour is stunning!)

Binod Pradhan scores another home-run this year with his camera work (after the painstakingly beautiful Eklavya). The car race scenes are deftly shot, without confusing the viewer. New York is captured in a bright colorful mosaic. The film is well edited, though judging by the audience reaction in the theater, the interval could have been upped a bit, but that’s being overtly finicky. I am deliberately not venturing into the Reader’s Don’t Digest kind of bloopers – I am sure they will be eventually listed out in a magazine that wears the serious-looking dress over its patchy petticoat.

Vishal-Shekhar’s melodious musical score is the most surprising aspect. Frankly, my expectations were very low. But the music is shimmering and sensational. While Shreya Ghoshal’s stupendous solo Ho agar koii gham toh (Ta ra ra rum tararum pum) envelops you in its inspirational and affectionate hug, Vishal Dadlani’s heart-wrenching part-Sufi-ish, part-Junoon-ish Ek banjaara iktaare pe (Saaiyaan) squeezes a tear from the eyes. Both the songs are winners, and have beautiful interludes. Nachle ve taps your feet to dancing and the title song delights. Javed Akhtar’s lyrics are great and Anand uses the music judiciously. Salim-Suleiman’s background score gels with the film’s theme.

Both Rani Mukerji and Saif Ali Khan give honest performances. But Javed Jaafri convincingly steals the show; no extraneous antics; simple clean and cut acting that hits the bull’s eye! The supporting cast supports adequately (and no, there aren’t any surprise appearance, and none by Abhishek Bachchan!). The kids endear. (Master Ali last stole our hearts in Fanaa, and here he effortlessly repeats the feat).

Tara Rum Pum retrieves Yash Raj Films (and producer and mastermind Aditya Chopra’s) lost reputation as sincere filmmakers providing good family entertainment. Of late, their films had been all gloss and no soul, with a one-point mission of raking in the moolah and satisfying the NRI urge of connecting with India without actually showing the country. True, the film is set in NY, and they still eye that sector avidly; true, there is all the glamor (designer house, designer profession, designer dresses, et al); but then the film is basically about human triumph, so all the strappings hardly matter. Plus, the locale or the lustre don’t overshadow the content; it’s an achievement where shine and story co-exist harmoniously! And yes, watch it with your family without being embarrassed one bit: no unnecessary kisses or any faaltu skin-show!

Overall – An Entertaining & Enjoyable Family Outing Film- Watch It!

Technorati : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Tara Rum Pum, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films
Del.icio.us : Javed Jaffri, Rani Mukerji, Saif Ali Khan, Sidharth Anand, Vishal Shekhar, Yash Chopra, Yash Chopra Films

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Wishing all Indians a very happy, glaucoma prosperous and fantastic Republic Day. Keeping all cyncism aside, prostate wishing India the very best, drugs and hope it regains the glory and heights which is due to her.

Salaam-E-Ishq

Saw the film today – first day first show: a first in my life! Unfortunately, the film is a damp squib, and despite a fabulous star cast falls much short of expectations.

The film revolves around six couples – a committment-phobia suffering rich young man (Akshaye Khanna) and his beau (Ayesha Takia) ; an over-the-hill bored with life, but seeking excitement through an extra marital affair, corporate honcho (Anil Kapoor) and his pretty wife (Juhi Chawla); a perpetually in accident and low-middle class couple (John Abraham and Vidya); a taxi driver looking for true love (Govinda) ferrying his beautiful foreign passenger all over India in order to search her lost NRI boyfriend; an item girl (Priyanka Chopra) posing with her false boyfriend (Salman) in order to get a decent (read Karan Johar) break in the industry; and, a horny Jatt (Sohail Khan) hoping to consummate his marriage (Isha Koppikar) amidst much mishap.

It is rumored that Nikhil Advani flinched the idea from Reema Kagti (who is making her own couples-related film Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.). It looks that Advani could only copy the basic idea and not how each story would progress. Because that is the basic problem with the film – three hours later, nothing seems to have moved and we are still left with the same : a sobbing John (what a frightful sight it is!), a confused Akshaye, Govinda driving to yet another town to find his passenger’s lost lover, so on and so forth! Worse, some scenes are so soporifically stretched that one wants to beat up the editor from his slumber.

Which, I feel is the biggest problem with the film – shorten the length, it can work. There are a few flashes of directorial brilliance; for example, when the young girl introduces herself to Anil Kapoor as ‘I am Anjali’, immediately he replies, without thinking, ‘I am married’. Of course, Anil adds his own bit to the character to make it suitably etched. Similarly, Anil and Juhi’s ‘confontration’ scene is beautifully controlled, compact and crisp. In the same vein, Anil and Priyanka’s meeting up at the bar in the middle of the night to talk about their respective lives is a sensitively handled scene.

Juhi looks awesome and her performance is flawless. In the film Priyanka remarks to Anil – ‘Your wife is beautiful’. A smart alec watching the film in the theater murmured – ‘Kyun nahi Priyanka, tere se pahle woh Miss India bani thi!’

Of the other assortment, Sohail and Isha have the briefest role, but the maximum to raise the chuckles. Priyanka and Salman didnt really have to ‘act’ – they played a natural extension of their selves. And Akshaye and Ayesha were as ever great!

In terms of characters, the most boring couple are John-Vidya, followed closely by Govinda and his firang beauty.

The music is a big bore – and halters the already slow pace of the film.

Theater Drama

There was a major technical glitch at the multiplex. It broke off near the climax. The reel had unspooled itself, explained the harried executives there, when the ‘five minute’ break extended to more than thirty minutes. The restlessness grew, and so did the demands for refund. Also, the next show viewers were demanding to be seated. The thirty minutes extended to more than an hour – and the patience had worn off. I wouldnt have minded to stay back and complete the film – however bad it may be, but evidently no one else had any more inclination to sit through it, esp. after the indefinite break.

The consequence ? We got our full money back.

I have yet to see the last fifteen-twenty minutes of the film – but for that to sit through the first three hours is even beyond my patience.

The final word: When the film stopped and the reason given, another smart alec remarked – ‘Itni boring film hai ke machine bhi dikhaate dikhaate thak gayi!’

Overall- Below Expectations!

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Filmfare Power List is out! And Latadidi retains her fifth position this year too in the music makers section. Kudos to the lady to still be amongst the top five- that too, salve
with virtually no musical album release last year! Whoa! That is surely an achievement. Many congratulations!

O.P.Nayyar is no more.

And every person is jumping the bandwagon with cliched statements like ‘maestro par excellence’ and ‘survivor from the golden era’, dosage forgetting that he was virtually neglected in the autumn of his life, and that his valiant comeback in the nineties was received with a freezing shoulder and not-so-charitable remarks.

Worse, the media is doling out mis-informations and factually incorrect statements which makes me wonder if they are really doing any justice to the man in bringing out these pieces. Sample the pile of anomalies thrust on us in the past one day- one daily mentions Jhumka gira re as his composition (it definitely wasn’t – Madan Mohan was the creator there), and the same newspaper talks of Andaz Apna Apna as his ‘comeback film’ (errr… if that is so, then who was Tushar Bhatia credited in the film?). Amar Ujala did quite a heart-felt tribute – till the time they came to mention Junglee as his film. No way! Junglee was out and out Shankar Jaikishan score. This sudden fixation for thrusting the ‘yahoo‘ credit on OPN is very strange. I believe TOI’s Marathi edition has also carried this non-fact. Aaj Tak showed a clip from ‘Kashmir ki kali hun main mujhse na rootho babuji’, another S-J song! Dudes, the film Kashmir Ki Kali was OPN’s baby, not this song. I can’t believe that these oh-so-serious media ‘knowledgeables’ have such paucity in resources that they can’t even verify their facts. And who are they fooling by bringing out such tributes? By mentioning other music director’s numbers (and that too direct contemporary rivals to OPN), they have only belittled the composer’s achievements.

Personally, I really have nothing to say. I can make some politically correct statements as well. But that would then be travesty of having a personal blog in the first place. This is due to the fact that I don’t have much knowledge about his music – in fact, the only cassette I have of his is from a flop film called Hong Kong, which came bundled alongwith Singapore – and since the latter itself is a rare film album to find, hence I had to per force buy this odd combination. Other than this, I have no song by OPN, not even in some odd compilation! It’s quite a record since I can boast of a huge collection (including a large chunk not pertaining to Lataji).

Unfortunately, OPN never used Latadidi‘s voice, stating that his ‘style didn’t match’ (though he had tried to get her on board for his debut film, but due to some reasons she couldn’t make it there). Equally unfortunately, I couldn’t force myself to like his style and stayed away from his music.

May his soul rest in peace!

Technorati : O P Nayyar

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Other than Taj Mahal, hospital Fatehpur Sikri is another important historical place here. Situated around 33 kms from Agra, physiotherapist it is on the border of U.P., visit next to Bharatpur in Rajasthan. The site for Fatehpur was first discovered by Babar, but it was his descendant Akbar who built the fort here. At one point, he had contemplated to shift the capital here, but the water problem thwarted his plans. Folklore has it that Akbar was desperate for a son and had visited Ajmer dargah for blessings. There, he had a dream that he should visit Saleemuddin Chishti at Fatehpur, which he did (reportedly on foot). His queen, Jodhabai was blessed with a son, and Akbar named him after the saint – Saleem. Since then, the dargah is known for fulfilling all wishes and prayers.

The fort’s Bulund Darwaza is stated to be the biggest gate in Asia, and admittedly it is quite an awesome sight. The dargah, in white marble, is pure and serene. And yes, there is also the closed gate leading to a tunnel that supposedly links Agra with Red Fort in Delhi. Mughal-E-Azam was reportedly shot here, probably the last time the tunnel gates were ever opened.

Otherwise, there have been several films/songs shot on the premises, including Yateem, Lal Pathar and the most famous of all – Pardes (Do dil mil rahe and the climax qawaali).

Fatehpur is still the property of Saleemuddin Chishti’s descendants, and hence has free entrance. The neighboring (and more clean and well maintained) Sikri , however, is with ASI and there is a nominal entry charge of INR 20 (for Indian nationals).

(Clockwise, from top left) 1. Bulund Darwaza- It was tough fitting it on the camera phone’s miniscule lens. Still I think I managed well. 2. The ‘Mughal E Azam’ tunnel-as the local guides there will describe. Supposedly it links to Delhi’s Red Fort 3. The ‘Dargah’ at Fatehpur – Very serene!

Photographs: Deepak Jeswal, Kislay
Taken on : Nokia 3230
Dated : 28.01.07

More on Fatehpur : The Mughal Gallery , Fatehpur , Tourism-Fatehpur/Sikri

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Other than Taj Mahal, hospital Fatehpur Sikri is another important historical place here. Situated around 33 kms from Agra, physiotherapist it is on the border of U.P., visit next to Bharatpur in Rajasthan. The site for Fatehpur was first discovered by Babar, but it was his descendant Akbar who built the fort here. At one point, he had contemplated to shift the capital here, but the water problem thwarted his plans. Folklore has it that Akbar was desperate for a son and had visited Ajmer dargah for blessings. There, he had a dream that he should visit Saleemuddin Chishti at Fatehpur, which he did (reportedly on foot). His queen, Jodhabai was blessed with a son, and Akbar named him after the saint – Saleem. Since then, the dargah is known for fulfilling all wishes and prayers.

The fort’s Bulund Darwaza is stated to be the biggest gate in Asia, and admittedly it is quite an awesome sight. The dargah, in white marble, is pure and serene. And yes, there is also the closed gate leading to a tunnel that supposedly links Agra with Red Fort in Delhi. Mughal-E-Azam was reportedly shot here, probably the last time the tunnel gates were ever opened.

Otherwise, there have been several films/songs shot on the premises, including Yateem, Lal Pathar and the most famous of all – Pardes (Do dil mil rahe and the climax qawaali).

Fatehpur is still the property of Saleemuddin Chishti’s descendants, and hence has free entrance. The neighboring (and more clean and well maintained) Sikri , however, is with ASI and there is a nominal entry charge of INR 20 (for Indian nationals).

(Clockwise, from top left) 1. Bulund Darwaza- It was tough fitting it on the camera phone’s miniscule lens. Still I think I managed well. 2. The ‘Mughal E Azam’ tunnel-as the local guides there will describe. Supposedly it links to Delhi’s Red Fort 3. The ‘Dargah’ at Fatehpur – Very serene!

Photographs: Deepak Jeswal, Kislay
Taken on : Nokia 3230
Dated : 28.01.07

More on Fatehpur : The Mughal Gallery , Fatehpur , Tourism-Fatehpur/Sikri

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In case you find this site entertaining and useful please contribute your own bit by making a nominal donation

Sidney Sheldon passed away – and however cliched it might sound, case
but the fact is that an era of pulp fiction writing has come to an end. I am speechless, shocked and very sad. May his soul rest in forever peace. And may he continue to regale the audience to whichever place he has departed to.

Even though I was critical of his last few works, still Sheldon has left behind a huge bulk of excellent work. Rage of Angels, If Tomorrow Comes, Bloodline, The Other Side of Midnight and Memories of the Midnight are works that will be forever etched in my memories!

God bless his soul!

Related Readings : Books I Love

Technorati : Fiction, Novels, Sidney Sheldon

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Picking up a leaf from Ashish s blog (or should I say, cialis picking up an ingredient from Ashish s masala?), mind I am starting this series of posts on my own favorite composers Shankar Jaikishan. Since I am already covering the Lata Mangeshkar songs on the other blog, generic the series here will concentrate on the male songs (or at the most, the duets). The first part of the series Lata/SJ-Black and White Era Songs is already up on my other blog (click here).

For those who have been regular in following the Expressions here, they might have often wondered at the lack of mention of any male voices. It is not that I do not listen to male songs at all; it is just that beyond Lata Mangeshkar I hardly get any time to concentrate on them.

Amongst the male singers, I am a big fan of Mohammad Rafi. I like the tenor and the range of his malleable voice; there is a pristine honesty in his voice, which reflects his own real life persona. Though there have been myriad clones of his in the recent years, but Rafisaab still remains on top.

Moving forward from Rafi, I have a small fascination for Mukesh’s rich baritone. His voice had a limited range, but when it came to the sad songs, he had absolutely no parallel. He gave weight and depth to the pathos.

In this list, I have picked up fifteen of Mukesh’s heart wrenching and philosophical numbers composed by Shankar Jaikishan that I always love to hear whenever the mood gets blue. I understand many of my readers are in their twenties and might have not listened to them; or, might find them too archaic . But, I started my discovery of SJ in my own twenties. It is a good age to begin unravelling these gems. You will never be alone.

(The list is compiled in the chronological order of the release of the films; though I have tried to cross verify through various sources on the web, the dates might still have some inaccuracies).

1. Raat andheri door savera, barbaad hai dil mera – Aah (1953) A short three minute song packed with emotions! I love the haunting violins following the lines of the mukhda (the same violins end into a spine-shivering dimmuendo at the end of the song); it is almost like a wisp of wind playing on a dark and stark night. The miserably frustrating lines aah bhi roye, raah bhi roye, soojhe na baat koie / lamba safar hai sooni dagar hai / dega na saath koi capture the helplessness of a given situation. These wistful words are penned by Hasrat Jaipuri.

2. Rammaiya Vastavaiyya – Shree 420 (1955) one of the three songs that I am including here which is not a Mukesh solo. But then, it is one of those rare numbers that has Lata, Mukesh and Rafi present together. However, since Rafi sang for the sidey , and Mukesh for the hero, the latter walks away with the centerstage lines meri aankhon mein rahe, kaun jo mujhse kahe, maine dil tujhko diya it never fails to bring a lump in my throat. The guilt washed lyrics are penned by Shailendra.

3. Ae pyaase dil bezubaan – Begunaah (1957) A lesser known fact is that this Mukesh number was picturised on Jaikishan, perhaps in the only film that he did as an actor. It is a rhythmic number, and the alaap placed in between the mukhda is amazing. Also, the lines aag ko aag mein dhal ke, kab tak jee bahlayega have a wonderful beat to it; the tune tugs at your heart like a naughty child. I am fond of Shailendra’s imagery in this number.

4. Yeh mera deewanapan hai – Yahudi (1958) A quintessential Dilip Kumar number, though it is strange that SJ used Mukesh rather than Rafi, who was the voice for the thespian. For this song, the thespian had insisted on Talat Mehmood; however Shankar locked horns with Dilip Kumar to retain Mukesh. It was a song that yet again SJ proved that they could march into the Naushad terrain and conquer it with lan. (Earlier they had done the classical based Basant Bahar, a film wrenched away from Naushad, due to the commercial pressures of that time). Shailendra s lyrics are more forceful and vengeful in this one jitana jee chaahe pukaro, phir nahi aayenge hum . Mandolin, a favorite instrument of SJ, is the lynchpin here.

5. Mujhe mere haal pe chhod do – Kanhaiya (1959) – The veena/sitar and the violins combination of the song clasps the heart and wrings it out. Mukesh sings the pain-dipped Shailendra lyrics in a deep bass. It is a shimmering number from an album that had a fine collection of songs. The other Mukesh numbers Yaad aayi aadhi raat ko (a delight to sing when a bit sozzled) and Ruk ja o jaanewaali were also interesting.

6. Mai nashe mein hoon – Mai Nashe Mein Hoon (1959) Shailendra does a neat use of the Meer couplet to form the title song of this Raj Kapoor- Mala Sinha starrer. The opening couplet Zaahid sharaab peene de masjid mein baith kar, Ya woh jagah batade jahan khuda na ho is marvelous. Though not exactly a sad song, it is serious in content, hence I have included it here; it speaks about a dull drone of pain permeating the soul, which is negated by the intoxication of alcohol. A perfect number after a few drinks. Mukesh combines ‘dard‘, ‘nasha‘ and ‘masti‘ in a flawless cocktail. There is a marked orchestral clarity; and SJ s rhythmic beats are lip-smacking.

7. Sab kuchh seekha humne, na seekhi hoshiyari – Anari (1959) The simpleton Raju (Rajkumar, actually, in this particular film) laments at the cruel and calculating ways of the world through the words of Shailendra – ‘dil pe marne waale, marenge bheekhari ‘. This is another sad party number that SJ had pioneered and perfected (and carried on by Nadeem Shravan in the nineties). I don t think I need to write anymore about the song as everyone knows about it. Of course, the SJ orchestral finesse is in full display as ever. SJ won their second Filmfare award for this film and their lead singer, Mukesh, won the coveted trophy for his outstanding singing of this very number.

8. Aa ab laut chale – Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti (1960) A very unfortunate number for Mukesh, because Lata Mangeshkar stole the song with just half a line and an alaap that she sings at regular intervals in it. Still, I am including it here because essentially it is a Mukesh solo only; the song has a lot of positivity and is a difficult to classify. I am including it in the list simply because of its deep philosophical content laced with lament and loss. The orchestra is breathtaking. Overall, in my view, Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti was musically the weakest of all SJ-Raj Kapoor directed films.

9. Teri yaad dil se bhulane chala hoon, mai khud apni hasti mitane chala hoon – Hariyali Aur Raasta (1962) I saw this soppy Manoj Kumar-Mala Sinha starrer only for the music (not too fond of either of the lead stars). I was also lucky enough to find a solo cassette of the film that had some additional numbers and pieces. Again, it is a complete album- be it Allah jaane kya hoga aage or Bol meri taqdeer mein kya or Yeh hariyali aur raasta, every song is hummable and enjoyable. SJ really worked hard on the details of this film. Of the sad songs, I like this one a lot better than the Mahendra Kapoor solo, Kho gaya hai mera pyaar. Another sad number was the Lata Mukesh duet Laakhon tare aasman mein (will take this up surely in some other list, probably on the Lata blog). My favorite lines from the selected Shailendra lyric are Ghataon tumhe saath dena padega/ main phir aaj aansoon bahane chala hoon the use of phir is exceptional, as one does return to this mood time and again in practical real life.

10. Dost dost na raha – Sangam (1964) The song that Shankar and Jaikishan fought over; while the former composed this one, Jaikishan did the prem patra number with Rafi, and both claimed their composition to be better than the other. An impossible choice, and so also said the paying public as both the numbers went on to become bumper hits. The piano riffs in this song are awesome (reportedly played by Shankar himself, who was an efficient pianist). It is a song that always comes up whenever two friends even have the smallest of tiffs. Also, a ditty that the nation sang whenwent to war with! Once again, Shailendra does the honors with the lyrics with Mukesh’s intense voice capturing each nuance in its entirety.

(As can be seen, most lyrics here are of Shailendra, that is because the other half, Hasrat Jaipuri wrote the more romantic numbers)

11. Duniya bananewale kya tere mann mein samayi – Teesri Kasam (1966) I confess, I am in awe of this album. Every song of this film is a gem to be treasured. The film was produced by lyricist Shailendra and was a major dud at the box office; however, SJ s brilliant music survived the crash. Even today Paan khaaye saiyan hamaro and Chalat musafir are fondly remembered. The film had two pathos filled numbers that give ample scope to Mukesh to display his virtuosity at such numbers this was one of them; the other is Sajanwa bairi ho gaye hamaar.

12.Hum toh jaate apne gaaon – Diwana (1967) Six Mukesh solos make up this magnificent album the title song , Hum to jaate apne gaaon apni Ram Ram Ram , Ae sanam jisne tujhe , Pate ki baat kahega / kahega jab bhi deewana , Tumhari bhi jai jai hamari bhi jai jai / na tum haare na hum haare and Taaron se pyaare. Though Shailendra and Hasrat Jaipuri gave decent lyrics, the album gets more weight duo to the SJ s musical form. Very uncomplicated and unassuming songs – perhaps like the simpleton hero! The audio that I have contains the Mukesh solos together believe me, it is heavenly to hear them one after the other (the album I have is a combo with Around The World, which also has great songs). This song and Tumhari bhi jai jai pick the essence of parting is such a sweet sorrow coupled with some majestic singing by Mukesh.

13. Duniya isi ka naam hai – Duniya (1968) Though the Rafi song Falsafa pyaar ka was a more popular number, I prefer this one because of its easy tune and philosophical tone of the lyrics. Although it is not a Mukesh solo (Shankar’s protege Sharda is the co-singer), the song can very well be termed his only as he gets the bigger and better lines; this is the third of non-solo songs in this list. Incidentally this film had the comedy number Tu hi meri laxmi, tu hi meri chhaya, o Laxmi Chhaya! By this time, the formidable team was disintegrating. The lyrics for this song are by S H Bihari.

14.Woh zindagi hai meri bebasi, apna koi na tha, apna koi na hai – Sapnon Ka Saudagar (1968) A lesser known number of the duo, but nevertheless a shining piece of composition. It is a subtle song, and the lyrics (once more, Shailendra) convey an altruism in the simplistic form jo yeh sapne sach ho jaate, toh yeh sapne kyun kahlaate . The piano riffs are engaging.

15. Jaane kahan gaye woh din and Jeena yahan marna yahan – Mera Naam Joker (1970) the official swan songs of SJ team. Though Shankar continued to work under the banner of the joint name of the duo in films like Lal Pathhar, Chorni, Sanyasi, Paapi Pet Ka Sawaal Hai, Do Jhoot, Aaj Ki Taaza Khabar, still the reign had ended. I don’t think I really have to write anything on these two Mera Naam Joker numbers – they are evergreen, and the latter captures Raj Kapoor’s maxim ‘that the show must go on’ in a lovely manner. While the former was written by Hasrat Jaipuri, the latter was penned by Shaily Shailendra. The film got Shankar Jaikishan their eighth Filmfare Award.

It is a very sad scene that one half of the duo that ruled the charts once had to resort to doing films with names like Jangal Mein Mangal, International Crook and Tarzan Mera Saathi.

When the evenings end with their deep and heavy sigh, these timeless and immortal melodies are perfect companions. Do tell me your views on them.

Technorati : Mukesh, Music, Shankar Jaikishan

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Total Number of Books I Own

Plenty. I do not have a count as both my father and myself buy books separately and the collection just keeps growing.

The Last Book I Bought

Last Sunday – Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons
Chetan Bhagat’s Five Point Someone

The Last Book I Read

Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons it turned out to be a perfect read for the Qatar trip. A thrilling, anemia page-turner, A&D is a step ahead of Da Vinci Code in execution and has one of the most spectacular climaxes! I would love to see a film version of the book, especially the sweeping and lush flourish of the denouement.

Five Books That Mean a Lot To Me

(Not exactly novels, will write more on authors that mean a lot to me; and I will change it to six of them)

All Jeffery Archer novels – of all the popular fiction writers, Archer has been my one constant source of inspiration for story telling and description. He is the only author whom I have read completely, including his Prison Diaries. It is very difficult to choose a favorite out of his collection. I started off with Not a Penny More Not a Penny Less, which was incidentally his first published novel also. I still recall reading the book in class XIIth keeping it camouflaged beneath the sultry course books. Even today , when he almost does a Manmohan Desai like trick of children separating at birth due to the idiosyncrasies of overzealous nannies (Sons of Fortune), he is the best in his class he carries the same pizzazz and chutzpah of Desai, knowing exactly how much masala to put in, without overdoing it or spoiling the taste palate!

A Passage to India by E M Forster it was in my Eng. Hons. Course in the final year. I was simply bowled by the style and structure impeccable and symmetrical: Mosque, Caves and Temple. Also, symbolising three main seasons of India winter, summer and monsoons. After the unbearable heat of the scorching summer where Adela Quested makes the heinous allegation against Dr. Aziz, the rains arrive to quell the burns; simultaneously, the rains are also equated with Janamasthmi, the birth of the Lord, a cleansing of sins. I quoted “centuries of carnal embracement” in a couple of posts back from this book. Another favorite was “the secret understanding of the heart” .

As a confession, a lot of my scene ending is borrowed from Forster, esp in Meera. In APOI, he ended a lot of chapters with a note akin to a background music wafting to its dying crescendo. An example :

Pretty dear said Mrs. Moore to the wasp. He did not wake, but her voice floated out, to swell the night’s uneasiness.

One can almost feel the camera panning out towards the night, with the strains of an orchestra fading away in the background.

Agatha Christie novels – Though I have a small fondness for the Hercule Poirot series, I do enjoy her other works too, esp Miss Marple. I have read plenty of them, of which The Murder on the Orient Express stands tall. Also, N or M was brilliant in its execution.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte another course book that left a deep impact. I have a strong leaning towards prose, hence I concentrated more on the novels than plays and poems during these three years. WH is about the the high-volatile but ill-fated love affair of Catherine Earnshaw with the dark and brooding Heathcliffe set against Victorian London. Due to their differing backgrounds they are unable to marry. While Catherine is betrothed to the wimpish Linton, Heathcliffe (on a rebound, more revengeful) marries Isabella.

Again, structure of the book is amazing. In this the second part of the novel re-writes the first part but to a more logical conclusion. Here, Catherine s daughter falls in love with Heathcliffe and Isabella s son! It s a revisit of the romance that could not flower to its full at the dull-fated mansion Wuthering Heights.

For those who have seen Lamhe, would realise that the script structuring of the film is nearly same as this classic; in that too, the second part is a revisit and re-write of the first half.

Enid Blyton – She had to make this list; after all, my initiation to reading was through her only. In my school in Greece, every week we had a full class devoted to reading and then doing a book analysis of the same. There, library class did not become an euphemism to bunking/canteen sessions ( It is sad that the same is not true in Indian schools; I am quite pained to see my nephews devoid of the pleasure of reading, even though they go to the best public school of Delhi).

At that time, I was introduced to the delightful world of Enid Blyton. I spent a lot of time with Noddy, the Famous Five and Secret Seven the lemonades, the cookies, the hangout at the garage, the passwords to enter it, are all part of my initial book-reading memories.

To Kill a Mocking Bird by Harper Lee – It was a gift from Ms. Chaphekar, my English teacher in class Xth and teacher-coordinator for school magazine during my tenure as the school editor. She couldn t have chosen a better book to give; seen from the eyes of a youngster, the turbulent racist times have been vividly captured. A point to note is that the way the rape is described and handled; our Hindi films can take major lessons from it.

Roots by Alex Hailey : A novel spanning seven generations, this is the journey of an African-American who traces the roots from the wild jungles of Africa to the slave trade to the modern day. Poignant is one word that comes to the mind, and it left me shaken. For those who have not read it, my strong suggestion to buy it immediately. Though thick, it is an easy read. The novel traces various human emotions, but the major one is the triumph through tribulations. A masterpiece, indeed.

Papillon by Henri Charriere : This was a book gifted by my brother in law to my sister during their courtship period, post-engagement. At that time, I read it but was probably too young to understand it. Perhaps, I shouldn t have done so too. It left some nightmares. The true-life story of the escape from the French prison colony of Guyana, has lots of tense and terse moments; it is at once a thriller and a compassionate human account. Some of the scenes where in Cherriere hides money stacked in an iron rod, shoved up his anus to avoid detection still send shivers down my spine. I am not sure, but I think he tries to escape at least seven times from the tough prisons there.

The Hardy Boys Series and The Nancy Drew Series – Though the latter was considered more girlish I have read quite a lot of them. The Hardy Boys were almost my role idols during adolescence. Their adventures and trails, often through many exotic places, are enthralling.

John Grisham – Another writer in the Archer mould, his novels have enough pace and grit to make reading a pleasure; they also have lots of sordid details about American lawyers that are often brushed hurriedly beneath the carpet of propiety. No small wonder his novels are often converted into films for he writes in a script-writing manner! Barring his last two works, I have read all of his novels.

Sidney Sheldon Anyone who is a fan of pulp fiction cannot afford to miss the original and grand master of storytelling. As a fan, I have been hugely disappointed by his recent works, but his earlier bulk of work are amazing. My favorites include If Tomorrow Comes, The Other Side of Midnight, The Memories of Midnight, The Bloodline and Doomsday Conspiracy.

Sheepishly, I have to confess that my reading habits are highly erratic now; and yes, being a bit old fashioned, I have missed out on some of the newer writers like Rowling and Coelho. Perhaps, like my choice of films and songs and singers, I am stuck in an old-groove!

Technorati : Agatha Christie, Books, Chetan Bhagat, Dan Brown, E M Forster, Harper Lee, Novel, Reading, Sidney Sheldon

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My tryst with rural India added one more chapter this week. This time, more info I went deeper into the villages. Kagarole isn’t new to me; I have been there often. But this time we planned to not skim through it; instead we rolled up our trousers and plunged into the villages surrounding the place.

Mercifully our host suggested that we travel in-road in the company’s hired Mahindra Jeep; a decision for which I thanked him profusely, seek since the ride was unimaginably bumpy and only a sturdy vehicle could have negotiated the kachhi sadak. The recent rains had added their own soggy and muddy designs.

“Adventure!” my colleague remarked, crouched on the back seat, as we plunged deep into another crater-size pot-hole. Yeah indeed, I grimaced, sitting tightly in the front seat, with another official on my left, and the long gear handle sticking into my abdomen on the right. Earlier, I was positively scandalized when the driver suggested I sit at the back, but since the door wouldn’t open I didn’t risk jumping in.

Of the two villages we visited, the first one had a local ‘mela‘ on. Stalls of frying jalebis and steaming urad-dal balls (mungras) lined the dusty street, dotted with a rusty hand-operated ‘giant’ wheels (only that they weren’t too particularly giant) and colorful merry-go-rounds. We were there to promote our company’s product, and the village pradhan had arranged a small gathering at the Panchayat house. It was a small two room brick building, and the walls were painted with general welfare messages like the importance of having a ‘janm pramaan patra’ (birth certificate) and a ‘mrityu praman patra’ (death certificate).

Despite my obvious discomfort, I think I managed fairly well in speaking Hindi all through out, without any English words slipping in inadvertantly. When I struggled to find a suitable word for ‘investment’ (nivesh) or ‘scheme’ (yojana) I realized how deeply English is etched in my mind, and how innocously it enters my conversation without any intention to do so.

After the meet, the pradhan served us with hot jalebis – they were much lighter in color than their Delhi cousins, and far sweeter.

The next village held strong propinquity to the stereotypical image re-inforced by watching movies and viewing Krishi Darshans during childhood. We sat in a typical ‘chaupal‘ in front of the pradhan‘s house, and though we were on plastic chairs, there was the ubiquitious ‘khaat’ (bed) made of jute strands. This time I discovered I was more comfortable in speaking Hindi. After two rounds of tea, we left the village,assured by the pradhan to divert some business our company’s way.

Our journey for the day concluded at Kheragarh, ten kilometers away from Kagarole. Here, we had only one meeting, with a leading tractor dealership. It lasted for some time, and our host here served a plethora of snacks, and thankfully coffee! We returned to Kagarole by five in the evening, and took stock of the meetings held. It looked beneficial enough, and I hope we can get some business soon.

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Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, pills view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, information pills you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, physician Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, pills view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, information pills you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, physician Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Saturday 3^rd February

I left Agra late in the noon. My boss called up asking an important budgeting file, and my plans for leaving early were halted. Even as I struggled to get the figures correct on the excel file, visions of burgeoning traffic at Faridabad loomed eerily in my mind. The stomach added its own grumbling chorus since I had skipped breakfast in order to get the house ready for my parents welcome here on my return trip.

I wriggled out of Agra by three p.m, and reached Delhi by eight in the night, stopping mid-way once at Mathura’s McDonalds (on the highway) for a quick bite.

At home, we finalized the itinery for the Mathura and Agra trip for Tuesday and Wednesday, cropping off a lot of things we wished to add. My sister (from Pune) was very keen about the Mathura part of the trip.

The Great Indian Wedding

Sunday 4^th February

At last it sunk in that the holidays had begun, and I swept aside all work related thoughts. Two cool Forsters with an old friend helped in washing away any remnants of office, targets or deadlines!

Evening was earmarked for the sagan ceremony of my cousin. I love being an observer at all family weddings and this one was no different. I listened amusedly to all the family politics, bitching and gossiping, intermingled with envious comparisons of sarees, jewelery and even (gasp) sons-and-daughters in-law.

The function was very sober and quite unlike what I had expected. Held at an old and prestigious club of North Delhi, it was a quiet and contained affair with awesome food.

En return route, I was audience to my mom and sisters conversation as they meticulously dissected the ceremony.

Monday 5^th February

I wasn’t fully rested, but we had to attend the chooda ceremony early morning. Mercifully, it was held at a hotel quite nearby our place (by Delhi standards) so we got some extra time.

The bright sunshine warmed the rooftop while we saw the bride’s mamaji (maternal uncle) gift the auspicious flaring red chooda . All along in the background, the incessant babble of myriad relatives continued their relentless chorus. The fried snacks settled heavily and by the time lunch was over I was sleepy and full.

On reaching home I hit the bed and dropped into a deep slumber.

The wedding was at another hotel this time a little farther off. It looked like a propitious day since we crossed various baraats, and at the venue itself there were three marriages taking place. Consequently, parking was at a premium. While squeezing my car into the available sliver of a space, my car plunged into an invisible drain. The thud reverberated in my heart. With some helping hands I pulled the abused Santro out, but its squeaky complaints didn’t stop. The front bumper had displaced itself and kissed the tyre noisily. There goes the smooth drive tomorrow, I thought sadly.

The newly built hotel’s ballroom was huge and spacious. But the crown belonged to the wide variety of snacks. Greedily I tucked in the delectable chilly paneer and marvelous masala mushrooms and soft spring rolls and delicious paneer tikkas.

The downside of attending family weddings is that everyone suddenly converts into a knowledgeable match-maker. Relatives that you would have met only at the last such function some aeons back hover around you buzzing with their unwanted pearls of advices and suggestions. The frozen smile hurt my jaws.

The DJ pumped up the music and some enterprising souls attacked the dance floor, goaded by the blender’s proud spirits churning within them.

While returning the car grumbled hoarsely like a cement mixer threatening to spew out its solid waste. I was nervous about the impending trip early morning.

Tuesday 6^th February

Vrindavan

Despite best efforts, we couldn’t leave before seven – late, but wholly unavoidable since we had returned well past midnight last night. The local car-wash man gave a stern tug to the bumper, and the car stopped its whining. I was mighty relieved.

In an hour, I was back on the same familiar highway. We stopped at Kosi Kalan for a light breakfast, and arrived at Vrindavan around ten. Before we could enter the city we were stopped for a shady toll tax which I suspect has nothing to do with any legitimate authorities. A bunch of guides pounced on us. Since we were new we required a guide, and selected a young boy in class tenth who did this job part-time, which again I suspect was not wholly true. It was a working day and he had no business being on the road.

Vrindavan is associated with Lord Krishna, whose many child hood pranks and leelas are centered on this place. Vrinda means Tulsi (basil). Later we learnt the original Vrindavan is now lost, and this city was founded much later.

Rangnath Temple

Negotiating a labyrinth of narrow lanes, we reached the mammoth Rangnath Temple.

The temple was built by a rich seth who begot a son at the age of sixty in an era when Viagra wasn’t invented. The construction was South Indian in design and the carvings on it fine and minute.The temple depicts Lord Ranganatha or Rangaji or Lord Vishnu in his sheshashayi pose, resting on the coils of the sacred Sesha Naga. The lynchpin is the huge gold Garuda stambh or Pillar for Garuda (the official vehicle for Lord Vishnu). The premises are open and vast.

Shri Vrindavan Behari Temple

Leaving the car parked at Rangnath Temple’s open compound, we walked through another maze of lanes to reach the Praacheen Vrindavan Bihari Temple. The walls had white marble tiles with black markings. On closer inspection we learnt they were names of devotees who had given donations there.

The deity’s idols were curtained. The priest began his narration on how it was the only place to see the entire family of Lord Krishna, including one of Dauji (Krishna’s elder brother Balaram) discovered from Yamuna riverbed. He explained how it was punya for a son to affix one marble slab in the name of the parents. The slabs started from Rs 1100 onwards. At the end of his narration, he pulled off the curtain to allow us to see the idols and asked for my name, gotra and place of stay and hopefully looked at us to loosen our wallets. We weren’t ready to do so, and as politely as we could, we tore away from that place.

A precocious monkey scooped off the prasaad from my sister’s hands when we stepped out.

Madhuvan

I was expecting a forest. It was just a tulsi garden with a small but quaint temple dedicated to Shri Krishna’s consort, Radhaji. The local myth is that till date in the night Shree Krishna visits the place and does the Raas Leela with Radhaji and the gopis . The tulsi plants transform into gopis in the night. However, any one who tries to view it is stricken dead. A few samadhis in the compound belonged to such voyeurs, our guide explained ominously.

Monkeys and beggars abundantly bustled around us.

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple, built in mid-nineteenth century, is the biggest and most reknowned shrine; the high-point for one who travels here. The street leading to it is colorful, bright, and alive and resonates with activity; shops selling mithais, flowers, religious books, ornaments, deity clothes jostle with devotees rushing to view their favorite Lord.

The temple insides are large, and old-fashioned, made of painted brick-and-cement. The sprawling compound in front of the deity is cordoned off by brass railings to enable queue formation when there is a huge rush. That day, it was quieter and we were just in time before it closed for the afternoon.

The black stone idol is curtained off every few minutes.

We got a clear darshan, and admittedly the atmosphere vibrates piety and bhakti. I soaked the positive vibes and felt uplifted and stirred.

Outside, we eagerly devoured the famous kachauri-aloo and the refreshing kulhad-waali-lassi.

International Society for Krishna Consciousness (Iskcon) Temple

This was our last stop, and we freed the guide here. He had been a good information source, and it would have been awfully tough to find all the places without his guidance. He had interspersed his narrations with calls of Jai Shri Krishna or Bolo Jai Shri Bankey Bihariji Maharajki or simply Radhey Radhey . He had also urged us to laugh and clap our hands advising us that one who makes a pilgrimage should always be happy so that the happiness echoes in our lives and homes.

The Iskcon Temple is a modern construction in white marble, impeccably neat and undoubtedly peaceful. A small group chanted the Lord’s name to the beats of dholak and manjeera .

We relaxed here for a while, before moving on to our next leg of the journey.

To Be Continued.

Technorati : Agra, Lord Krishna, Mathura, Radha, Travel, Vrindavan

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Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, pills view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, information pills you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, physician Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Saturday 3^rd February

I left Agra late in the noon. My boss called up asking an important budgeting file, and my plans for leaving early were halted. Even as I struggled to get the figures correct on the excel file, visions of burgeoning traffic at Faridabad loomed eerily in my mind. The stomach added its own grumbling chorus since I had skipped breakfast in order to get the house ready for my parents welcome here on my return trip.

I wriggled out of Agra by three p.m, and reached Delhi by eight in the night, stopping mid-way once at Mathura’s McDonalds (on the highway) for a quick bite.

At home, we finalized the itinery for the Mathura and Agra trip for Tuesday and Wednesday, cropping off a lot of things we wished to add. My sister (from Pune) was very keen about the Mathura part of the trip.

The Great Indian Wedding

Sunday 4^th February

At last it sunk in that the holidays had begun, and I swept aside all work related thoughts. Two cool Forsters with an old friend helped in washing away any remnants of office, targets or deadlines!

Evening was earmarked for the sagan ceremony of my cousin. I love being an observer at all family weddings and this one was no different. I listened amusedly to all the family politics, bitching and gossiping, intermingled with envious comparisons of sarees, jewelery and even (gasp) sons-and-daughters in-law.

The function was very sober and quite unlike what I had expected. Held at an old and prestigious club of North Delhi, it was a quiet and contained affair with awesome food.

En return route, I was audience to my mom and sisters conversation as they meticulously dissected the ceremony.

Monday 5^th February

I wasn’t fully rested, but we had to attend the chooda ceremony early morning. Mercifully, it was held at a hotel quite nearby our place (by Delhi standards) so we got some extra time.

The bright sunshine warmed the rooftop while we saw the bride’s mamaji (maternal uncle) gift the auspicious flaring red chooda . All along in the background, the incessant babble of myriad relatives continued their relentless chorus. The fried snacks settled heavily and by the time lunch was over I was sleepy and full.

On reaching home I hit the bed and dropped into a deep slumber.

The wedding was at another hotel this time a little farther off. It looked like a propitious day since we crossed various baraats, and at the venue itself there were three marriages taking place. Consequently, parking was at a premium. While squeezing my car into the available sliver of a space, my car plunged into an invisible drain. The thud reverberated in my heart. With some helping hands I pulled the abused Santro out, but its squeaky complaints didn’t stop. The front bumper had displaced itself and kissed the tyre noisily. There goes the smooth drive tomorrow, I thought sadly.

The newly built hotel’s ballroom was huge and spacious. But the crown belonged to the wide variety of snacks. Greedily I tucked in the delectable chilly paneer and marvelous masala mushrooms and soft spring rolls and delicious paneer tikkas.

The downside of attending family weddings is that everyone suddenly converts into a knowledgeable match-maker. Relatives that you would have met only at the last such function some aeons back hover around you buzzing with their unwanted pearls of advices and suggestions. The frozen smile hurt my jaws.

The DJ pumped up the music and some enterprising souls attacked the dance floor, goaded by the blender’s proud spirits churning within them.

While returning the car grumbled hoarsely like a cement mixer threatening to spew out its solid waste. I was nervous about the impending trip early morning.

Tuesday 6^th February

Vrindavan

Despite best efforts, we couldn’t leave before seven – late, but wholly unavoidable since we had returned well past midnight last night. The local car-wash man gave a stern tug to the bumper, and the car stopped its whining. I was mighty relieved.

In an hour, I was back on the same familiar highway. We stopped at Kosi Kalan for a light breakfast, and arrived at Vrindavan around ten. Before we could enter the city we were stopped for a shady toll tax which I suspect has nothing to do with any legitimate authorities. A bunch of guides pounced on us. Since we were new we required a guide, and selected a young boy in class tenth who did this job part-time, which again I suspect was not wholly true. It was a working day and he had no business being on the road.

Vrindavan is associated with Lord Krishna, whose many child hood pranks and leelas are centered on this place. Vrinda means Tulsi (basil). Later we learnt the original Vrindavan is now lost, and this city was founded much later.

Rangnath Temple

Negotiating a labyrinth of narrow lanes, we reached the mammoth Rangnath Temple.

The temple was built by a rich seth who begot a son at the age of sixty in an era when Viagra wasn’t invented. The construction was South Indian in design and the carvings on it fine and minute.The temple depicts Lord Ranganatha or Rangaji or Lord Vishnu in his sheshashayi pose, resting on the coils of the sacred Sesha Naga. The lynchpin is the huge gold Garuda stambh or Pillar for Garuda (the official vehicle for Lord Vishnu). The premises are open and vast.

Shri Vrindavan Behari Temple

Leaving the car parked at Rangnath Temple’s open compound, we walked through another maze of lanes to reach the Praacheen Vrindavan Bihari Temple. The walls had white marble tiles with black markings. On closer inspection we learnt they were names of devotees who had given donations there.

The deity’s idols were curtained. The priest began his narration on how it was the only place to see the entire family of Lord Krishna, including one of Dauji (Krishna’s elder brother Balaram) discovered from Yamuna riverbed. He explained how it was punya for a son to affix one marble slab in the name of the parents. The slabs started from Rs 1100 onwards. At the end of his narration, he pulled off the curtain to allow us to see the idols and asked for my name, gotra and place of stay and hopefully looked at us to loosen our wallets. We weren’t ready to do so, and as politely as we could, we tore away from that place.

A precocious monkey scooped off the prasaad from my sister’s hands when we stepped out.

Madhuvan

I was expecting a forest. It was just a tulsi garden with a small but quaint temple dedicated to Shri Krishna’s consort, Radhaji. The local myth is that till date in the night Shree Krishna visits the place and does the Raas Leela with Radhaji and the gopis . The tulsi plants transform into gopis in the night. However, any one who tries to view it is stricken dead. A few samadhis in the compound belonged to such voyeurs, our guide explained ominously.

Monkeys and beggars abundantly bustled around us.

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple, built in mid-nineteenth century, is the biggest and most reknowned shrine; the high-point for one who travels here. The street leading to it is colorful, bright, and alive and resonates with activity; shops selling mithais, flowers, religious books, ornaments, deity clothes jostle with devotees rushing to view their favorite Lord.

The temple insides are large, and old-fashioned, made of painted brick-and-cement. The sprawling compound in front of the deity is cordoned off by brass railings to enable queue formation when there is a huge rush. That day, it was quieter and we were just in time before it closed for the afternoon.

The black stone idol is curtained off every few minutes.

We got a clear darshan, and admittedly the atmosphere vibrates piety and bhakti. I soaked the positive vibes and felt uplifted and stirred.

Outside, we eagerly devoured the famous kachauri-aloo and the refreshing kulhad-waali-lassi.

International Society for Krishna Consciousness (Iskcon) Temple

This was our last stop, and we freed the guide here. He had been a good information source, and it would have been awfully tough to find all the places without his guidance. He had interspersed his narrations with calls of Jai Shri Krishna or Bolo Jai Shri Bankey Bihariji Maharajki or simply Radhey Radhey . He had also urged us to laugh and clap our hands advising us that one who makes a pilgrimage should always be happy so that the happiness echoes in our lives and homes.

The Iskcon Temple is a modern construction in white marble, impeccably neat and undoubtedly peaceful. A small group chanted the Lord’s name to the beats of dholak and manjeera .

We relaxed here for a while, before moving on to our next leg of the journey.

To Be Continued.

Technorati : Agra, Lord Krishna, Mathura, Radha, Travel, Vrindavan

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Tuesday 6^th February (Contd.)

Mathura is approx. 10 km away from Vrindavan, pancreatitis towards Agra. We reached around one in the noon. The temples would be closed but since we couldn’t go on to Agra and then return, we chose to kill time at Mathura.

Over the years Mathura has extended and grown haphazardly around the NH2. Modernity has brushed it with colorful malls and markets right on the highway.

The main town is seven kms inside from the highway, and there are several entrances to it. I entered from one inroad only to be rudely stopped by another municipality tax ‘booth’ . Since I have often visited Mathura on official tours I knew this wasn’t any official tax. Adamant in not warming the pockets of any hooligans I reversed the car, and careened into the town from another inroad that I knew of.

There are two main attractions here Shree Krishna Janamsthan (SKJS) or Janmbhoomi and Shri Dwarkadheesh Temple. Near the parking of SKJS, guides besieged us and we chose another young boy a class tenth student, yet again.

Gokul

Since we had time, the guide offered to take us to Gokul nearly thirteen kms away from SKJS, past Mathura Cantt and across River Yamuna.

The city left behind us and we were in rural surroundings. For someone who has been shaken enough by several countryside trips, this held no novelty. My parents and my sister enjoyed the laidback serenity.

Mahavan/ Raman Reti

The boy guided us through Mahavan, a small village before Gokul and we paused at Raman Reti Ashram. The Ashram permeated tranquillity. Once upon a time the Yamuna extended till here but today only her traces remain – the riverbed sand. Myth says that child Krishna played on the river banks, and hence people still roll in the sand as a tribute to the Baal Leela of the Lord. We offered our prayers.

Outside the Ashram, a hot cup of tea served in cute kulhads refreshed us.

The guide left us since he had some work to finish, offering a substitute and promising to meet again at Gokul.

The Ghat

Gokul is a quaint village and has carefully preserved its old persona. The village is purely a Hindu domain and strictly off-bounds for people of other faiths.

We parked our car and weaved our way through a maze of miniature lanes. Mud houses nudged brick ones, albeit single story and invoking a unique coolness, and displayed graffitis of just Radhey Radhey or Jai Shri Krishna ; a step over tiny stairs here, a bend through a low arch there; a sadhu praying at one corner and a cow lazing at another; sweet shop on side, and flowers on the other – the entire ambience imbued piety. Urban mess was in a far vague distance.

We paid our respects to the holy River Yamuna at the Ghat and sat awhile as the river lazily flowed past us.

Nand Lal Shrine, Yog Maya Mandir and Other Temples

Bordering the river front are a string of temples, including one dedicated to Yog Maya, the girl who was replaced in the prison cell when Nandji brought Krishna from there.

At one such temple, the curtains were drawn over the idols. The priest began his narration an exact replica of what we had heard in Vrindavan, including the fact that Balram s idol was discovered from the river bed. How many such idols were found? This time, the threshold price was an exhorbitant Rs 2100/- .

The Nandlal Shrine held a series of rooms dedicated to the life and times of Krishna, but in all of them, the demand for donations continued.

We left Gokul after visiting the main Dauji temple.

Mathura

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi

The temple had opened by the time we reached back. Since the parking was a little further off, we chose to place the car at a private property, the owner of which rushed out to demand a whopping Rs 25 as charges. We negotiated, but in vain. In between, our guide (who had returned at Gokul) upped his price and left in a huff when we refused to pay the extra amount.

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi or Janamsthan is under governmental purview and is a hot seat of controversy as the Idgah Masjid is right on its premises, adjacent to the temple. The security checks are stringent no mobile phones, no electronic items and even no remote control car opening devices. All have to be deposited at a nearby locker room .

The compound is sprawling, open and very clean, with stalls and shops for pedas and flowers , tourist stuff and other sundry prayer items. The tour inside is divine and awe-inspiring. There is the jail where the Lord took birth, the entrance to which is an extremely slim corridor lined with metal walls and rivets. The dungeon room is a similar metalled place.

Next to the jail stands a more modern temple and we spent some time here.

Vishraam Ghaat

We hired a rickshaw to reach Dwarkadheesh Temple. The circuitous route within the old town was through another maze of small lanes. (If you have seen Vivaah, it is easy to imagine their look; director Sooraj Barjatya’s fictitious Madhopur is based on Mathura, and he has recreated the appearance in fine detail).

The temple had closed down yet again. The temple’s opening and closing time-table is intricate, and changes with seasons.

We expended time by checking out the colorful tiny shops that line the entire street. At the end of the lane, it turned downward towards Vishram Ghaat. The Ghat is not exactly clean but the ambience there with the Yamuna river reflecting the molten orb of the setting sun imparted an incredibly peaceful feeling.

Shree Dwarkadheesh Temple

We managed to carve a space right at the front to catch a splendid view of the shining black idol.

The temple is old-fashioned, resembling an ancient haweli. Devotees throng here in immense droves, and admittedly an electrifying energy reverberates through its air and space.

By the time we stepped out it was pretty dark.

Agra

Since we were famished we stopped at the McDonalds on the highway (opposite Mathura Refinery) before making the final lap of our journey.

It’s the first time my parents visited my house here. I had cleaned it up thoroughly before going on the holiday for their welcome especially removing the damning beer bottles.

They loved the house and the area, and I was mighty proud.

Wednesday 7^th February

Taj Mahal

It rained the entire night. The morning opened fresh and moist and shrouded in a thin misty veil. All my grandiose claims about the Taj being visible from my balcony were smothered by the thin white curtain. Eventually, the sun tore open visibility and the grandest building on Agra’s skyline came into view.

I took an hour or so off since I had some work at office.

It was around eleven when we entered the premises of Taj Mahal, after some more rigorous security checks. Mercifully, mobiles are now allowed inside.

Despite all cynicism and skepticism it s just a tomb, it doesn t hold anything valuable from our culture, hell it mightn t even hold the popular romantic notions there is something about the Taj that forces your jaw to drop in admiration, awe and amazement. The magnificent white marble design enthralls with its sheer grace and grandeur.

We did the touristy thing of getting photographs clicked including one by my sister where it gives the illusion that she is holding the Taj with her fingers!

Sadar Bazar

It was lunch time when we left Taj Mahal. My sister insisted that she wished to have a proper lunch no kachauris, samosas or burgers and pizzas. Frankly, I held the same view as well.

I zeroed in to The Park Restaurant at Sadar Bazaar the food is good, the service pretty fast and the ambience crisp and neat. Thankfully, they all loved it too.

We roamed awhile at Sadar Bazar, Agra’s best shopping centre.

Fatehpur Sikri

From Sadar we proceeded to Fatehpur-Sikri. The route leads through Shahganj, a crowded marketplace. It took some time to cross it. Everyone was fidgety. This is normal here, I laughed at their discomfort, having got stuck in innumerable unnecessary traffic snarls in the past six months.

I will skip the details of Fatehpur Sikri since I have covered it here already. We had hired a guide, but because the stories were fresh in my mind I was prompting the guide even before he could begin his narration so much so that my sister remarked that I could be a better guide there!

On the last visit I hadn t spent too much time at Sikri. On this day, we leisurely discovered it. Since Sikri is under ASI (Fatehpur is not, it belongs to Saint Salimuddin Chisti’s descendants) it is much cleaner and better kept and restored.

I knew a short cut existed from Kirawali (ten kilometers from Fatehpur Sikri) that connected NH2, and hence we could avoid Agra. But I hadn t bargained for the dreadful road. The car jumped and jerked over the potholes and broken road. This is so normal, I laughed again, informing that they should once visit the Hathras road.

In less than twenty four hours, I was back on NH2. We arrived at Delhi by nine, and stopped for dinner at Haldiram’s on Mathura Road, near Badarpur border.

Thursday 8^th February

Two back-to-back official meetings ate up the entire day one, a performance review for the past month and the second, on HR counseling (which was nothing but a bland presentation on HR values and appraisals and norms) followed by an awfully tasteless dinner.

Friday 9^th February

I departed from Delhi early morning and yet again I was on NH2 and that ended a wonderful holiday trip, one that I will cherish and the recount here will help me keep the memories fresh.

Concluded

Technorati : Agra, Fatehpur, Gokul, Krishna, Mathura, Sikri

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Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, pills view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, information pills you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, physician Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Saturday 3^rd February

I left Agra late in the noon. My boss called up asking an important budgeting file, and my plans for leaving early were halted. Even as I struggled to get the figures correct on the excel file, visions of burgeoning traffic at Faridabad loomed eerily in my mind. The stomach added its own grumbling chorus since I had skipped breakfast in order to get the house ready for my parents welcome here on my return trip.

I wriggled out of Agra by three p.m, and reached Delhi by eight in the night, stopping mid-way once at Mathura’s McDonalds (on the highway) for a quick bite.

At home, we finalized the itinery for the Mathura and Agra trip for Tuesday and Wednesday, cropping off a lot of things we wished to add. My sister (from Pune) was very keen about the Mathura part of the trip.

The Great Indian Wedding

Sunday 4^th February

At last it sunk in that the holidays had begun, and I swept aside all work related thoughts. Two cool Forsters with an old friend helped in washing away any remnants of office, targets or deadlines!

Evening was earmarked for the sagan ceremony of my cousin. I love being an observer at all family weddings and this one was no different. I listened amusedly to all the family politics, bitching and gossiping, intermingled with envious comparisons of sarees, jewelery and even (gasp) sons-and-daughters in-law.

The function was very sober and quite unlike what I had expected. Held at an old and prestigious club of North Delhi, it was a quiet and contained affair with awesome food.

En return route, I was audience to my mom and sisters conversation as they meticulously dissected the ceremony.

Monday 5^th February

I wasn’t fully rested, but we had to attend the chooda ceremony early morning. Mercifully, it was held at a hotel quite nearby our place (by Delhi standards) so we got some extra time.

The bright sunshine warmed the rooftop while we saw the bride’s mamaji (maternal uncle) gift the auspicious flaring red chooda . All along in the background, the incessant babble of myriad relatives continued their relentless chorus. The fried snacks settled heavily and by the time lunch was over I was sleepy and full.

On reaching home I hit the bed and dropped into a deep slumber.

The wedding was at another hotel this time a little farther off. It looked like a propitious day since we crossed various baraats, and at the venue itself there were three marriages taking place. Consequently, parking was at a premium. While squeezing my car into the available sliver of a space, my car plunged into an invisible drain. The thud reverberated in my heart. With some helping hands I pulled the abused Santro out, but its squeaky complaints didn’t stop. The front bumper had displaced itself and kissed the tyre noisily. There goes the smooth drive tomorrow, I thought sadly.

The newly built hotel’s ballroom was huge and spacious. But the crown belonged to the wide variety of snacks. Greedily I tucked in the delectable chilly paneer and marvelous masala mushrooms and soft spring rolls and delicious paneer tikkas.

The downside of attending family weddings is that everyone suddenly converts into a knowledgeable match-maker. Relatives that you would have met only at the last such function some aeons back hover around you buzzing with their unwanted pearls of advices and suggestions. The frozen smile hurt my jaws.

The DJ pumped up the music and some enterprising souls attacked the dance floor, goaded by the blender’s proud spirits churning within them.

While returning the car grumbled hoarsely like a cement mixer threatening to spew out its solid waste. I was nervous about the impending trip early morning.

Tuesday 6^th February

Vrindavan

Despite best efforts, we couldn’t leave before seven – late, but wholly unavoidable since we had returned well past midnight last night. The local car-wash man gave a stern tug to the bumper, and the car stopped its whining. I was mighty relieved.

In an hour, I was back on the same familiar highway. We stopped at Kosi Kalan for a light breakfast, and arrived at Vrindavan around ten. Before we could enter the city we were stopped for a shady toll tax which I suspect has nothing to do with any legitimate authorities. A bunch of guides pounced on us. Since we were new we required a guide, and selected a young boy in class tenth who did this job part-time, which again I suspect was not wholly true. It was a working day and he had no business being on the road.

Vrindavan is associated with Lord Krishna, whose many child hood pranks and leelas are centered on this place. Vrinda means Tulsi (basil). Later we learnt the original Vrindavan is now lost, and this city was founded much later.

Rangnath Temple

Negotiating a labyrinth of narrow lanes, we reached the mammoth Rangnath Temple.

The temple was built by a rich seth who begot a son at the age of sixty in an era when Viagra wasn’t invented. The construction was South Indian in design and the carvings on it fine and minute.The temple depicts Lord Ranganatha or Rangaji or Lord Vishnu in his sheshashayi pose, resting on the coils of the sacred Sesha Naga. The lynchpin is the huge gold Garuda stambh or Pillar for Garuda (the official vehicle for Lord Vishnu). The premises are open and vast.

Shri Vrindavan Behari Temple

Leaving the car parked at Rangnath Temple’s open compound, we walked through another maze of lanes to reach the Praacheen Vrindavan Bihari Temple. The walls had white marble tiles with black markings. On closer inspection we learnt they were names of devotees who had given donations there.

The deity’s idols were curtained. The priest began his narration on how it was the only place to see the entire family of Lord Krishna, including one of Dauji (Krishna’s elder brother Balaram) discovered from Yamuna riverbed. He explained how it was punya for a son to affix one marble slab in the name of the parents. The slabs started from Rs 1100 onwards. At the end of his narration, he pulled off the curtain to allow us to see the idols and asked for my name, gotra and place of stay and hopefully looked at us to loosen our wallets. We weren’t ready to do so, and as politely as we could, we tore away from that place.

A precocious monkey scooped off the prasaad from my sister’s hands when we stepped out.

Madhuvan

I was expecting a forest. It was just a tulsi garden with a small but quaint temple dedicated to Shri Krishna’s consort, Radhaji. The local myth is that till date in the night Shree Krishna visits the place and does the Raas Leela with Radhaji and the gopis . The tulsi plants transform into gopis in the night. However, any one who tries to view it is stricken dead. A few samadhis in the compound belonged to such voyeurs, our guide explained ominously.

Monkeys and beggars abundantly bustled around us.

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple, built in mid-nineteenth century, is the biggest and most reknowned shrine; the high-point for one who travels here. The street leading to it is colorful, bright, and alive and resonates with activity; shops selling mithais, flowers, religious books, ornaments, deity clothes jostle with devotees rushing to view their favorite Lord.

The temple insides are large, and old-fashioned, made of painted brick-and-cement. The sprawling compound in front of the deity is cordoned off by brass railings to enable queue formation when there is a huge rush. That day, it was quieter and we were just in time before it closed for the afternoon.

The black stone idol is curtained off every few minutes.

We got a clear darshan, and admittedly the atmosphere vibrates piety and bhakti. I soaked the positive vibes and felt uplifted and stirred.

Outside, we eagerly devoured the famous kachauri-aloo and the refreshing kulhad-waali-lassi.

International Society for Krishna Consciousness (Iskcon) Temple

This was our last stop, and we freed the guide here. He had been a good information source, and it would have been awfully tough to find all the places without his guidance. He had interspersed his narrations with calls of Jai Shri Krishna or Bolo Jai Shri Bankey Bihariji Maharajki or simply Radhey Radhey . He had also urged us to laugh and clap our hands advising us that one who makes a pilgrimage should always be happy so that the happiness echoes in our lives and homes.

The Iskcon Temple is a modern construction in white marble, impeccably neat and undoubtedly peaceful. A small group chanted the Lord’s name to the beats of dholak and manjeera .

We relaxed here for a while, before moving on to our next leg of the journey.

To Be Continued.

Technorati : Agra, Lord Krishna, Mathura, Radha, Travel, Vrindavan

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Tuesday 6^th February (Contd.)

Mathura is approx. 10 km away from Vrindavan, pancreatitis towards Agra. We reached around one in the noon. The temples would be closed but since we couldn’t go on to Agra and then return, we chose to kill time at Mathura.

Over the years Mathura has extended and grown haphazardly around the NH2. Modernity has brushed it with colorful malls and markets right on the highway.

The main town is seven kms inside from the highway, and there are several entrances to it. I entered from one inroad only to be rudely stopped by another municipality tax ‘booth’ . Since I have often visited Mathura on official tours I knew this wasn’t any official tax. Adamant in not warming the pockets of any hooligans I reversed the car, and careened into the town from another inroad that I knew of.

There are two main attractions here Shree Krishna Janamsthan (SKJS) or Janmbhoomi and Shri Dwarkadheesh Temple. Near the parking of SKJS, guides besieged us and we chose another young boy a class tenth student, yet again.

Gokul

Since we had time, the guide offered to take us to Gokul nearly thirteen kms away from SKJS, past Mathura Cantt and across River Yamuna.

The city left behind us and we were in rural surroundings. For someone who has been shaken enough by several countryside trips, this held no novelty. My parents and my sister enjoyed the laidback serenity.

Mahavan/ Raman Reti

The boy guided us through Mahavan, a small village before Gokul and we paused at Raman Reti Ashram. The Ashram permeated tranquillity. Once upon a time the Yamuna extended till here but today only her traces remain – the riverbed sand. Myth says that child Krishna played on the river banks, and hence people still roll in the sand as a tribute to the Baal Leela of the Lord. We offered our prayers.

Outside the Ashram, a hot cup of tea served in cute kulhads refreshed us.

The guide left us since he had some work to finish, offering a substitute and promising to meet again at Gokul.

The Ghat

Gokul is a quaint village and has carefully preserved its old persona. The village is purely a Hindu domain and strictly off-bounds for people of other faiths.

We parked our car and weaved our way through a maze of miniature lanes. Mud houses nudged brick ones, albeit single story and invoking a unique coolness, and displayed graffitis of just Radhey Radhey or Jai Shri Krishna ; a step over tiny stairs here, a bend through a low arch there; a sadhu praying at one corner and a cow lazing at another; sweet shop on side, and flowers on the other – the entire ambience imbued piety. Urban mess was in a far vague distance.

We paid our respects to the holy River Yamuna at the Ghat and sat awhile as the river lazily flowed past us.

Nand Lal Shrine, Yog Maya Mandir and Other Temples

Bordering the river front are a string of temples, including one dedicated to Yog Maya, the girl who was replaced in the prison cell when Nandji brought Krishna from there.

At one such temple, the curtains were drawn over the idols. The priest began his narration an exact replica of what we had heard in Vrindavan, including the fact that Balram s idol was discovered from the river bed. How many such idols were found? This time, the threshold price was an exhorbitant Rs 2100/- .

The Nandlal Shrine held a series of rooms dedicated to the life and times of Krishna, but in all of them, the demand for donations continued.

We left Gokul after visiting the main Dauji temple.

Mathura

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi

The temple had opened by the time we reached back. Since the parking was a little further off, we chose to place the car at a private property, the owner of which rushed out to demand a whopping Rs 25 as charges. We negotiated, but in vain. In between, our guide (who had returned at Gokul) upped his price and left in a huff when we refused to pay the extra amount.

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi or Janamsthan is under governmental purview and is a hot seat of controversy as the Idgah Masjid is right on its premises, adjacent to the temple. The security checks are stringent no mobile phones, no electronic items and even no remote control car opening devices. All have to be deposited at a nearby locker room .

The compound is sprawling, open and very clean, with stalls and shops for pedas and flowers , tourist stuff and other sundry prayer items. The tour inside is divine and awe-inspiring. There is the jail where the Lord took birth, the entrance to which is an extremely slim corridor lined with metal walls and rivets. The dungeon room is a similar metalled place.

Next to the jail stands a more modern temple and we spent some time here.

Vishraam Ghaat

We hired a rickshaw to reach Dwarkadheesh Temple. The circuitous route within the old town was through another maze of small lanes. (If you have seen Vivaah, it is easy to imagine their look; director Sooraj Barjatya’s fictitious Madhopur is based on Mathura, and he has recreated the appearance in fine detail).

The temple had closed down yet again. The temple’s opening and closing time-table is intricate, and changes with seasons.

We expended time by checking out the colorful tiny shops that line the entire street. At the end of the lane, it turned downward towards Vishram Ghaat. The Ghat is not exactly clean but the ambience there with the Yamuna river reflecting the molten orb of the setting sun imparted an incredibly peaceful feeling.

Shree Dwarkadheesh Temple

We managed to carve a space right at the front to catch a splendid view of the shining black idol.

The temple is old-fashioned, resembling an ancient haweli. Devotees throng here in immense droves, and admittedly an electrifying energy reverberates through its air and space.

By the time we stepped out it was pretty dark.

Agra

Since we were famished we stopped at the McDonalds on the highway (opposite Mathura Refinery) before making the final lap of our journey.

It’s the first time my parents visited my house here. I had cleaned it up thoroughly before going on the holiday for their welcome especially removing the damning beer bottles.

They loved the house and the area, and I was mighty proud.

Wednesday 7^th February

Taj Mahal

It rained the entire night. The morning opened fresh and moist and shrouded in a thin misty veil. All my grandiose claims about the Taj being visible from my balcony were smothered by the thin white curtain. Eventually, the sun tore open visibility and the grandest building on Agra’s skyline came into view.

I took an hour or so off since I had some work at office.

It was around eleven when we entered the premises of Taj Mahal, after some more rigorous security checks. Mercifully, mobiles are now allowed inside.

Despite all cynicism and skepticism it s just a tomb, it doesn t hold anything valuable from our culture, hell it mightn t even hold the popular romantic notions there is something about the Taj that forces your jaw to drop in admiration, awe and amazement. The magnificent white marble design enthralls with its sheer grace and grandeur.

We did the touristy thing of getting photographs clicked including one by my sister where it gives the illusion that she is holding the Taj with her fingers!

Sadar Bazar

It was lunch time when we left Taj Mahal. My sister insisted that she wished to have a proper lunch no kachauris, samosas or burgers and pizzas. Frankly, I held the same view as well.

I zeroed in to The Park Restaurant at Sadar Bazaar the food is good, the service pretty fast and the ambience crisp and neat. Thankfully, they all loved it too.

We roamed awhile at Sadar Bazar, Agra’s best shopping centre.

Fatehpur Sikri

From Sadar we proceeded to Fatehpur-Sikri. The route leads through Shahganj, a crowded marketplace. It took some time to cross it. Everyone was fidgety. This is normal here, I laughed at their discomfort, having got stuck in innumerable unnecessary traffic snarls in the past six months.

I will skip the details of Fatehpur Sikri since I have covered it here already. We had hired a guide, but because the stories were fresh in my mind I was prompting the guide even before he could begin his narration so much so that my sister remarked that I could be a better guide there!

On the last visit I hadn t spent too much time at Sikri. On this day, we leisurely discovered it. Since Sikri is under ASI (Fatehpur is not, it belongs to Saint Salimuddin Chisti’s descendants) it is much cleaner and better kept and restored.

I knew a short cut existed from Kirawali (ten kilometers from Fatehpur Sikri) that connected NH2, and hence we could avoid Agra. But I hadn t bargained for the dreadful road. The car jumped and jerked over the potholes and broken road. This is so normal, I laughed again, informing that they should once visit the Hathras road.

In less than twenty four hours, I was back on NH2. We arrived at Delhi by nine, and stopped for dinner at Haldiram’s on Mathura Road, near Badarpur border.

Thursday 8^th February

Two back-to-back official meetings ate up the entire day one, a performance review for the past month and the second, on HR counseling (which was nothing but a bland presentation on HR values and appraisals and norms) followed by an awfully tasteless dinner.

Friday 9^th February

I departed from Delhi early morning and yet again I was on NH2 and that ended a wonderful holiday trip, one that I will cherish and the recount here will help me keep the memories fresh.

Concluded

Technorati : Agra, Fatehpur, Gokul, Krishna, Mathura, Sikri

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Film Review

What is dharma (duty)? Is it the constricted definition passed down from the Mahabharata ages in the form of Eklavya‘s story (who cut his thumb to please his pseudo-master), prostate where we celebrate the horrifyingly unjust demand for sacrifice only because it sounds righteous and appeases the base moral instinct? Or, traumatologist is there a leeway where your own brain and circumstances can carve out not your thumb but a practical path of reconciliation? Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s latest directorial venture Eklavya-The Royal Guard, viagra after a long seven year hiatus, tackles this pricky dilemma and questions the value and relevance of Eklavya’s sacrifice.

The film centres around Eklavya (Amitabh Bachchan), the royal guard of a fictitious Rajasthani princely state Devigarh, where a terrifying secret about the parentage of the prince Harsh (Saif Ali Khan) and his mentally challenged twin sister Nandini (Raima Sen) is buried beneath the thick walls of the fort. Once the queen (Sharmila Tagore in a guest appearance) is murdered by the jealous king (Boman Irani), the events start to unfold leading to a climax where the fulcrum of duty oscillates between the two principal characters Eklavya and Harshvardhan.

Other characters that add to the story are the king’s younger brother Jyotivardhan (Jackie Shroff), his son Uday (Jimmy Sheirgill) and a police inspector Pannalal (Sanjay Dutt) who is in awe of Eklavya.

The director’s challenge to the timeless definition of dharma is presented well. A large posse of principal characters is positive in essence, which is a great relief. And the direction is consistent, and the pace even.

But what mars the film is its extremely heavy atmosphere, which relentlessly doesn’t provide any respite, despite a hesitant romantic interlude between the prince and the driver’s (Parikshit Sahni) daughter Rajjo (Vidya Balan). The second weak aspect is the screenplay where the movement from the first scene to the last is essentially zilch; once the characters are introduced the film could have moved to its climax without anything in-between either holding story value or aesthetic interest or entertainment. In that respect even the short running time (its just close to two hours) seems exorbitantly long especially the tedious second half! For a story of this kind, there isn’t any intricate interweaving of events and characters, which could have made the film’s appeal richer. Finally, the drama lacks the requisite punch.

There are several other minor flaws for example, the fort is surprisingly devoid of any other servants or helpers; or the language, which has no trace of the local dialect.

However, what saves the film are two huge positives a) Amitabh Bachchan he breathes a scalding intensity into Eklavya’s forlorn character, tucking in every nuance and shade, and leaving no ungainly folds or loose ends. His body language is taut like a bow while his facial expressions are fluid and vivid. Hell, even the veins on his forehead emote out his anguish and pain; and b) KS Natarajan‘s absolutely stunning cinematography each shot is a painstakingly executed picture postcard capturing the rugged Rajasthani territory. The shot involving a thousand camels running amok in front of a running train is enormously scintillating.

Other actors put their best mask forward Saif Ali Khan’s new found acting capabilities are put to good use. Sanjay Dutt delights in the only slightly lighter role. Boman Irani is as ever effective. Jackie Shroff and Jimmy Sheirgill add value. However, Vidya Balan gets her third consecutive (after Guru, Salaam-E-Ishq) inconsequential role, and she acts as if she is doing a great favor to the film!

Sharmila Tagore is actually wasted in the small role, and that is a shame. And what was Mita Vashisht doing in that single scene she gets?

Except for a few lines of the lullaby Chanda re chanda re, the film is song-less. But the background score is neat.

In totality, the film is not for those seeking weekend entertainment. Even as a film it remains largely at an average plane and fails to lift itself to glorious height.

Overall: Average, but worth one viewing for sure esp. for Big B’s superb performace!

Technorati : Amitabh, Bachchan, Boman Irani, Eklavya, Saif Ali Khan, Sanjay Dutt, Sharmila Tagore, Vidhu Vinod Chopra

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Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, pills view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, information pills you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, physician Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Saturday 3^rd February

I left Agra late in the noon. My boss called up asking an important budgeting file, and my plans for leaving early were halted. Even as I struggled to get the figures correct on the excel file, visions of burgeoning traffic at Faridabad loomed eerily in my mind. The stomach added its own grumbling chorus since I had skipped breakfast in order to get the house ready for my parents welcome here on my return trip.

I wriggled out of Agra by three p.m, and reached Delhi by eight in the night, stopping mid-way once at Mathura’s McDonalds (on the highway) for a quick bite.

At home, we finalized the itinery for the Mathura and Agra trip for Tuesday and Wednesday, cropping off a lot of things we wished to add. My sister (from Pune) was very keen about the Mathura part of the trip.

The Great Indian Wedding

Sunday 4^th February

At last it sunk in that the holidays had begun, and I swept aside all work related thoughts. Two cool Forsters with an old friend helped in washing away any remnants of office, targets or deadlines!

Evening was earmarked for the sagan ceremony of my cousin. I love being an observer at all family weddings and this one was no different. I listened amusedly to all the family politics, bitching and gossiping, intermingled with envious comparisons of sarees, jewelery and even (gasp) sons-and-daughters in-law.

The function was very sober and quite unlike what I had expected. Held at an old and prestigious club of North Delhi, it was a quiet and contained affair with awesome food.

En return route, I was audience to my mom and sisters conversation as they meticulously dissected the ceremony.

Monday 5^th February

I wasn’t fully rested, but we had to attend the chooda ceremony early morning. Mercifully, it was held at a hotel quite nearby our place (by Delhi standards) so we got some extra time.

The bright sunshine warmed the rooftop while we saw the bride’s mamaji (maternal uncle) gift the auspicious flaring red chooda . All along in the background, the incessant babble of myriad relatives continued their relentless chorus. The fried snacks settled heavily and by the time lunch was over I was sleepy and full.

On reaching home I hit the bed and dropped into a deep slumber.

The wedding was at another hotel this time a little farther off. It looked like a propitious day since we crossed various baraats, and at the venue itself there were three marriages taking place. Consequently, parking was at a premium. While squeezing my car into the available sliver of a space, my car plunged into an invisible drain. The thud reverberated in my heart. With some helping hands I pulled the abused Santro out, but its squeaky complaints didn’t stop. The front bumper had displaced itself and kissed the tyre noisily. There goes the smooth drive tomorrow, I thought sadly.

The newly built hotel’s ballroom was huge and spacious. But the crown belonged to the wide variety of snacks. Greedily I tucked in the delectable chilly paneer and marvelous masala mushrooms and soft spring rolls and delicious paneer tikkas.

The downside of attending family weddings is that everyone suddenly converts into a knowledgeable match-maker. Relatives that you would have met only at the last such function some aeons back hover around you buzzing with their unwanted pearls of advices and suggestions. The frozen smile hurt my jaws.

The DJ pumped up the music and some enterprising souls attacked the dance floor, goaded by the blender’s proud spirits churning within them.

While returning the car grumbled hoarsely like a cement mixer threatening to spew out its solid waste. I was nervous about the impending trip early morning.

Tuesday 6^th February

Vrindavan

Despite best efforts, we couldn’t leave before seven – late, but wholly unavoidable since we had returned well past midnight last night. The local car-wash man gave a stern tug to the bumper, and the car stopped its whining. I was mighty relieved.

In an hour, I was back on the same familiar highway. We stopped at Kosi Kalan for a light breakfast, and arrived at Vrindavan around ten. Before we could enter the city we were stopped for a shady toll tax which I suspect has nothing to do with any legitimate authorities. A bunch of guides pounced on us. Since we were new we required a guide, and selected a young boy in class tenth who did this job part-time, which again I suspect was not wholly true. It was a working day and he had no business being on the road.

Vrindavan is associated with Lord Krishna, whose many child hood pranks and leelas are centered on this place. Vrinda means Tulsi (basil). Later we learnt the original Vrindavan is now lost, and this city was founded much later.

Rangnath Temple

Negotiating a labyrinth of narrow lanes, we reached the mammoth Rangnath Temple.

The temple was built by a rich seth who begot a son at the age of sixty in an era when Viagra wasn’t invented. The construction was South Indian in design and the carvings on it fine and minute.The temple depicts Lord Ranganatha or Rangaji or Lord Vishnu in his sheshashayi pose, resting on the coils of the sacred Sesha Naga. The lynchpin is the huge gold Garuda stambh or Pillar for Garuda (the official vehicle for Lord Vishnu). The premises are open and vast.

Shri Vrindavan Behari Temple

Leaving the car parked at Rangnath Temple’s open compound, we walked through another maze of lanes to reach the Praacheen Vrindavan Bihari Temple. The walls had white marble tiles with black markings. On closer inspection we learnt they were names of devotees who had given donations there.

The deity’s idols were curtained. The priest began his narration on how it was the only place to see the entire family of Lord Krishna, including one of Dauji (Krishna’s elder brother Balaram) discovered from Yamuna riverbed. He explained how it was punya for a son to affix one marble slab in the name of the parents. The slabs started from Rs 1100 onwards. At the end of his narration, he pulled off the curtain to allow us to see the idols and asked for my name, gotra and place of stay and hopefully looked at us to loosen our wallets. We weren’t ready to do so, and as politely as we could, we tore away from that place.

A precocious monkey scooped off the prasaad from my sister’s hands when we stepped out.

Madhuvan

I was expecting a forest. It was just a tulsi garden with a small but quaint temple dedicated to Shri Krishna’s consort, Radhaji. The local myth is that till date in the night Shree Krishna visits the place and does the Raas Leela with Radhaji and the gopis . The tulsi plants transform into gopis in the night. However, any one who tries to view it is stricken dead. A few samadhis in the compound belonged to such voyeurs, our guide explained ominously.

Monkeys and beggars abundantly bustled around us.

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple, built in mid-nineteenth century, is the biggest and most reknowned shrine; the high-point for one who travels here. The street leading to it is colorful, bright, and alive and resonates with activity; shops selling mithais, flowers, religious books, ornaments, deity clothes jostle with devotees rushing to view their favorite Lord.

The temple insides are large, and old-fashioned, made of painted brick-and-cement. The sprawling compound in front of the deity is cordoned off by brass railings to enable queue formation when there is a huge rush. That day, it was quieter and we were just in time before it closed for the afternoon.

The black stone idol is curtained off every few minutes.

We got a clear darshan, and admittedly the atmosphere vibrates piety and bhakti. I soaked the positive vibes and felt uplifted and stirred.

Outside, we eagerly devoured the famous kachauri-aloo and the refreshing kulhad-waali-lassi.

International Society for Krishna Consciousness (Iskcon) Temple

This was our last stop, and we freed the guide here. He had been a good information source, and it would have been awfully tough to find all the places without his guidance. He had interspersed his narrations with calls of Jai Shri Krishna or Bolo Jai Shri Bankey Bihariji Maharajki or simply Radhey Radhey . He had also urged us to laugh and clap our hands advising us that one who makes a pilgrimage should always be happy so that the happiness echoes in our lives and homes.

The Iskcon Temple is a modern construction in white marble, impeccably neat and undoubtedly peaceful. A small group chanted the Lord’s name to the beats of dholak and manjeera .

We relaxed here for a while, before moving on to our next leg of the journey.

To Be Continued.

Technorati : Agra, Lord Krishna, Mathura, Radha, Travel, Vrindavan

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Tuesday 6^th February (Contd.)

Mathura is approx. 10 km away from Vrindavan, pancreatitis towards Agra. We reached around one in the noon. The temples would be closed but since we couldn’t go on to Agra and then return, we chose to kill time at Mathura.

Over the years Mathura has extended and grown haphazardly around the NH2. Modernity has brushed it with colorful malls and markets right on the highway.

The main town is seven kms inside from the highway, and there are several entrances to it. I entered from one inroad only to be rudely stopped by another municipality tax ‘booth’ . Since I have often visited Mathura on official tours I knew this wasn’t any official tax. Adamant in not warming the pockets of any hooligans I reversed the car, and careened into the town from another inroad that I knew of.

There are two main attractions here Shree Krishna Janamsthan (SKJS) or Janmbhoomi and Shri Dwarkadheesh Temple. Near the parking of SKJS, guides besieged us and we chose another young boy a class tenth student, yet again.

Gokul

Since we had time, the guide offered to take us to Gokul nearly thirteen kms away from SKJS, past Mathura Cantt and across River Yamuna.

The city left behind us and we were in rural surroundings. For someone who has been shaken enough by several countryside trips, this held no novelty. My parents and my sister enjoyed the laidback serenity.

Mahavan/ Raman Reti

The boy guided us through Mahavan, a small village before Gokul and we paused at Raman Reti Ashram. The Ashram permeated tranquillity. Once upon a time the Yamuna extended till here but today only her traces remain – the riverbed sand. Myth says that child Krishna played on the river banks, and hence people still roll in the sand as a tribute to the Baal Leela of the Lord. We offered our prayers.

Outside the Ashram, a hot cup of tea served in cute kulhads refreshed us.

The guide left us since he had some work to finish, offering a substitute and promising to meet again at Gokul.

The Ghat

Gokul is a quaint village and has carefully preserved its old persona. The village is purely a Hindu domain and strictly off-bounds for people of other faiths.

We parked our car and weaved our way through a maze of miniature lanes. Mud houses nudged brick ones, albeit single story and invoking a unique coolness, and displayed graffitis of just Radhey Radhey or Jai Shri Krishna ; a step over tiny stairs here, a bend through a low arch there; a sadhu praying at one corner and a cow lazing at another; sweet shop on side, and flowers on the other – the entire ambience imbued piety. Urban mess was in a far vague distance.

We paid our respects to the holy River Yamuna at the Ghat and sat awhile as the river lazily flowed past us.

Nand Lal Shrine, Yog Maya Mandir and Other Temples

Bordering the river front are a string of temples, including one dedicated to Yog Maya, the girl who was replaced in the prison cell when Nandji brought Krishna from there.

At one such temple, the curtains were drawn over the idols. The priest began his narration an exact replica of what we had heard in Vrindavan, including the fact that Balram s idol was discovered from the river bed. How many such idols were found? This time, the threshold price was an exhorbitant Rs 2100/- .

The Nandlal Shrine held a series of rooms dedicated to the life and times of Krishna, but in all of them, the demand for donations continued.

We left Gokul after visiting the main Dauji temple.

Mathura

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi

The temple had opened by the time we reached back. Since the parking was a little further off, we chose to place the car at a private property, the owner of which rushed out to demand a whopping Rs 25 as charges. We negotiated, but in vain. In between, our guide (who had returned at Gokul) upped his price and left in a huff when we refused to pay the extra amount.

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi or Janamsthan is under governmental purview and is a hot seat of controversy as the Idgah Masjid is right on its premises, adjacent to the temple. The security checks are stringent no mobile phones, no electronic items and even no remote control car opening devices. All have to be deposited at a nearby locker room .

The compound is sprawling, open and very clean, with stalls and shops for pedas and flowers , tourist stuff and other sundry prayer items. The tour inside is divine and awe-inspiring. There is the jail where the Lord took birth, the entrance to which is an extremely slim corridor lined with metal walls and rivets. The dungeon room is a similar metalled place.

Next to the jail stands a more modern temple and we spent some time here.

Vishraam Ghaat

We hired a rickshaw to reach Dwarkadheesh Temple. The circuitous route within the old town was through another maze of small lanes. (If you have seen Vivaah, it is easy to imagine their look; director Sooraj Barjatya’s fictitious Madhopur is based on Mathura, and he has recreated the appearance in fine detail).

The temple had closed down yet again. The temple’s opening and closing time-table is intricate, and changes with seasons.

We expended time by checking out the colorful tiny shops that line the entire street. At the end of the lane, it turned downward towards Vishram Ghaat. The Ghat is not exactly clean but the ambience there with the Yamuna river reflecting the molten orb of the setting sun imparted an incredibly peaceful feeling.

Shree Dwarkadheesh Temple

We managed to carve a space right at the front to catch a splendid view of the shining black idol.

The temple is old-fashioned, resembling an ancient haweli. Devotees throng here in immense droves, and admittedly an electrifying energy reverberates through its air and space.

By the time we stepped out it was pretty dark.

Agra

Since we were famished we stopped at the McDonalds on the highway (opposite Mathura Refinery) before making the final lap of our journey.

It’s the first time my parents visited my house here. I had cleaned it up thoroughly before going on the holiday for their welcome especially removing the damning beer bottles.

They loved the house and the area, and I was mighty proud.

Wednesday 7^th February

Taj Mahal

It rained the entire night. The morning opened fresh and moist and shrouded in a thin misty veil. All my grandiose claims about the Taj being visible from my balcony were smothered by the thin white curtain. Eventually, the sun tore open visibility and the grandest building on Agra’s skyline came into view.

I took an hour or so off since I had some work at office.

It was around eleven when we entered the premises of Taj Mahal, after some more rigorous security checks. Mercifully, mobiles are now allowed inside.

Despite all cynicism and skepticism it s just a tomb, it doesn t hold anything valuable from our culture, hell it mightn t even hold the popular romantic notions there is something about the Taj that forces your jaw to drop in admiration, awe and amazement. The magnificent white marble design enthralls with its sheer grace and grandeur.

We did the touristy thing of getting photographs clicked including one by my sister where it gives the illusion that she is holding the Taj with her fingers!

Sadar Bazar

It was lunch time when we left Taj Mahal. My sister insisted that she wished to have a proper lunch no kachauris, samosas or burgers and pizzas. Frankly, I held the same view as well.

I zeroed in to The Park Restaurant at Sadar Bazaar the food is good, the service pretty fast and the ambience crisp and neat. Thankfully, they all loved it too.

We roamed awhile at Sadar Bazar, Agra’s best shopping centre.

Fatehpur Sikri

From Sadar we proceeded to Fatehpur-Sikri. The route leads through Shahganj, a crowded marketplace. It took some time to cross it. Everyone was fidgety. This is normal here, I laughed at their discomfort, having got stuck in innumerable unnecessary traffic snarls in the past six months.

I will skip the details of Fatehpur Sikri since I have covered it here already. We had hired a guide, but because the stories were fresh in my mind I was prompting the guide even before he could begin his narration so much so that my sister remarked that I could be a better guide there!

On the last visit I hadn t spent too much time at Sikri. On this day, we leisurely discovered it. Since Sikri is under ASI (Fatehpur is not, it belongs to Saint Salimuddin Chisti’s descendants) it is much cleaner and better kept and restored.

I knew a short cut existed from Kirawali (ten kilometers from Fatehpur Sikri) that connected NH2, and hence we could avoid Agra. But I hadn t bargained for the dreadful road. The car jumped and jerked over the potholes and broken road. This is so normal, I laughed again, informing that they should once visit the Hathras road.

In less than twenty four hours, I was back on NH2. We arrived at Delhi by nine, and stopped for dinner at Haldiram’s on Mathura Road, near Badarpur border.

Thursday 8^th February

Two back-to-back official meetings ate up the entire day one, a performance review for the past month and the second, on HR counseling (which was nothing but a bland presentation on HR values and appraisals and norms) followed by an awfully tasteless dinner.

Friday 9^th February

I departed from Delhi early morning and yet again I was on NH2 and that ended a wonderful holiday trip, one that I will cherish and the recount here will help me keep the memories fresh.

Concluded

Technorati : Agra, Fatehpur, Gokul, Krishna, Mathura, Sikri

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Film Review

What is dharma (duty)? Is it the constricted definition passed down from the Mahabharata ages in the form of Eklavya‘s story (who cut his thumb to please his pseudo-master), prostate where we celebrate the horrifyingly unjust demand for sacrifice only because it sounds righteous and appeases the base moral instinct? Or, traumatologist is there a leeway where your own brain and circumstances can carve out not your thumb but a practical path of reconciliation? Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s latest directorial venture Eklavya-The Royal Guard, viagra after a long seven year hiatus, tackles this pricky dilemma and questions the value and relevance of Eklavya’s sacrifice.

The film centres around Eklavya (Amitabh Bachchan), the royal guard of a fictitious Rajasthani princely state Devigarh, where a terrifying secret about the parentage of the prince Harsh (Saif Ali Khan) and his mentally challenged twin sister Nandini (Raima Sen) is buried beneath the thick walls of the fort. Once the queen (Sharmila Tagore in a guest appearance) is murdered by the jealous king (Boman Irani), the events start to unfold leading to a climax where the fulcrum of duty oscillates between the two principal characters Eklavya and Harshvardhan.

Other characters that add to the story are the king’s younger brother Jyotivardhan (Jackie Shroff), his son Uday (Jimmy Sheirgill) and a police inspector Pannalal (Sanjay Dutt) who is in awe of Eklavya.

The director’s challenge to the timeless definition of dharma is presented well. A large posse of principal characters is positive in essence, which is a great relief. And the direction is consistent, and the pace even.

But what mars the film is its extremely heavy atmosphere, which relentlessly doesn’t provide any respite, despite a hesitant romantic interlude between the prince and the driver’s (Parikshit Sahni) daughter Rajjo (Vidya Balan). The second weak aspect is the screenplay where the movement from the first scene to the last is essentially zilch; once the characters are introduced the film could have moved to its climax without anything in-between either holding story value or aesthetic interest or entertainment. In that respect even the short running time (its just close to two hours) seems exorbitantly long especially the tedious second half! For a story of this kind, there isn’t any intricate interweaving of events and characters, which could have made the film’s appeal richer. Finally, the drama lacks the requisite punch.

There are several other minor flaws for example, the fort is surprisingly devoid of any other servants or helpers; or the language, which has no trace of the local dialect.

However, what saves the film are two huge positives a) Amitabh Bachchan he breathes a scalding intensity into Eklavya’s forlorn character, tucking in every nuance and shade, and leaving no ungainly folds or loose ends. His body language is taut like a bow while his facial expressions are fluid and vivid. Hell, even the veins on his forehead emote out his anguish and pain; and b) KS Natarajan‘s absolutely stunning cinematography each shot is a painstakingly executed picture postcard capturing the rugged Rajasthani territory. The shot involving a thousand camels running amok in front of a running train is enormously scintillating.

Other actors put their best mask forward Saif Ali Khan’s new found acting capabilities are put to good use. Sanjay Dutt delights in the only slightly lighter role. Boman Irani is as ever effective. Jackie Shroff and Jimmy Sheirgill add value. However, Vidya Balan gets her third consecutive (after Guru, Salaam-E-Ishq) inconsequential role, and she acts as if she is doing a great favor to the film!

Sharmila Tagore is actually wasted in the small role, and that is a shame. And what was Mita Vashisht doing in that single scene she gets?

Except for a few lines of the lullaby Chanda re chanda re, the film is song-less. But the background score is neat.

In totality, the film is not for those seeking weekend entertainment. Even as a film it remains largely at an average plane and fails to lift itself to glorious height.

Overall: Average, but worth one viewing for sure esp. for Big B’s superb performace!

Technorati : Amitabh, Bachchan, Boman Irani, Eklavya, Saif Ali Khan, Sanjay Dutt, Sharmila Tagore, Vidhu Vinod Chopra

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Four phases of life, this three cities, view two job changes and all through there remained one constant – this blog. Every time I look at my first post I cannot but help laugh at the following lines:

I am not sure for how long I will be able to continue this blog, but I will definitely try

Today we complete three years of Random Expressions. For someone who has an attention span of a child, it is indeed a colossal achievement that this blog has survived three years.

Cliched as it sounds, but the fact is that none of it would have been possible without your constant support and patronage. I have seen times when publishing a post meant constant clicking of the comment box to view the responses. Often, the discussion would go way beyond the relevant subject matter. In fact, the comment box would resemble a ‘chat room’, and has been used for many a ‘social interaction’. Today, the inclination and the time is much lesser, but still I enjoy getting the comments, even if I am unable to respond right away.

It would be impossible to list everyone out, but my sincere thanks to everyone who has been on these pages for making this journey worthwhile and fruitful. I also miss some friends who have stopped blogging for the while but I am hopeful they will return. From them, I miss Ashish and RS the most. Thankfully, with both the interaction has moved beyond the web-space.

I started blogging with rediff’s platform. But their apathy towards the service is well evident, so much so that the home page hasn’t been changed for close to two years! I was very sure that if ever I shift it would be on my own space. Hence, last year I began a search for a reliable hosting service. After browsing through several of them, without understanding an iota of what they were offering, I zeroed down to Dreamhost. Their operation looked easy and their email responses were quick and to-the-point. Till date, they have served well, without any outtages or hitches – and more prominently, without cluttering my email with their promotions or offers!

Choosing a blog platform was a cake-walk. After all, I had always been impressed by WordPress. Poonam‘s tremendous help made setting it up easy; she patiently gave solutions to problems when I was irretrievably stuck. WordPress’s effective discussion forum took care of the rest.

If you wondered about the sudden spurt of posts in the recent past – then a share of credit can be attributed to Zoundry, a blog client service. A blog-client is like an email client (eg. Outlook Express) and makes posting and editing convenient. There are several such services available – Zoundry and Ecto being two of them. I had tried Ecto’s trial version earlier, but that was a paid service, and I wasn’t too sure I wanted to shell out more cash for it. Zoundry offered much the same ease and features – for free! What clinched the deal in Zoundry’s favor was their step-by-step tutorial on transferring MS Word files onto a blog-client. That was something I always wanted! An added feature is the links to Amazon.com and Buy.com that can be added to several products, apart from direct links to Wikipedia and Answer.com.

Thank you DreamHost, WordPress and Zoundry for making my blogging experience absolutely thrilling!

Thank you readers, for making this blog continue and survive!

Happy 3rd Anniversary to Random Expressions!

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Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, pills view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, information pills you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, physician Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Saturday 3^rd February

I left Agra late in the noon. My boss called up asking an important budgeting file, and my plans for leaving early were halted. Even as I struggled to get the figures correct on the excel file, visions of burgeoning traffic at Faridabad loomed eerily in my mind. The stomach added its own grumbling chorus since I had skipped breakfast in order to get the house ready for my parents welcome here on my return trip.

I wriggled out of Agra by three p.m, and reached Delhi by eight in the night, stopping mid-way once at Mathura’s McDonalds (on the highway) for a quick bite.

At home, we finalized the itinery for the Mathura and Agra trip for Tuesday and Wednesday, cropping off a lot of things we wished to add. My sister (from Pune) was very keen about the Mathura part of the trip.

The Great Indian Wedding

Sunday 4^th February

At last it sunk in that the holidays had begun, and I swept aside all work related thoughts. Two cool Forsters with an old friend helped in washing away any remnants of office, targets or deadlines!

Evening was earmarked for the sagan ceremony of my cousin. I love being an observer at all family weddings and this one was no different. I listened amusedly to all the family politics, bitching and gossiping, intermingled with envious comparisons of sarees, jewelery and even (gasp) sons-and-daughters in-law.

The function was very sober and quite unlike what I had expected. Held at an old and prestigious club of North Delhi, it was a quiet and contained affair with awesome food.

En return route, I was audience to my mom and sisters conversation as they meticulously dissected the ceremony.

Monday 5^th February

I wasn’t fully rested, but we had to attend the chooda ceremony early morning. Mercifully, it was held at a hotel quite nearby our place (by Delhi standards) so we got some extra time.

The bright sunshine warmed the rooftop while we saw the bride’s mamaji (maternal uncle) gift the auspicious flaring red chooda . All along in the background, the incessant babble of myriad relatives continued their relentless chorus. The fried snacks settled heavily and by the time lunch was over I was sleepy and full.

On reaching home I hit the bed and dropped into a deep slumber.

The wedding was at another hotel this time a little farther off. It looked like a propitious day since we crossed various baraats, and at the venue itself there were three marriages taking place. Consequently, parking was at a premium. While squeezing my car into the available sliver of a space, my car plunged into an invisible drain. The thud reverberated in my heart. With some helping hands I pulled the abused Santro out, but its squeaky complaints didn’t stop. The front bumper had displaced itself and kissed the tyre noisily. There goes the smooth drive tomorrow, I thought sadly.

The newly built hotel’s ballroom was huge and spacious. But the crown belonged to the wide variety of snacks. Greedily I tucked in the delectable chilly paneer and marvelous masala mushrooms and soft spring rolls and delicious paneer tikkas.

The downside of attending family weddings is that everyone suddenly converts into a knowledgeable match-maker. Relatives that you would have met only at the last such function some aeons back hover around you buzzing with their unwanted pearls of advices and suggestions. The frozen smile hurt my jaws.

The DJ pumped up the music and some enterprising souls attacked the dance floor, goaded by the blender’s proud spirits churning within them.

While returning the car grumbled hoarsely like a cement mixer threatening to spew out its solid waste. I was nervous about the impending trip early morning.

Tuesday 6^th February

Vrindavan

Despite best efforts, we couldn’t leave before seven – late, but wholly unavoidable since we had returned well past midnight last night. The local car-wash man gave a stern tug to the bumper, and the car stopped its whining. I was mighty relieved.

In an hour, I was back on the same familiar highway. We stopped at Kosi Kalan for a light breakfast, and arrived at Vrindavan around ten. Before we could enter the city we were stopped for a shady toll tax which I suspect has nothing to do with any legitimate authorities. A bunch of guides pounced on us. Since we were new we required a guide, and selected a young boy in class tenth who did this job part-time, which again I suspect was not wholly true. It was a working day and he had no business being on the road.

Vrindavan is associated with Lord Krishna, whose many child hood pranks and leelas are centered on this place. Vrinda means Tulsi (basil). Later we learnt the original Vrindavan is now lost, and this city was founded much later.

Rangnath Temple

Negotiating a labyrinth of narrow lanes, we reached the mammoth Rangnath Temple.

The temple was built by a rich seth who begot a son at the age of sixty in an era when Viagra wasn’t invented. The construction was South Indian in design and the carvings on it fine and minute.The temple depicts Lord Ranganatha or Rangaji or Lord Vishnu in his sheshashayi pose, resting on the coils of the sacred Sesha Naga. The lynchpin is the huge gold Garuda stambh or Pillar for Garuda (the official vehicle for Lord Vishnu). The premises are open and vast.

Shri Vrindavan Behari Temple

Leaving the car parked at Rangnath Temple’s open compound, we walked through another maze of lanes to reach the Praacheen Vrindavan Bihari Temple. The walls had white marble tiles with black markings. On closer inspection we learnt they were names of devotees who had given donations there.

The deity’s idols were curtained. The priest began his narration on how it was the only place to see the entire family of Lord Krishna, including one of Dauji (Krishna’s elder brother Balaram) discovered from Yamuna riverbed. He explained how it was punya for a son to affix one marble slab in the name of the parents. The slabs started from Rs 1100 onwards. At the end of his narration, he pulled off the curtain to allow us to see the idols and asked for my name, gotra and place of stay and hopefully looked at us to loosen our wallets. We weren’t ready to do so, and as politely as we could, we tore away from that place.

A precocious monkey scooped off the prasaad from my sister’s hands when we stepped out.

Madhuvan

I was expecting a forest. It was just a tulsi garden with a small but quaint temple dedicated to Shri Krishna’s consort, Radhaji. The local myth is that till date in the night Shree Krishna visits the place and does the Raas Leela with Radhaji and the gopis . The tulsi plants transform into gopis in the night. However, any one who tries to view it is stricken dead. A few samadhis in the compound belonged to such voyeurs, our guide explained ominously.

Monkeys and beggars abundantly bustled around us.

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple, built in mid-nineteenth century, is the biggest and most reknowned shrine; the high-point for one who travels here. The street leading to it is colorful, bright, and alive and resonates with activity; shops selling mithais, flowers, religious books, ornaments, deity clothes jostle with devotees rushing to view their favorite Lord.

The temple insides are large, and old-fashioned, made of painted brick-and-cement. The sprawling compound in front of the deity is cordoned off by brass railings to enable queue formation when there is a huge rush. That day, it was quieter and we were just in time before it closed for the afternoon.

The black stone idol is curtained off every few minutes.

We got a clear darshan, and admittedly the atmosphere vibrates piety and bhakti. I soaked the positive vibes and felt uplifted and stirred.

Outside, we eagerly devoured the famous kachauri-aloo and the refreshing kulhad-waali-lassi.

International Society for Krishna Consciousness (Iskcon) Temple

This was our last stop, and we freed the guide here. He had been a good information source, and it would have been awfully tough to find all the places without his guidance. He had interspersed his narrations with calls of Jai Shri Krishna or Bolo Jai Shri Bankey Bihariji Maharajki or simply Radhey Radhey . He had also urged us to laugh and clap our hands advising us that one who makes a pilgrimage should always be happy so that the happiness echoes in our lives and homes.

The Iskcon Temple is a modern construction in white marble, impeccably neat and undoubtedly peaceful. A small group chanted the Lord’s name to the beats of dholak and manjeera .

We relaxed here for a while, before moving on to our next leg of the journey.

To Be Continued.

Technorati : Agra, Lord Krishna, Mathura, Radha, Travel, Vrindavan

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Tuesday 6^th February (Contd.)

Mathura is approx. 10 km away from Vrindavan, pancreatitis towards Agra. We reached around one in the noon. The temples would be closed but since we couldn’t go on to Agra and then return, we chose to kill time at Mathura.

Over the years Mathura has extended and grown haphazardly around the NH2. Modernity has brushed it with colorful malls and markets right on the highway.

The main town is seven kms inside from the highway, and there are several entrances to it. I entered from one inroad only to be rudely stopped by another municipality tax ‘booth’ . Since I have often visited Mathura on official tours I knew this wasn’t any official tax. Adamant in not warming the pockets of any hooligans I reversed the car, and careened into the town from another inroad that I knew of.

There are two main attractions here Shree Krishna Janamsthan (SKJS) or Janmbhoomi and Shri Dwarkadheesh Temple. Near the parking of SKJS, guides besieged us and we chose another young boy a class tenth student, yet again.

Gokul

Since we had time, the guide offered to take us to Gokul nearly thirteen kms away from SKJS, past Mathura Cantt and across River Yamuna.

The city left behind us and we were in rural surroundings. For someone who has been shaken enough by several countryside trips, this held no novelty. My parents and my sister enjoyed the laidback serenity.

Mahavan/ Raman Reti

The boy guided us through Mahavan, a small village before Gokul and we paused at Raman Reti Ashram. The Ashram permeated tranquillity. Once upon a time the Yamuna extended till here but today only her traces remain – the riverbed sand. Myth says that child Krishna played on the river banks, and hence people still roll in the sand as a tribute to the Baal Leela of the Lord. We offered our prayers.

Outside the Ashram, a hot cup of tea served in cute kulhads refreshed us.

The guide left us since he had some work to finish, offering a substitute and promising to meet again at Gokul.

The Ghat

Gokul is a quaint village and has carefully preserved its old persona. The village is purely a Hindu domain and strictly off-bounds for people of other faiths.

We parked our car and weaved our way through a maze of miniature lanes. Mud houses nudged brick ones, albeit single story and invoking a unique coolness, and displayed graffitis of just Radhey Radhey or Jai Shri Krishna ; a step over tiny stairs here, a bend through a low arch there; a sadhu praying at one corner and a cow lazing at another; sweet shop on side, and flowers on the other – the entire ambience imbued piety. Urban mess was in a far vague distance.

We paid our respects to the holy River Yamuna at the Ghat and sat awhile as the river lazily flowed past us.

Nand Lal Shrine, Yog Maya Mandir and Other Temples

Bordering the river front are a string of temples, including one dedicated to Yog Maya, the girl who was replaced in the prison cell when Nandji brought Krishna from there.

At one such temple, the curtains were drawn over the idols. The priest began his narration an exact replica of what we had heard in Vrindavan, including the fact that Balram s idol was discovered from the river bed. How many such idols were found? This time, the threshold price was an exhorbitant Rs 2100/- .

The Nandlal Shrine held a series of rooms dedicated to the life and times of Krishna, but in all of them, the demand for donations continued.

We left Gokul after visiting the main Dauji temple.

Mathura

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi

The temple had opened by the time we reached back. Since the parking was a little further off, we chose to place the car at a private property, the owner of which rushed out to demand a whopping Rs 25 as charges. We negotiated, but in vain. In between, our guide (who had returned at Gokul) upped his price and left in a huff when we refused to pay the extra amount.

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi or Janamsthan is under governmental purview and is a hot seat of controversy as the Idgah Masjid is right on its premises, adjacent to the temple. The security checks are stringent no mobile phones, no electronic items and even no remote control car opening devices. All have to be deposited at a nearby locker room .

The compound is sprawling, open and very clean, with stalls and shops for pedas and flowers , tourist stuff and other sundry prayer items. The tour inside is divine and awe-inspiring. There is the jail where the Lord took birth, the entrance to which is an extremely slim corridor lined with metal walls and rivets. The dungeon room is a similar metalled place.

Next to the jail stands a more modern temple and we spent some time here.

Vishraam Ghaat

We hired a rickshaw to reach Dwarkadheesh Temple. The circuitous route within the old town was through another maze of small lanes. (If you have seen Vivaah, it is easy to imagine their look; director Sooraj Barjatya’s fictitious Madhopur is based on Mathura, and he has recreated the appearance in fine detail).

The temple had closed down yet again. The temple’s opening and closing time-table is intricate, and changes with seasons.

We expended time by checking out the colorful tiny shops that line the entire street. At the end of the lane, it turned downward towards Vishram Ghaat. The Ghat is not exactly clean but the ambience there with the Yamuna river reflecting the molten orb of the setting sun imparted an incredibly peaceful feeling.

Shree Dwarkadheesh Temple

We managed to carve a space right at the front to catch a splendid view of the shining black idol.

The temple is old-fashioned, resembling an ancient haweli. Devotees throng here in immense droves, and admittedly an electrifying energy reverberates through its air and space.

By the time we stepped out it was pretty dark.

Agra

Since we were famished we stopped at the McDonalds on the highway (opposite Mathura Refinery) before making the final lap of our journey.

It’s the first time my parents visited my house here. I had cleaned it up thoroughly before going on the holiday for their welcome especially removing the damning beer bottles.

They loved the house and the area, and I was mighty proud.

Wednesday 7^th February

Taj Mahal

It rained the entire night. The morning opened fresh and moist and shrouded in a thin misty veil. All my grandiose claims about the Taj being visible from my balcony were smothered by the thin white curtain. Eventually, the sun tore open visibility and the grandest building on Agra’s skyline came into view.

I took an hour or so off since I had some work at office.

It was around eleven when we entered the premises of Taj Mahal, after some more rigorous security checks. Mercifully, mobiles are now allowed inside.

Despite all cynicism and skepticism it s just a tomb, it doesn t hold anything valuable from our culture, hell it mightn t even hold the popular romantic notions there is something about the Taj that forces your jaw to drop in admiration, awe and amazement. The magnificent white marble design enthralls with its sheer grace and grandeur.

We did the touristy thing of getting photographs clicked including one by my sister where it gives the illusion that she is holding the Taj with her fingers!

Sadar Bazar

It was lunch time when we left Taj Mahal. My sister insisted that she wished to have a proper lunch no kachauris, samosas or burgers and pizzas. Frankly, I held the same view as well.

I zeroed in to The Park Restaurant at Sadar Bazaar the food is good, the service pretty fast and the ambience crisp and neat. Thankfully, they all loved it too.

We roamed awhile at Sadar Bazar, Agra’s best shopping centre.

Fatehpur Sikri

From Sadar we proceeded to Fatehpur-Sikri. The route leads through Shahganj, a crowded marketplace. It took some time to cross it. Everyone was fidgety. This is normal here, I laughed at their discomfort, having got stuck in innumerable unnecessary traffic snarls in the past six months.

I will skip the details of Fatehpur Sikri since I have covered it here already. We had hired a guide, but because the stories were fresh in my mind I was prompting the guide even before he could begin his narration so much so that my sister remarked that I could be a better guide there!

On the last visit I hadn t spent too much time at Sikri. On this day, we leisurely discovered it. Since Sikri is under ASI (Fatehpur is not, it belongs to Saint Salimuddin Chisti’s descendants) it is much cleaner and better kept and restored.

I knew a short cut existed from Kirawali (ten kilometers from Fatehpur Sikri) that connected NH2, and hence we could avoid Agra. But I hadn t bargained for the dreadful road. The car jumped and jerked over the potholes and broken road. This is so normal, I laughed again, informing that they should once visit the Hathras road.

In less than twenty four hours, I was back on NH2. We arrived at Delhi by nine, and stopped for dinner at Haldiram’s on Mathura Road, near Badarpur border.

Thursday 8^th February

Two back-to-back official meetings ate up the entire day one, a performance review for the past month and the second, on HR counseling (which was nothing but a bland presentation on HR values and appraisals and norms) followed by an awfully tasteless dinner.

Friday 9^th February

I departed from Delhi early morning and yet again I was on NH2 and that ended a wonderful holiday trip, one that I will cherish and the recount here will help me keep the memories fresh.

Concluded

Technorati : Agra, Fatehpur, Gokul, Krishna, Mathura, Sikri

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Film Review

What is dharma (duty)? Is it the constricted definition passed down from the Mahabharata ages in the form of Eklavya‘s story (who cut his thumb to please his pseudo-master), prostate where we celebrate the horrifyingly unjust demand for sacrifice only because it sounds righteous and appeases the base moral instinct? Or, traumatologist is there a leeway where your own brain and circumstances can carve out not your thumb but a practical path of reconciliation? Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s latest directorial venture Eklavya-The Royal Guard, viagra after a long seven year hiatus, tackles this pricky dilemma and questions the value and relevance of Eklavya’s sacrifice.

The film centres around Eklavya (Amitabh Bachchan), the royal guard of a fictitious Rajasthani princely state Devigarh, where a terrifying secret about the parentage of the prince Harsh (Saif Ali Khan) and his mentally challenged twin sister Nandini (Raima Sen) is buried beneath the thick walls of the fort. Once the queen (Sharmila Tagore in a guest appearance) is murdered by the jealous king (Boman Irani), the events start to unfold leading to a climax where the fulcrum of duty oscillates between the two principal characters Eklavya and Harshvardhan.

Other characters that add to the story are the king’s younger brother Jyotivardhan (Jackie Shroff), his son Uday (Jimmy Sheirgill) and a police inspector Pannalal (Sanjay Dutt) who is in awe of Eklavya.

The director’s challenge to the timeless definition of dharma is presented well. A large posse of principal characters is positive in essence, which is a great relief. And the direction is consistent, and the pace even.

But what mars the film is its extremely heavy atmosphere, which relentlessly doesn’t provide any respite, despite a hesitant romantic interlude between the prince and the driver’s (Parikshit Sahni) daughter Rajjo (Vidya Balan). The second weak aspect is the screenplay where the movement from the first scene to the last is essentially zilch; once the characters are introduced the film could have moved to its climax without anything in-between either holding story value or aesthetic interest or entertainment. In that respect even the short running time (its just close to two hours) seems exorbitantly long especially the tedious second half! For a story of this kind, there isn’t any intricate interweaving of events and characters, which could have made the film’s appeal richer. Finally, the drama lacks the requisite punch.

There are several other minor flaws for example, the fort is surprisingly devoid of any other servants or helpers; or the language, which has no trace of the local dialect.

However, what saves the film are two huge positives a) Amitabh Bachchan he breathes a scalding intensity into Eklavya’s forlorn character, tucking in every nuance and shade, and leaving no ungainly folds or loose ends. His body language is taut like a bow while his facial expressions are fluid and vivid. Hell, even the veins on his forehead emote out his anguish and pain; and b) KS Natarajan‘s absolutely stunning cinematography each shot is a painstakingly executed picture postcard capturing the rugged Rajasthani territory. The shot involving a thousand camels running amok in front of a running train is enormously scintillating.

Other actors put their best mask forward Saif Ali Khan’s new found acting capabilities are put to good use. Sanjay Dutt delights in the only slightly lighter role. Boman Irani is as ever effective. Jackie Shroff and Jimmy Sheirgill add value. However, Vidya Balan gets her third consecutive (after Guru, Salaam-E-Ishq) inconsequential role, and she acts as if she is doing a great favor to the film!

Sharmila Tagore is actually wasted in the small role, and that is a shame. And what was Mita Vashisht doing in that single scene she gets?

Except for a few lines of the lullaby Chanda re chanda re, the film is song-less. But the background score is neat.

In totality, the film is not for those seeking weekend entertainment. Even as a film it remains largely at an average plane and fails to lift itself to glorious height.

Overall: Average, but worth one viewing for sure esp. for Big B’s superb performace!

Technorati : Amitabh, Bachchan, Boman Irani, Eklavya, Saif Ali Khan, Sanjay Dutt, Sharmila Tagore, Vidhu Vinod Chopra

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Four phases of life, this three cities, view two job changes and all through there remained one constant – this blog. Every time I look at my first post I cannot but help laugh at the following lines:

I am not sure for how long I will be able to continue this blog, but I will definitely try

Today we complete three years of Random Expressions. For someone who has an attention span of a child, it is indeed a colossal achievement that this blog has survived three years.

Cliched as it sounds, but the fact is that none of it would have been possible without your constant support and patronage. I have seen times when publishing a post meant constant clicking of the comment box to view the responses. Often, the discussion would go way beyond the relevant subject matter. In fact, the comment box would resemble a ‘chat room’, and has been used for many a ‘social interaction’. Today, the inclination and the time is much lesser, but still I enjoy getting the comments, even if I am unable to respond right away.

It would be impossible to list everyone out, but my sincere thanks to everyone who has been on these pages for making this journey worthwhile and fruitful. I also miss some friends who have stopped blogging for the while but I am hopeful they will return. From them, I miss Ashish and RS the most. Thankfully, with both the interaction has moved beyond the web-space.

I started blogging with rediff’s platform. But their apathy towards the service is well evident, so much so that the home page hasn’t been changed for close to two years! I was very sure that if ever I shift it would be on my own space. Hence, last year I began a search for a reliable hosting service. After browsing through several of them, without understanding an iota of what they were offering, I zeroed down to Dreamhost. Their operation looked easy and their email responses were quick and to-the-point. Till date, they have served well, without any outtages or hitches – and more prominently, without cluttering my email with their promotions or offers!

Choosing a blog platform was a cake-walk. After all, I had always been impressed by WordPress. Poonam‘s tremendous help made setting it up easy; she patiently gave solutions to problems when I was irretrievably stuck. WordPress’s effective discussion forum took care of the rest.

If you wondered about the sudden spurt of posts in the recent past – then a share of credit can be attributed to Zoundry, a blog client service. A blog-client is like an email client (eg. Outlook Express) and makes posting and editing convenient. There are several such services available – Zoundry and Ecto being two of them. I had tried Ecto’s trial version earlier, but that was a paid service, and I wasn’t too sure I wanted to shell out more cash for it. Zoundry offered much the same ease and features – for free! What clinched the deal in Zoundry’s favor was their step-by-step tutorial on transferring MS Word files onto a blog-client. That was something I always wanted! An added feature is the links to Amazon.com and Buy.com that can be added to several products, apart from direct links to Wikipedia and Answer.com.

Thank you DreamHost, WordPress and Zoundry for making my blogging experience absolutely thrilling!

Thank you readers, for making this blog continue and survive!

Happy 3rd Anniversary to Random Expressions!

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The learned say that the best way to tackle a problem is to hold it by its horns directly. With two tags in a single day, case I thought it was best to delve straight into them and finish them off chronologically. Since I read Anks’ post first, adiposity so here we go:

(My comments in italics)

Have

Climbed a mountain – a small one!
Said ‘I love you’ and meant it – No comments!
Hugged a tree – probably would have done it as a kid.
Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise – not exactly the entire night, condom but was up early to witness the most beautiful and sensational sun-rise at Nagarkot, Nepal
Gotten drunk on champagne – err, add Bacardi, whisky, wine, beer and vodka to this list!
Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment – in front of the bossess
Ridden a roller coaster – I hate them, but have done them often, esp. at Appu Ghar!
Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking – after a few drinks, any one would do this!
Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment – many moments (thank God!)
Had two hard drives for your computer – its the best way to keep your data!
Had amazing friends – dare I say anything else in public?
Midnight walk on the beach – in Goa, readers of Random Expression should know of it too!
Played in the rain – very often!
Toured ancient sites – I am sure you all know of this!
Performed on stage – Played Tom Sawyer in the play by the same name, and also the young Lord Christ in another drama.
Spoken more than one language fluently – Well, I hope Hindi and English will qualify me for this one!
Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking – Keeps happening!
Had your picture in the newspaper – ahem, that too ‘internationally’ … in a Nepali newspaper!
Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about – too vague, but must have done so!
Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language – it happened in Nepal!
Had a booth at a street fair – And I earned an handsome amount as well!
Been a DJ – Well, I am DJ, ain’t I?
In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them – If you visit a crowded place like Saagar Ratna at Defence Colony, this isn’t that big a thing to happen!
Changed a baby’s diaper – Often , for my nephews, when they were toddlers. It’s quite a simple thing to do really!
Had a food fight – And hurt myself too!
Screamed as loudly as you possibly can – Don’t even want to remember that phase when this was a regularity!
Taken care of someone who was drunk – Keeps happening, what’s so great about this?!
Gone rock climbing – albeit, in controlled simulated conditions.
Played in the mud – I am sure every child would have done this.
Started a business – and it was a collosal failure!
Gotten married
Gotten divorced
Caused a car accident- and been in a couple of them!
Read The Iliad – and the Odyssey – Read both!
Been in a combat zone – Civil War in Aden (South Yemen) in 1986 and Nepal Insurgency (2004-6)
Picked up and moved to another city to just start over – Regular readers of this blog are aware of this. Have done it twice over now!
Wrote article for a large publication – Stories in Femina should qualify in this one, shouldn’t it?

Have not

Fallen in love and not had your heart broken – what the hell is love!
Broken someone’s heart – yuck, why would I do so?
Eaten sushi – Ahem, forgive my ignorance, what in good heavens is this?!
Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol – Never done so, but I know a list of people whom I would like to be on the wrong side of such instruments!
Ridden a horse – No!
Bought everyone in the bar a drink – Heavens, I am constantly broke, why would I do something so insane. I don’t mind another insane person doing the same to me, though!
Swam with wild dolphins – Errr, didn’t I say I am sane?!
Watched wild whales – This getting weirder!
Eaten shark – *Splurt, shock *Ok, Ok, this one is getting a wee bit too much out of hand! But then, I have eaten ‘snake pickle’!
Taken a Ferrari for a test drive – Ok, this was a bad one. Why step on raw nerves?
Held a tarantula – Too tired to check the dictionary, what is tarantula?
Watched a lightning storm at sea – Never stayed long enough near the sea.
Gone to a huge sports game – I am not a sports freak, so I dont think this will ever happen
Watched a meteor shower
Given more than you can afford to charity – I wouldn’t mind some charity for self!
Bet on a winning horse – I don’t condone gambling.
Asked out a stranger – Again , as I said, I am sane enough!
Held a lamb – Too girlish, in my opinion.
Seen a total eclipse – You are not supposed to see it even!
Hit a home run – That’s baseball?! Err, we Indians prefer cricket, don’t we?
Adopted an accent for an entire day – Aiyyo! No!
Danced with a stranger in a foreign country – Exotic, and I wouldn’t mind doing it either!
Stolen a sign – As in forgery?! Ram Ram!!
Gone sky diving – Nopes, don’t think I am strong enough to try it!
Visited Ireland – And what’s so special about Ireland?
Been heartbroken longer then you were actually in love – No comments!
Visited Japan – Why couldn’t they ask about Nepal, for instance? Or Sri Lanka, Belgium, Greece and Yemen?
Milked a cow
Pretended to be a superhero – Never!
Gone scuba diving – Again, quite a coward to try this. Plus, I’d have to learn swimming!
Visited the Great Wall of China- but definitely want to!
Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight – D&D bole toh?
Crashed a party – though I have thought to doing so at the neighborhood marriage hall!
Gone without food for 5 days – One day of fast becomes tough, five days would kill me!
Rafted the Snake River – Where is it?
Recorded music – Well, you’ll are lucky not to be tormented by my godawful voice!
Buried one of your parents – *Shudder * Don’t think I want to think about it. On lighter vein, I wouldn’t ever do it since in our religion, we cremate!
Created and named your own constellation of stars – Too kiddish for my taste!
Had plastic surgery – I think I have got used to my face, the others can close their eyes!
Survived an illness that you shouldn’t have survived- God forbid!
Lost over 100 pounds – If only I could!
Held someone while they were having a flashback- WHAT????
Piloted an airplane
Petted a stingray
Helped an animal give birth
Broken a bone – Thankfully, no and I dont think I ever want to experience it either!
Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced – I hate piercings, tattoos and other such things – on self and on others!
Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
Had major surgery – thank God, no!
Had a snake as a pet – I wouldn’t be alive to write this experience. Am petrified of snakes!
Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days – Well I hv had a canoe trip, but it didn’t last beyond 20 minutes!
Eaten kangaroo meat – is it any good? Or better than wild boar, which I found absolutely delectable!
Gone back to school
Parasailed
Petted a cockroach – Weird!
Eaten fried green tomatoes – Are they any good? I don’t mind trying it!
Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read
Killed and prepared an animal for eating
Skipped all your school reunions – by and large, now yes. Earlier I have attended a couple of them.
Been elected to public office
Written your own computer language – too computer dumb for this!
Had to put someone you love into hospice care
Built your own PC from parts – Why waste time?
Dyed your hair – Wouldnt do it, even though every one comments on the ‘peppered’ look!
Shaved your head – Arre, I dont have the courage to shave off my moustache, this is stretching things a bit too far!
Saved someone’s life
Gotten a tattoo – I abhor tattoos!
Won first prize in a costume contest – Hum ho, neither do I wish to!
Bungee jumped- And dont want to either!

Want to

Alphabetize your cds – and cassettes: a project that I seriously should finish off soon!
Go on an African photo safari
Take an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country – actually want to do a car tour, at least starting with within India!
Followed your favorite band/singer on tour – I would love to be with Lataji on her tour!
Go to Las Vegas – Not for gambling, but for the exuberant chamak-dhamak!
Go inside the Great Pyramid
Take a candlelit bath with someone- Hmm, erotic!
Visit Paris – and Switzerland!
See the Northern Lights
Walk the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa – actually, our very own Qutub Minar is good enough, if they allow, that is!
Grow and eat your own vegetables
Touch an iceberg
Sleep under the stars – sans the mosquitoes, though!
Take a trip in a hot air balloon – as it is I get enough gas from my bosses, some more will hardly harm me!
Look up at the night sky through a telescope
Have a snowball fight – haven’t really seen proper snowfall
Backpack in Europe- actually anywhere, without boss and targets!
Take a road-trip – As I said, definitely want to do this, and probably will do it also!
Sing karaoke – Brace yourselves!
Lounge around in bed all day – Actually, it sounds good, but often I have seen after a while I get restless!
Kiss in the rain – Sensuous!
Go to a drive-in theater – will a drive through drive-in McDonalds stand in good stead of this?
Take a martial arts class – and chop off a few brick heads!
Be in a movie – Actually, rather be behind the camera!
Make cookies from scratch – Have baked a cake; but cookies look…well, tough cookies to crack!
Ride a gondola in Venice – and sing ‘Do lafzon ki hai yeh dil ki kahani’!
Be on television news programs as an “expert” – Karan Johar, you listening?
Get flowers for no reason – I appreciate flowers, but do add some tangible gifts to make the entire experience more fragrant!
Go to Thailand – and get a massage!
Buy a house
Be on a cruise ship
Raise children
Win money on a T.V. game show
Sleep for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours –should be easy for me!
Visit more foreign countries than U.S. states
Visit all 7 continents
Think to yourself that you’re living your dream
Sell your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you

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Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, pills view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, information pills you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, physician Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Saturday 3^rd February

I left Agra late in the noon. My boss called up asking an important budgeting file, and my plans for leaving early were halted. Even as I struggled to get the figures correct on the excel file, visions of burgeoning traffic at Faridabad loomed eerily in my mind. The stomach added its own grumbling chorus since I had skipped breakfast in order to get the house ready for my parents welcome here on my return trip.

I wriggled out of Agra by three p.m, and reached Delhi by eight in the night, stopping mid-way once at Mathura’s McDonalds (on the highway) for a quick bite.

At home, we finalized the itinery for the Mathura and Agra trip for Tuesday and Wednesday, cropping off a lot of things we wished to add. My sister (from Pune) was very keen about the Mathura part of the trip.

The Great Indian Wedding

Sunday 4^th February

At last it sunk in that the holidays had begun, and I swept aside all work related thoughts. Two cool Forsters with an old friend helped in washing away any remnants of office, targets or deadlines!

Evening was earmarked for the sagan ceremony of my cousin. I love being an observer at all family weddings and this one was no different. I listened amusedly to all the family politics, bitching and gossiping, intermingled with envious comparisons of sarees, jewelery and even (gasp) sons-and-daughters in-law.

The function was very sober and quite unlike what I had expected. Held at an old and prestigious club of North Delhi, it was a quiet and contained affair with awesome food.

En return route, I was audience to my mom and sisters conversation as they meticulously dissected the ceremony.

Monday 5^th February

I wasn’t fully rested, but we had to attend the chooda ceremony early morning. Mercifully, it was held at a hotel quite nearby our place (by Delhi standards) so we got some extra time.

The bright sunshine warmed the rooftop while we saw the bride’s mamaji (maternal uncle) gift the auspicious flaring red chooda . All along in the background, the incessant babble of myriad relatives continued their relentless chorus. The fried snacks settled heavily and by the time lunch was over I was sleepy and full.

On reaching home I hit the bed and dropped into a deep slumber.

The wedding was at another hotel this time a little farther off. It looked like a propitious day since we crossed various baraats, and at the venue itself there were three marriages taking place. Consequently, parking was at a premium. While squeezing my car into the available sliver of a space, my car plunged into an invisible drain. The thud reverberated in my heart. With some helping hands I pulled the abused Santro out, but its squeaky complaints didn’t stop. The front bumper had displaced itself and kissed the tyre noisily. There goes the smooth drive tomorrow, I thought sadly.

The newly built hotel’s ballroom was huge and spacious. But the crown belonged to the wide variety of snacks. Greedily I tucked in the delectable chilly paneer and marvelous masala mushrooms and soft spring rolls and delicious paneer tikkas.

The downside of attending family weddings is that everyone suddenly converts into a knowledgeable match-maker. Relatives that you would have met only at the last such function some aeons back hover around you buzzing with their unwanted pearls of advices and suggestions. The frozen smile hurt my jaws.

The DJ pumped up the music and some enterprising souls attacked the dance floor, goaded by the blender’s proud spirits churning within them.

While returning the car grumbled hoarsely like a cement mixer threatening to spew out its solid waste. I was nervous about the impending trip early morning.

Tuesday 6^th February

Vrindavan

Despite best efforts, we couldn’t leave before seven – late, but wholly unavoidable since we had returned well past midnight last night. The local car-wash man gave a stern tug to the bumper, and the car stopped its whining. I was mighty relieved.

In an hour, I was back on the same familiar highway. We stopped at Kosi Kalan for a light breakfast, and arrived at Vrindavan around ten. Before we could enter the city we were stopped for a shady toll tax which I suspect has nothing to do with any legitimate authorities. A bunch of guides pounced on us. Since we were new we required a guide, and selected a young boy in class tenth who did this job part-time, which again I suspect was not wholly true. It was a working day and he had no business being on the road.

Vrindavan is associated with Lord Krishna, whose many child hood pranks and leelas are centered on this place. Vrinda means Tulsi (basil). Later we learnt the original Vrindavan is now lost, and this city was founded much later.

Rangnath Temple

Negotiating a labyrinth of narrow lanes, we reached the mammoth Rangnath Temple.

The temple was built by a rich seth who begot a son at the age of sixty in an era when Viagra wasn’t invented. The construction was South Indian in design and the carvings on it fine and minute.The temple depicts Lord Ranganatha or Rangaji or Lord Vishnu in his sheshashayi pose, resting on the coils of the sacred Sesha Naga. The lynchpin is the huge gold Garuda stambh or Pillar for Garuda (the official vehicle for Lord Vishnu). The premises are open and vast.

Shri Vrindavan Behari Temple

Leaving the car parked at Rangnath Temple’s open compound, we walked through another maze of lanes to reach the Praacheen Vrindavan Bihari Temple. The walls had white marble tiles with black markings. On closer inspection we learnt they were names of devotees who had given donations there.

The deity’s idols were curtained. The priest began his narration on how it was the only place to see the entire family of Lord Krishna, including one of Dauji (Krishna’s elder brother Balaram) discovered from Yamuna riverbed. He explained how it was punya for a son to affix one marble slab in the name of the parents. The slabs started from Rs 1100 onwards. At the end of his narration, he pulled off the curtain to allow us to see the idols and asked for my name, gotra and place of stay and hopefully looked at us to loosen our wallets. We weren’t ready to do so, and as politely as we could, we tore away from that place.

A precocious monkey scooped off the prasaad from my sister’s hands when we stepped out.

Madhuvan

I was expecting a forest. It was just a tulsi garden with a small but quaint temple dedicated to Shri Krishna’s consort, Radhaji. The local myth is that till date in the night Shree Krishna visits the place and does the Raas Leela with Radhaji and the gopis . The tulsi plants transform into gopis in the night. However, any one who tries to view it is stricken dead. A few samadhis in the compound belonged to such voyeurs, our guide explained ominously.

Monkeys and beggars abundantly bustled around us.

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple, built in mid-nineteenth century, is the biggest and most reknowned shrine; the high-point for one who travels here. The street leading to it is colorful, bright, and alive and resonates with activity; shops selling mithais, flowers, religious books, ornaments, deity clothes jostle with devotees rushing to view their favorite Lord.

The temple insides are large, and old-fashioned, made of painted brick-and-cement. The sprawling compound in front of the deity is cordoned off by brass railings to enable queue formation when there is a huge rush. That day, it was quieter and we were just in time before it closed for the afternoon.

The black stone idol is curtained off every few minutes.

We got a clear darshan, and admittedly the atmosphere vibrates piety and bhakti. I soaked the positive vibes and felt uplifted and stirred.

Outside, we eagerly devoured the famous kachauri-aloo and the refreshing kulhad-waali-lassi.

International Society for Krishna Consciousness (Iskcon) Temple

This was our last stop, and we freed the guide here. He had been a good information source, and it would have been awfully tough to find all the places without his guidance. He had interspersed his narrations with calls of Jai Shri Krishna or Bolo Jai Shri Bankey Bihariji Maharajki or simply Radhey Radhey . He had also urged us to laugh and clap our hands advising us that one who makes a pilgrimage should always be happy so that the happiness echoes in our lives and homes.

The Iskcon Temple is a modern construction in white marble, impeccably neat and undoubtedly peaceful. A small group chanted the Lord’s name to the beats of dholak and manjeera .

We relaxed here for a while, before moving on to our next leg of the journey.

To Be Continued.

Technorati : Agra, Lord Krishna, Mathura, Radha, Travel, Vrindavan

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Tuesday 6^th February (Contd.)

Mathura is approx. 10 km away from Vrindavan, pancreatitis towards Agra. We reached around one in the noon. The temples would be closed but since we couldn’t go on to Agra and then return, we chose to kill time at Mathura.

Over the years Mathura has extended and grown haphazardly around the NH2. Modernity has brushed it with colorful malls and markets right on the highway.

The main town is seven kms inside from the highway, and there are several entrances to it. I entered from one inroad only to be rudely stopped by another municipality tax ‘booth’ . Since I have often visited Mathura on official tours I knew this wasn’t any official tax. Adamant in not warming the pockets of any hooligans I reversed the car, and careened into the town from another inroad that I knew of.

There are two main attractions here Shree Krishna Janamsthan (SKJS) or Janmbhoomi and Shri Dwarkadheesh Temple. Near the parking of SKJS, guides besieged us and we chose another young boy a class tenth student, yet again.

Gokul

Since we had time, the guide offered to take us to Gokul nearly thirteen kms away from SKJS, past Mathura Cantt and across River Yamuna.

The city left behind us and we were in rural surroundings. For someone who has been shaken enough by several countryside trips, this held no novelty. My parents and my sister enjoyed the laidback serenity.

Mahavan/ Raman Reti

The boy guided us through Mahavan, a small village before Gokul and we paused at Raman Reti Ashram. The Ashram permeated tranquillity. Once upon a time the Yamuna extended till here but today only her traces remain – the riverbed sand. Myth says that child Krishna played on the river banks, and hence people still roll in the sand as a tribute to the Baal Leela of the Lord. We offered our prayers.

Outside the Ashram, a hot cup of tea served in cute kulhads refreshed us.

The guide left us since he had some work to finish, offering a substitute and promising to meet again at Gokul.

The Ghat

Gokul is a quaint village and has carefully preserved its old persona. The village is purely a Hindu domain and strictly off-bounds for people of other faiths.

We parked our car and weaved our way through a maze of miniature lanes. Mud houses nudged brick ones, albeit single story and invoking a unique coolness, and displayed graffitis of just Radhey Radhey or Jai Shri Krishna ; a step over tiny stairs here, a bend through a low arch there; a sadhu praying at one corner and a cow lazing at another; sweet shop on side, and flowers on the other – the entire ambience imbued piety. Urban mess was in a far vague distance.

We paid our respects to the holy River Yamuna at the Ghat and sat awhile as the river lazily flowed past us.

Nand Lal Shrine, Yog Maya Mandir and Other Temples

Bordering the river front are a string of temples, including one dedicated to Yog Maya, the girl who was replaced in the prison cell when Nandji brought Krishna from there.

At one such temple, the curtains were drawn over the idols. The priest began his narration an exact replica of what we had heard in Vrindavan, including the fact that Balram s idol was discovered from the river bed. How many such idols were found? This time, the threshold price was an exhorbitant Rs 2100/- .

The Nandlal Shrine held a series of rooms dedicated to the life and times of Krishna, but in all of them, the demand for donations continued.

We left Gokul after visiting the main Dauji temple.

Mathura

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi

The temple had opened by the time we reached back. Since the parking was a little further off, we chose to place the car at a private property, the owner of which rushed out to demand a whopping Rs 25 as charges. We negotiated, but in vain. In between, our guide (who had returned at Gokul) upped his price and left in a huff when we refused to pay the extra amount.

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi or Janamsthan is under governmental purview and is a hot seat of controversy as the Idgah Masjid is right on its premises, adjacent to the temple. The security checks are stringent no mobile phones, no electronic items and even no remote control car opening devices. All have to be deposited at a nearby locker room .

The compound is sprawling, open and very clean, with stalls and shops for pedas and flowers , tourist stuff and other sundry prayer items. The tour inside is divine and awe-inspiring. There is the jail where the Lord took birth, the entrance to which is an extremely slim corridor lined with metal walls and rivets. The dungeon room is a similar metalled place.

Next to the jail stands a more modern temple and we spent some time here.

Vishraam Ghaat

We hired a rickshaw to reach Dwarkadheesh Temple. The circuitous route within the old town was through another maze of small lanes. (If you have seen Vivaah, it is easy to imagine their look; director Sooraj Barjatya’s fictitious Madhopur is based on Mathura, and he has recreated the appearance in fine detail).

The temple had closed down yet again. The temple’s opening and closing time-table is intricate, and changes with seasons.

We expended time by checking out the colorful tiny shops that line the entire street. At the end of the lane, it turned downward towards Vishram Ghaat. The Ghat is not exactly clean but the ambience there with the Yamuna river reflecting the molten orb of the setting sun imparted an incredibly peaceful feeling.

Shree Dwarkadheesh Temple

We managed to carve a space right at the front to catch a splendid view of the shining black idol.

The temple is old-fashioned, resembling an ancient haweli. Devotees throng here in immense droves, and admittedly an electrifying energy reverberates through its air and space.

By the time we stepped out it was pretty dark.

Agra

Since we were famished we stopped at the McDonalds on the highway (opposite Mathura Refinery) before making the final lap of our journey.

It’s the first time my parents visited my house here. I had cleaned it up thoroughly before going on the holiday for their welcome especially removing the damning beer bottles.

They loved the house and the area, and I was mighty proud.

Wednesday 7^th February

Taj Mahal

It rained the entire night. The morning opened fresh and moist and shrouded in a thin misty veil. All my grandiose claims about the Taj being visible from my balcony were smothered by the thin white curtain. Eventually, the sun tore open visibility and the grandest building on Agra’s skyline came into view.

I took an hour or so off since I had some work at office.

It was around eleven when we entered the premises of Taj Mahal, after some more rigorous security checks. Mercifully, mobiles are now allowed inside.

Despite all cynicism and skepticism it s just a tomb, it doesn t hold anything valuable from our culture, hell it mightn t even hold the popular romantic notions there is something about the Taj that forces your jaw to drop in admiration, awe and amazement. The magnificent white marble design enthralls with its sheer grace and grandeur.

We did the touristy thing of getting photographs clicked including one by my sister where it gives the illusion that she is holding the Taj with her fingers!

Sadar Bazar

It was lunch time when we left Taj Mahal. My sister insisted that she wished to have a proper lunch no kachauris, samosas or burgers and pizzas. Frankly, I held the same view as well.

I zeroed in to The Park Restaurant at Sadar Bazaar the food is good, the service pretty fast and the ambience crisp and neat. Thankfully, they all loved it too.

We roamed awhile at Sadar Bazar, Agra’s best shopping centre.

Fatehpur Sikri

From Sadar we proceeded to Fatehpur-Sikri. The route leads through Shahganj, a crowded marketplace. It took some time to cross it. Everyone was fidgety. This is normal here, I laughed at their discomfort, having got stuck in innumerable unnecessary traffic snarls in the past six months.

I will skip the details of Fatehpur Sikri since I have covered it here already. We had hired a guide, but because the stories were fresh in my mind I was prompting the guide even before he could begin his narration so much so that my sister remarked that I could be a better guide there!

On the last visit I hadn t spent too much time at Sikri. On this day, we leisurely discovered it. Since Sikri is under ASI (Fatehpur is not, it belongs to Saint Salimuddin Chisti’s descendants) it is much cleaner and better kept and restored.

I knew a short cut existed from Kirawali (ten kilometers from Fatehpur Sikri) that connected NH2, and hence we could avoid Agra. But I hadn t bargained for the dreadful road. The car jumped and jerked over the potholes and broken road. This is so normal, I laughed again, informing that they should once visit the Hathras road.

In less than twenty four hours, I was back on NH2. We arrived at Delhi by nine, and stopped for dinner at Haldiram’s on Mathura Road, near Badarpur border.

Thursday 8^th February

Two back-to-back official meetings ate up the entire day one, a performance review for the past month and the second, on HR counseling (which was nothing but a bland presentation on HR values and appraisals and norms) followed by an awfully tasteless dinner.

Friday 9^th February

I departed from Delhi early morning and yet again I was on NH2 and that ended a wonderful holiday trip, one that I will cherish and the recount here will help me keep the memories fresh.

Concluded

Technorati : Agra, Fatehpur, Gokul, Krishna, Mathura, Sikri

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Film Review

What is dharma (duty)? Is it the constricted definition passed down from the Mahabharata ages in the form of Eklavya‘s story (who cut his thumb to please his pseudo-master), prostate where we celebrate the horrifyingly unjust demand for sacrifice only because it sounds righteous and appeases the base moral instinct? Or, traumatologist is there a leeway where your own brain and circumstances can carve out not your thumb but a practical path of reconciliation? Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s latest directorial venture Eklavya-The Royal Guard, viagra after a long seven year hiatus, tackles this pricky dilemma and questions the value and relevance of Eklavya’s sacrifice.

The film centres around Eklavya (Amitabh Bachchan), the royal guard of a fictitious Rajasthani princely state Devigarh, where a terrifying secret about the parentage of the prince Harsh (Saif Ali Khan) and his mentally challenged twin sister Nandini (Raima Sen) is buried beneath the thick walls of the fort. Once the queen (Sharmila Tagore in a guest appearance) is murdered by the jealous king (Boman Irani), the events start to unfold leading to a climax where the fulcrum of duty oscillates between the two principal characters Eklavya and Harshvardhan.

Other characters that add to the story are the king’s younger brother Jyotivardhan (Jackie Shroff), his son Uday (Jimmy Sheirgill) and a police inspector Pannalal (Sanjay Dutt) who is in awe of Eklavya.

The director’s challenge to the timeless definition of dharma is presented well. A large posse of principal characters is positive in essence, which is a great relief. And the direction is consistent, and the pace even.

But what mars the film is its extremely heavy atmosphere, which relentlessly doesn’t provide any respite, despite a hesitant romantic interlude between the prince and the driver’s (Parikshit Sahni) daughter Rajjo (Vidya Balan). The second weak aspect is the screenplay where the movement from the first scene to the last is essentially zilch; once the characters are introduced the film could have moved to its climax without anything in-between either holding story value or aesthetic interest or entertainment. In that respect even the short running time (its just close to two hours) seems exorbitantly long especially the tedious second half! For a story of this kind, there isn’t any intricate interweaving of events and characters, which could have made the film’s appeal richer. Finally, the drama lacks the requisite punch.

There are several other minor flaws for example, the fort is surprisingly devoid of any other servants or helpers; or the language, which has no trace of the local dialect.

However, what saves the film are two huge positives a) Amitabh Bachchan he breathes a scalding intensity into Eklavya’s forlorn character, tucking in every nuance and shade, and leaving no ungainly folds or loose ends. His body language is taut like a bow while his facial expressions are fluid and vivid. Hell, even the veins on his forehead emote out his anguish and pain; and b) KS Natarajan‘s absolutely stunning cinematography each shot is a painstakingly executed picture postcard capturing the rugged Rajasthani territory. The shot involving a thousand camels running amok in front of a running train is enormously scintillating.

Other actors put their best mask forward Saif Ali Khan’s new found acting capabilities are put to good use. Sanjay Dutt delights in the only slightly lighter role. Boman Irani is as ever effective. Jackie Shroff and Jimmy Sheirgill add value. However, Vidya Balan gets her third consecutive (after Guru, Salaam-E-Ishq) inconsequential role, and she acts as if she is doing a great favor to the film!

Sharmila Tagore is actually wasted in the small role, and that is a shame. And what was Mita Vashisht doing in that single scene she gets?

Except for a few lines of the lullaby Chanda re chanda re, the film is song-less. But the background score is neat.

In totality, the film is not for those seeking weekend entertainment. Even as a film it remains largely at an average plane and fails to lift itself to glorious height.

Overall: Average, but worth one viewing for sure esp. for Big B’s superb performace!

Technorati : Amitabh, Bachchan, Boman Irani, Eklavya, Saif Ali Khan, Sanjay Dutt, Sharmila Tagore, Vidhu Vinod Chopra

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Four phases of life, this three cities, view two job changes and all through there remained one constant – this blog. Every time I look at my first post I cannot but help laugh at the following lines:

I am not sure for how long I will be able to continue this blog, but I will definitely try

Today we complete three years of Random Expressions. For someone who has an attention span of a child, it is indeed a colossal achievement that this blog has survived three years.

Cliched as it sounds, but the fact is that none of it would have been possible without your constant support and patronage. I have seen times when publishing a post meant constant clicking of the comment box to view the responses. Often, the discussion would go way beyond the relevant subject matter. In fact, the comment box would resemble a ‘chat room’, and has been used for many a ‘social interaction’. Today, the inclination and the time is much lesser, but still I enjoy getting the comments, even if I am unable to respond right away.

It would be impossible to list everyone out, but my sincere thanks to everyone who has been on these pages for making this journey worthwhile and fruitful. I also miss some friends who have stopped blogging for the while but I am hopeful they will return. From them, I miss Ashish and RS the most. Thankfully, with both the interaction has moved beyond the web-space.

I started blogging with rediff’s platform. But their apathy towards the service is well evident, so much so that the home page hasn’t been changed for close to two years! I was very sure that if ever I shift it would be on my own space. Hence, last year I began a search for a reliable hosting service. After browsing through several of them, without understanding an iota of what they were offering, I zeroed down to Dreamhost. Their operation looked easy and their email responses were quick and to-the-point. Till date, they have served well, without any outtages or hitches – and more prominently, without cluttering my email with their promotions or offers!

Choosing a blog platform was a cake-walk. After all, I had always been impressed by WordPress. Poonam‘s tremendous help made setting it up easy; she patiently gave solutions to problems when I was irretrievably stuck. WordPress’s effective discussion forum took care of the rest.

If you wondered about the sudden spurt of posts in the recent past – then a share of credit can be attributed to Zoundry, a blog client service. A blog-client is like an email client (eg. Outlook Express) and makes posting and editing convenient. There are several such services available – Zoundry and Ecto being two of them. I had tried Ecto’s trial version earlier, but that was a paid service, and I wasn’t too sure I wanted to shell out more cash for it. Zoundry offered much the same ease and features – for free! What clinched the deal in Zoundry’s favor was their step-by-step tutorial on transferring MS Word files onto a blog-client. That was something I always wanted! An added feature is the links to Amazon.com and Buy.com that can be added to several products, apart from direct links to Wikipedia and Answer.com.

Thank you DreamHost, WordPress and Zoundry for making my blogging experience absolutely thrilling!

Thank you readers, for making this blog continue and survive!

Happy 3rd Anniversary to Random Expressions!

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The learned say that the best way to tackle a problem is to hold it by its horns directly. With two tags in a single day, case I thought it was best to delve straight into them and finish them off chronologically. Since I read Anks’ post first, adiposity so here we go:

(My comments in italics)

Have

Climbed a mountain – a small one!
Said ‘I love you’ and meant it – No comments!
Hugged a tree – probably would have done it as a kid.
Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise – not exactly the entire night, condom but was up early to witness the most beautiful and sensational sun-rise at Nagarkot, Nepal
Gotten drunk on champagne – err, add Bacardi, whisky, wine, beer and vodka to this list!
Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment – in front of the bossess
Ridden a roller coaster – I hate them, but have done them often, esp. at Appu Ghar!
Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking – after a few drinks, any one would do this!
Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment – many moments (thank God!)
Had two hard drives for your computer – its the best way to keep your data!
Had amazing friends – dare I say anything else in public?
Midnight walk on the beach – in Goa, readers of Random Expression should know of it too!
Played in the rain – very often!
Toured ancient sites – I am sure you all know of this!
Performed on stage – Played Tom Sawyer in the play by the same name, and also the young Lord Christ in another drama.
Spoken more than one language fluently – Well, I hope Hindi and English will qualify me for this one!
Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking – Keeps happening!
Had your picture in the newspaper – ahem, that too ‘internationally’ … in a Nepali newspaper!
Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about – too vague, but must have done so!
Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language – it happened in Nepal!
Had a booth at a street fair – And I earned an handsome amount as well!
Been a DJ – Well, I am DJ, ain’t I?
In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them – If you visit a crowded place like Saagar Ratna at Defence Colony, this isn’t that big a thing to happen!
Changed a baby’s diaper – Often , for my nephews, when they were toddlers. It’s quite a simple thing to do really!
Had a food fight – And hurt myself too!
Screamed as loudly as you possibly can – Don’t even want to remember that phase when this was a regularity!
Taken care of someone who was drunk – Keeps happening, what’s so great about this?!
Gone rock climbing – albeit, in controlled simulated conditions.
Played in the mud – I am sure every child would have done this.
Started a business – and it was a collosal failure!
Gotten married
Gotten divorced
Caused a car accident- and been in a couple of them!
Read The Iliad – and the Odyssey – Read both!
Been in a combat zone – Civil War in Aden (South Yemen) in 1986 and Nepal Insurgency (2004-6)
Picked up and moved to another city to just start over – Regular readers of this blog are aware of this. Have done it twice over now!
Wrote article for a large publication – Stories in Femina should qualify in this one, shouldn’t it?

Have not

Fallen in love and not had your heart broken – what the hell is love!
Broken someone’s heart – yuck, why would I do so?
Eaten sushi – Ahem, forgive my ignorance, what in good heavens is this?!
Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol – Never done so, but I know a list of people whom I would like to be on the wrong side of such instruments!
Ridden a horse – No!
Bought everyone in the bar a drink – Heavens, I am constantly broke, why would I do something so insane. I don’t mind another insane person doing the same to me, though!
Swam with wild dolphins – Errr, didn’t I say I am sane?!
Watched wild whales – This getting weirder!
Eaten shark – *Splurt, shock *Ok, Ok, this one is getting a wee bit too much out of hand! But then, I have eaten ‘snake pickle’!
Taken a Ferrari for a test drive – Ok, this was a bad one. Why step on raw nerves?
Held a tarantula – Too tired to check the dictionary, what is tarantula?
Watched a lightning storm at sea – Never stayed long enough near the sea.
Gone to a huge sports game – I am not a sports freak, so I dont think this will ever happen
Watched a meteor shower
Given more than you can afford to charity – I wouldn’t mind some charity for self!
Bet on a winning horse – I don’t condone gambling.
Asked out a stranger – Again , as I said, I am sane enough!
Held a lamb – Too girlish, in my opinion.
Seen a total eclipse – You are not supposed to see it even!
Hit a home run – That’s baseball?! Err, we Indians prefer cricket, don’t we?
Adopted an accent for an entire day – Aiyyo! No!
Danced with a stranger in a foreign country – Exotic, and I wouldn’t mind doing it either!
Stolen a sign – As in forgery?! Ram Ram!!
Gone sky diving – Nopes, don’t think I am strong enough to try it!
Visited Ireland – And what’s so special about Ireland?
Been heartbroken longer then you were actually in love – No comments!
Visited Japan – Why couldn’t they ask about Nepal, for instance? Or Sri Lanka, Belgium, Greece and Yemen?
Milked a cow
Pretended to be a superhero – Never!
Gone scuba diving – Again, quite a coward to try this. Plus, I’d have to learn swimming!
Visited the Great Wall of China- but definitely want to!
Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight – D&D bole toh?
Crashed a party – though I have thought to doing so at the neighborhood marriage hall!
Gone without food for 5 days – One day of fast becomes tough, five days would kill me!
Rafted the Snake River – Where is it?
Recorded music – Well, you’ll are lucky not to be tormented by my godawful voice!
Buried one of your parents – *Shudder * Don’t think I want to think about it. On lighter vein, I wouldn’t ever do it since in our religion, we cremate!
Created and named your own constellation of stars – Too kiddish for my taste!
Had plastic surgery – I think I have got used to my face, the others can close their eyes!
Survived an illness that you shouldn’t have survived- God forbid!
Lost over 100 pounds – If only I could!
Held someone while they were having a flashback- WHAT????
Piloted an airplane
Petted a stingray
Helped an animal give birth
Broken a bone – Thankfully, no and I dont think I ever want to experience it either!
Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced – I hate piercings, tattoos and other such things – on self and on others!
Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
Had major surgery – thank God, no!
Had a snake as a pet – I wouldn’t be alive to write this experience. Am petrified of snakes!
Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days – Well I hv had a canoe trip, but it didn’t last beyond 20 minutes!
Eaten kangaroo meat – is it any good? Or better than wild boar, which I found absolutely delectable!
Gone back to school
Parasailed
Petted a cockroach – Weird!
Eaten fried green tomatoes – Are they any good? I don’t mind trying it!
Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read
Killed and prepared an animal for eating
Skipped all your school reunions – by and large, now yes. Earlier I have attended a couple of them.
Been elected to public office
Written your own computer language – too computer dumb for this!
Had to put someone you love into hospice care
Built your own PC from parts – Why waste time?
Dyed your hair – Wouldnt do it, even though every one comments on the ‘peppered’ look!
Shaved your head – Arre, I dont have the courage to shave off my moustache, this is stretching things a bit too far!
Saved someone’s life
Gotten a tattoo – I abhor tattoos!
Won first prize in a costume contest – Hum ho, neither do I wish to!
Bungee jumped- And dont want to either!

Want to

Alphabetize your cds – and cassettes: a project that I seriously should finish off soon!
Go on an African photo safari
Take an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country – actually want to do a car tour, at least starting with within India!
Followed your favorite band/singer on tour – I would love to be with Lataji on her tour!
Go to Las Vegas – Not for gambling, but for the exuberant chamak-dhamak!
Go inside the Great Pyramid
Take a candlelit bath with someone- Hmm, erotic!
Visit Paris – and Switzerland!
See the Northern Lights
Walk the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa – actually, our very own Qutub Minar is good enough, if they allow, that is!
Grow and eat your own vegetables
Touch an iceberg
Sleep under the stars – sans the mosquitoes, though!
Take a trip in a hot air balloon – as it is I get enough gas from my bosses, some more will hardly harm me!
Look up at the night sky through a telescope
Have a snowball fight – haven’t really seen proper snowfall
Backpack in Europe- actually anywhere, without boss and targets!
Take a road-trip – As I said, definitely want to do this, and probably will do it also!
Sing karaoke – Brace yourselves!
Lounge around in bed all day – Actually, it sounds good, but often I have seen after a while I get restless!
Kiss in the rain – Sensuous!
Go to a drive-in theater – will a drive through drive-in McDonalds stand in good stead of this?
Take a martial arts class – and chop off a few brick heads!
Be in a movie – Actually, rather be behind the camera!
Make cookies from scratch – Have baked a cake; but cookies look…well, tough cookies to crack!
Ride a gondola in Venice – and sing ‘Do lafzon ki hai yeh dil ki kahani’!
Be on television news programs as an “expert” – Karan Johar, you listening?
Get flowers for no reason – I appreciate flowers, but do add some tangible gifts to make the entire experience more fragrant!
Go to Thailand – and get a massage!
Buy a house
Be on a cruise ship
Raise children
Win money on a T.V. game show
Sleep for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours –should be easy for me!
Visit more foreign countries than U.S. states
Visit all 7 continents
Think to yourself that you’re living your dream
Sell your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you

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I recall I wrote on a nightmare I had while I was in Nepal; unfortunately, doctor the older blog doesn t have a search option, and I couldn t find that post in my back-up MS Word file. Perhaps, it was part of another post. But when I saw Manish’s tag the sense of deja vu was extremely strong.

1. I saw this nightmare the previous Saturday afternoon. Being a half-day I was back home early, and fell asleep as soon as I lay on the bed. Details are hazy, but in my dream, I witnessed global darkening the sun had set at 4 pm, and everyone was panicky because it signified the end of the world. I woke up with a start; thankfully, the sun was still there, completing off its day’s chore!

2. Nudity is a recurring theme. Often I see myself naked. But this time I saw a colleague who has walked in the buff into a hall full of suited professionals, perhaps some sort of a dignified dinner party. To the boss’s aghast expressions, he replies non-chalantly, “Well, I wanted some exposure to such a large gathering!”

3. This was hilarious I actually saw Anz dating and marrying hold your breath – Himesh Reshammiya! I told her about this and strangely she wasn’t too amused. Any particular reasons for that?

The tag now passes on to:

Anks –sweet revenge!
Apoorva –I am sure he will have plenty of them
Priyangini –And now don t say that marriage is weird in itself
Kaushie and Mehak – Ha ha, how could I forget both of you!

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Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, pills view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, information pills you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, physician Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Where am I? To put it square and straight – on Delhi-Agra highway! It isn’t as if I taken up a house there, view but the amount spent on it far exceeds my normal quota. For details, you will have to wait a bit more – till the time I am able to gather my thoughts and wits and present them in a chronologically neat pattern. I will leave with saying I had a delightful trip visiting the insides of Mathura, Vrindavan and Gokul, added with another trip to Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.

I will be back soon. Till then, don’t click that little red ‘cross’ button on the top right hand corner right now. I have transferred a few old posts from the older blog – for your reading pleasure!

Saturday 3^rd February

I left Agra late in the noon. My boss called up asking an important budgeting file, and my plans for leaving early were halted. Even as I struggled to get the figures correct on the excel file, visions of burgeoning traffic at Faridabad loomed eerily in my mind. The stomach added its own grumbling chorus since I had skipped breakfast in order to get the house ready for my parents welcome here on my return trip.

I wriggled out of Agra by three p.m, and reached Delhi by eight in the night, stopping mid-way once at Mathura’s McDonalds (on the highway) for a quick bite.

At home, we finalized the itinery for the Mathura and Agra trip for Tuesday and Wednesday, cropping off a lot of things we wished to add. My sister (from Pune) was very keen about the Mathura part of the trip.

The Great Indian Wedding

Sunday 4^th February

At last it sunk in that the holidays had begun, and I swept aside all work related thoughts. Two cool Forsters with an old friend helped in washing away any remnants of office, targets or deadlines!

Evening was earmarked for the sagan ceremony of my cousin. I love being an observer at all family weddings and this one was no different. I listened amusedly to all the family politics, bitching and gossiping, intermingled with envious comparisons of sarees, jewelery and even (gasp) sons-and-daughters in-law.

The function was very sober and quite unlike what I had expected. Held at an old and prestigious club of North Delhi, it was a quiet and contained affair with awesome food.

En return route, I was audience to my mom and sisters conversation as they meticulously dissected the ceremony.

Monday 5^th February

I wasn’t fully rested, but we had to attend the chooda ceremony early morning. Mercifully, it was held at a hotel quite nearby our place (by Delhi standards) so we got some extra time.

The bright sunshine warmed the rooftop while we saw the bride’s mamaji (maternal uncle) gift the auspicious flaring red chooda . All along in the background, the incessant babble of myriad relatives continued their relentless chorus. The fried snacks settled heavily and by the time lunch was over I was sleepy and full.

On reaching home I hit the bed and dropped into a deep slumber.

The wedding was at another hotel this time a little farther off. It looked like a propitious day since we crossed various baraats, and at the venue itself there were three marriages taking place. Consequently, parking was at a premium. While squeezing my car into the available sliver of a space, my car plunged into an invisible drain. The thud reverberated in my heart. With some helping hands I pulled the abused Santro out, but its squeaky complaints didn’t stop. The front bumper had displaced itself and kissed the tyre noisily. There goes the smooth drive tomorrow, I thought sadly.

The newly built hotel’s ballroom was huge and spacious. But the crown belonged to the wide variety of snacks. Greedily I tucked in the delectable chilly paneer and marvelous masala mushrooms and soft spring rolls and delicious paneer tikkas.

The downside of attending family weddings is that everyone suddenly converts into a knowledgeable match-maker. Relatives that you would have met only at the last such function some aeons back hover around you buzzing with their unwanted pearls of advices and suggestions. The frozen smile hurt my jaws.

The DJ pumped up the music and some enterprising souls attacked the dance floor, goaded by the blender’s proud spirits churning within them.

While returning the car grumbled hoarsely like a cement mixer threatening to spew out its solid waste. I was nervous about the impending trip early morning.

Tuesday 6^th February

Vrindavan

Despite best efforts, we couldn’t leave before seven – late, but wholly unavoidable since we had returned well past midnight last night. The local car-wash man gave a stern tug to the bumper, and the car stopped its whining. I was mighty relieved.

In an hour, I was back on the same familiar highway. We stopped at Kosi Kalan for a light breakfast, and arrived at Vrindavan around ten. Before we could enter the city we were stopped for a shady toll tax which I suspect has nothing to do with any legitimate authorities. A bunch of guides pounced on us. Since we were new we required a guide, and selected a young boy in class tenth who did this job part-time, which again I suspect was not wholly true. It was a working day and he had no business being on the road.

Vrindavan is associated with Lord Krishna, whose many child hood pranks and leelas are centered on this place. Vrinda means Tulsi (basil). Later we learnt the original Vrindavan is now lost, and this city was founded much later.

Rangnath Temple

Negotiating a labyrinth of narrow lanes, we reached the mammoth Rangnath Temple.

The temple was built by a rich seth who begot a son at the age of sixty in an era when Viagra wasn’t invented. The construction was South Indian in design and the carvings on it fine and minute.The temple depicts Lord Ranganatha or Rangaji or Lord Vishnu in his sheshashayi pose, resting on the coils of the sacred Sesha Naga. The lynchpin is the huge gold Garuda stambh or Pillar for Garuda (the official vehicle for Lord Vishnu). The premises are open and vast.

Shri Vrindavan Behari Temple

Leaving the car parked at Rangnath Temple’s open compound, we walked through another maze of lanes to reach the Praacheen Vrindavan Bihari Temple. The walls had white marble tiles with black markings. On closer inspection we learnt they were names of devotees who had given donations there.

The deity’s idols were curtained. The priest began his narration on how it was the only place to see the entire family of Lord Krishna, including one of Dauji (Krishna’s elder brother Balaram) discovered from Yamuna riverbed. He explained how it was punya for a son to affix one marble slab in the name of the parents. The slabs started from Rs 1100 onwards. At the end of his narration, he pulled off the curtain to allow us to see the idols and asked for my name, gotra and place of stay and hopefully looked at us to loosen our wallets. We weren’t ready to do so, and as politely as we could, we tore away from that place.

A precocious monkey scooped off the prasaad from my sister’s hands when we stepped out.

Madhuvan

I was expecting a forest. It was just a tulsi garden with a small but quaint temple dedicated to Shri Krishna’s consort, Radhaji. The local myth is that till date in the night Shree Krishna visits the place and does the Raas Leela with Radhaji and the gopis . The tulsi plants transform into gopis in the night. However, any one who tries to view it is stricken dead. A few samadhis in the compound belonged to such voyeurs, our guide explained ominously.

Monkeys and beggars abundantly bustled around us.

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple

Shree Bankey Bihari Temple, built in mid-nineteenth century, is the biggest and most reknowned shrine; the high-point for one who travels here. The street leading to it is colorful, bright, and alive and resonates with activity; shops selling mithais, flowers, religious books, ornaments, deity clothes jostle with devotees rushing to view their favorite Lord.

The temple insides are large, and old-fashioned, made of painted brick-and-cement. The sprawling compound in front of the deity is cordoned off by brass railings to enable queue formation when there is a huge rush. That day, it was quieter and we were just in time before it closed for the afternoon.

The black stone idol is curtained off every few minutes.

We got a clear darshan, and admittedly the atmosphere vibrates piety and bhakti. I soaked the positive vibes and felt uplifted and stirred.

Outside, we eagerly devoured the famous kachauri-aloo and the refreshing kulhad-waali-lassi.

International Society for Krishna Consciousness (Iskcon) Temple

This was our last stop, and we freed the guide here. He had been a good information source, and it would have been awfully tough to find all the places without his guidance. He had interspersed his narrations with calls of Jai Shri Krishna or Bolo Jai Shri Bankey Bihariji Maharajki or simply Radhey Radhey . He had also urged us to laugh and clap our hands advising us that one who makes a pilgrimage should always be happy so that the happiness echoes in our lives and homes.

The Iskcon Temple is a modern construction in white marble, impeccably neat and undoubtedly peaceful. A small group chanted the Lord’s name to the beats of dholak and manjeera .

We relaxed here for a while, before moving on to our next leg of the journey.

To Be Continued.

Technorati : Agra, Lord Krishna, Mathura, Radha, Travel, Vrindavan

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Tuesday 6^th February (Contd.)

Mathura is approx. 10 km away from Vrindavan, pancreatitis towards Agra. We reached around one in the noon. The temples would be closed but since we couldn’t go on to Agra and then return, we chose to kill time at Mathura.

Over the years Mathura has extended and grown haphazardly around the NH2. Modernity has brushed it with colorful malls and markets right on the highway.

The main town is seven kms inside from the highway, and there are several entrances to it. I entered from one inroad only to be rudely stopped by another municipality tax ‘booth’ . Since I have often visited Mathura on official tours I knew this wasn’t any official tax. Adamant in not warming the pockets of any hooligans I reversed the car, and careened into the town from another inroad that I knew of.

There are two main attractions here Shree Krishna Janamsthan (SKJS) or Janmbhoomi and Shri Dwarkadheesh Temple. Near the parking of SKJS, guides besieged us and we chose another young boy a class tenth student, yet again.

Gokul

Since we had time, the guide offered to take us to Gokul nearly thirteen kms away from SKJS, past Mathura Cantt and across River Yamuna.

The city left behind us and we were in rural surroundings. For someone who has been shaken enough by several countryside trips, this held no novelty. My parents and my sister enjoyed the laidback serenity.

Mahavan/ Raman Reti

The boy guided us through Mahavan, a small village before Gokul and we paused at Raman Reti Ashram. The Ashram permeated tranquillity. Once upon a time the Yamuna extended till here but today only her traces remain – the riverbed sand. Myth says that child Krishna played on the river banks, and hence people still roll in the sand as a tribute to the Baal Leela of the Lord. We offered our prayers.

Outside the Ashram, a hot cup of tea served in cute kulhads refreshed us.

The guide left us since he had some work to finish, offering a substitute and promising to meet again at Gokul.

The Ghat

Gokul is a quaint village and has carefully preserved its old persona. The village is purely a Hindu domain and strictly off-bounds for people of other faiths.

We parked our car and weaved our way through a maze of miniature lanes. Mud houses nudged brick ones, albeit single story and invoking a unique coolness, and displayed graffitis of just Radhey Radhey or Jai Shri Krishna ; a step over tiny stairs here, a bend through a low arch there; a sadhu praying at one corner and a cow lazing at another; sweet shop on side, and flowers on the other – the entire ambience imbued piety. Urban mess was in a far vague distance.

We paid our respects to the holy River Yamuna at the Ghat and sat awhile as the river lazily flowed past us.

Nand Lal Shrine, Yog Maya Mandir and Other Temples

Bordering the river front are a string of temples, including one dedicated to Yog Maya, the girl who was replaced in the prison cell when Nandji brought Krishna from there.

At one such temple, the curtains were drawn over the idols. The priest began his narration an exact replica of what we had heard in Vrindavan, including the fact that Balram s idol was discovered from the river bed. How many such idols were found? This time, the threshold price was an exhorbitant Rs 2100/- .

The Nandlal Shrine held a series of rooms dedicated to the life and times of Krishna, but in all of them, the demand for donations continued.

We left Gokul after visiting the main Dauji temple.

Mathura

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi

The temple had opened by the time we reached back. Since the parking was a little further off, we chose to place the car at a private property, the owner of which rushed out to demand a whopping Rs 25 as charges. We negotiated, but in vain. In between, our guide (who had returned at Gokul) upped his price and left in a huff when we refused to pay the extra amount.

Shree Krishna Janambhoomi or Janamsthan is under governmental purview and is a hot seat of controversy as the Idgah Masjid is right on its premises, adjacent to the temple. The security checks are stringent no mobile phones, no electronic items and even no remote control car opening devices. All have to be deposited at a nearby locker room .

The compound is sprawling, open and very clean, with stalls and shops for pedas and flowers , tourist stuff and other sundry prayer items. The tour inside is divine and awe-inspiring. There is the jail where the Lord took birth, the entrance to which is an extremely slim corridor lined with metal walls and rivets. The dungeon room is a similar metalled place.

Next to the jail stands a more modern temple and we spent some time here.

Vishraam Ghaat

We hired a rickshaw to reach Dwarkadheesh Temple. The circuitous route within the old town was through another maze of small lanes. (If you have seen Vivaah, it is easy to imagine their look; director Sooraj Barjatya’s fictitious Madhopur is based on Mathura, and he has recreated the appearance in fine detail).

The temple had closed down yet again. The temple’s opening and closing time-table is intricate, and changes with seasons.

We expended time by checking out the colorful tiny shops that line the entire street. At the end of the lane, it turned downward towards Vishram Ghaat. The Ghat is not exactly clean but the ambience there with the Yamuna river reflecting the molten orb of the setting sun imparted an incredibly peaceful feeling.

Shree Dwarkadheesh Temple

We managed to carve a space right at the front to catch a splendid view of the shining black idol.

The temple is old-fashioned, resembling an ancient haweli. Devotees throng here in immense droves, and admittedly an electrifying energy reverberates through its air and space.

By the time we stepped out it was pretty dark.

Agra

Since we were famished we stopped at the McDonalds on the highway (opposite Mathura Refinery) before making the final lap of our journey.

It’s the first time my parents visited my house here. I had cleaned it up thoroughly before going on the holiday for their welcome especially removing the damning beer bottles.

They loved the house and the area, and I was mighty proud.

Wednesday 7^th February

Taj Mahal

It rained the entire night. The morning opened fresh and moist and shrouded in a thin misty veil. All my grandiose claims about the Taj being visible from my balcony were smothered by the thin white curtain. Eventually, the sun tore open visibility and the grandest building on Agra’s skyline came into view.

I took an hour or so off since I had some work at office.

It was around eleven when we entered the premises of Taj Mahal, after some more rigorous security checks. Mercifully, mobiles are now allowed inside.

Despite all cynicism and skepticism it s just a tomb, it doesn t hold anything valuable from our culture, hell it mightn t even hold the popular romantic notions there is something about the Taj that forces your jaw to drop in admiration, awe and amazement. The magnificent white marble design enthralls with its sheer grace and grandeur.

We did the touristy thing of getting photographs clicked including one by my sister where it gives the illusion that she is holding the Taj with her fingers!

Sadar Bazar

It was lunch time when we left Taj Mahal. My sister insisted that she wished to have a proper lunch no kachauris, samosas or burgers and pizzas. Frankly, I held the same view as well.

I zeroed in to The Park Restaurant at Sadar Bazaar the food is good, the service pretty fast and the ambience crisp and neat. Thankfully, they all loved it too.

We roamed awhile at Sadar Bazar, Agra’s best shopping centre.

Fatehpur Sikri

From Sadar we proceeded to Fatehpur-Sikri. The route leads through Shahganj, a crowded marketplace. It took some time to cross it. Everyone was fidgety. This is normal here, I laughed at their discomfort, having got stuck in innumerable unnecessary traffic snarls in the past six months.

I will skip the details of Fatehpur Sikri since I have covered it here already. We had hired a guide, but because the stories were fresh in my mind I was prompting the guide even before he could begin his narration so much so that my sister remarked that I could be a better guide there!

On the last visit I hadn t spent too much time at Sikri. On this day, we leisurely discovered it. Since Sikri is under ASI (Fatehpur is not, it belongs to Saint Salimuddin Chisti’s descendants) it is much cleaner and better kept and restored.

I knew a short cut existed from Kirawali (ten kilometers from Fatehpur Sikri) that connected NH2, and hence we could avoid Agra. But I hadn t bargained for the dreadful road. The car jumped and jerked over the potholes and broken road. This is so normal, I laughed again, informing that they should once visit the Hathras road.

In less than twenty four hours, I was back on NH2. We arrived at Delhi by nine, and stopped for dinner at Haldiram’s on Mathura Road, near Badarpur border.

Thursday 8^th February

Two back-to-back official meetings ate up the entire day one, a performance review for the past month and the second, on HR counseling (which was nothing but a bland presentation on HR values and appraisals and norms) followed by an awfully tasteless dinner.

Friday 9^th February

I departed from Delhi early morning and yet again I was on NH2 and that ended a wonderful holiday trip, one that I will cherish and the recount here will help me keep the memories fresh.

Concluded

Technorati : Agra, Fatehpur, Gokul, Krishna, Mathura, Sikri

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Film Review

What is dharma (duty)? Is it the constricted definition passed down from the Mahabharata ages in the form of Eklavya‘s story (who cut his thumb to please his pseudo-master), prostate where we celebrate the horrifyingly unjust demand for sacrifice only because it sounds righteous and appeases the base moral instinct? Or, traumatologist is there a leeway where your own brain and circumstances can carve out not your thumb but a practical path of reconciliation? Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s latest directorial venture Eklavya-The Royal Guard, viagra after a long seven year hiatus, tackles this pricky dilemma and questions the value and relevance of Eklavya’s sacrifice.

The film centres around Eklavya (Amitabh Bachchan), the royal guard of a fictitious Rajasthani princely state Devigarh, where a terrifying secret about the parentage of the prince Harsh (Saif Ali Khan) and his mentally challenged twin sister Nandini (Raima Sen) is buried beneath the thick walls of the fort. Once the queen (Sharmila Tagore in a guest appearance) is murdered by the jealous king (Boman Irani), the events start to unfold leading to a climax where the fulcrum of duty oscillates between the two principal characters Eklavya and Harshvardhan.

Other characters that add to the story are the king’s younger brother Jyotivardhan (Jackie Shroff), his son Uday (Jimmy Sheirgill) and a police inspector Pannalal (Sanjay Dutt) who is in awe of Eklavya.

The director’s challenge to the timeless definition of dharma is presented well. A large posse of principal characters is positive in essence, which is a great relief. And the direction is consistent, and the pace even.

But what mars the film is its extremely heavy atmosphere, which relentlessly doesn’t provide any respite, despite a hesitant romantic interlude between the prince and the driver’s (Parikshit Sahni) daughter Rajjo (Vidya Balan). The second weak aspect is the screenplay where the movement from the first scene to the last is essentially zilch; once the characters are introduced the film could have moved to its climax without anything in-between either holding story value or aesthetic interest or entertainment. In that respect even the short running time (its just close to two hours) seems exorbitantly long especially the tedious second half! For a story of this kind, there isn’t any intricate interweaving of events and characters, which could have made the film’s appeal richer. Finally, the drama lacks the requisite punch.

There are several other minor flaws for example, the fort is surprisingly devoid of any other servants or helpers; or the language, which has no trace of the local dialect.

However, what saves the film are two huge positives a) Amitabh Bachchan he breathes a scalding intensity into Eklavya’s forlorn character, tucking in every nuance and shade, and leaving no ungainly folds or loose ends. His body language is taut like a bow while his facial expressions are fluid and vivid. Hell, even the veins on his forehead emote out his anguish and pain; and b) KS Natarajan‘s absolutely stunning cinematography each shot is a painstakingly executed picture postcard capturing the rugged Rajasthani territory. The shot involving a thousand camels running amok in front of a running train is enormously scintillating.

Other actors put their best mask forward Saif Ali Khan’s new found acting capabilities are put to good use. Sanjay Dutt delights in the only slightly lighter role. Boman Irani is as ever effective. Jackie Shroff and Jimmy Sheirgill add value. However, Vidya Balan gets her third consecutive (after Guru, Salaam-E-Ishq) inconsequential role, and she acts as if she is doing a great favor to the film!

Sharmila Tagore is actually wasted in the small role, and that is a shame. And what was Mita Vashisht doing in that single scene she gets?

Except for a few lines of the lullaby Chanda re chanda re, the film is song-less. But the background score is neat.

In totality, the film is not for those seeking weekend entertainment. Even as a film it remains largely at an average plane and fails to lift itself to glorious height.

Overall: Average, but worth one viewing for sure esp. for Big B’s superb performace!

Technorati : Amitabh, Bachchan, Boman Irani, Eklavya, Saif Ali Khan, Sanjay Dutt, Sharmila Tagore, Vidhu Vinod Chopra

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Four phases of life, this three cities, view two job changes and all through there remained one constant – this blog. Every time I look at my first post I cannot but help laugh at the following lines:

I am not sure for how long I will be able to continue this blog, but I will definitely try

Today we complete three years of Random Expressions. For someone who has an attention span of a child, it is indeed a colossal achievement that this blog has survived three years.

Cliched as it sounds, but the fact is that none of it would have been possible without your constant support and patronage. I have seen times when publishing a post meant constant clicking of the comment box to view the responses. Often, the discussion would go way beyond the relevant subject matter. In fact, the comment box would resemble a ‘chat room’, and has been used for many a ‘social interaction’. Today, the inclination and the time is much lesser, but still I enjoy getting the comments, even if I am unable to respond right away.

It would be impossible to list everyone out, but my sincere thanks to everyone who has been on these pages for making this journey worthwhile and fruitful. I also miss some friends who have stopped blogging for the while but I am hopeful they will return. From them, I miss Ashish and RS the most. Thankfully, with both the interaction has moved beyond the web-space.

I started blogging with rediff’s platform. But their apathy towards the service is well evident, so much so that the home page hasn’t been changed for close to two years! I was very sure that if ever I shift it would be on my own space. Hence, last year I began a search for a reliable hosting service. After browsing through several of them, without understanding an iota of what they were offering, I zeroed down to Dreamhost. Their operation looked easy and their email responses were quick and to-the-point. Till date, they have served well, without any outtages or hitches – and more prominently, without cluttering my email with their promotions or offers!

Choosing a blog platform was a cake-walk. After all, I had always been impressed by WordPress. Poonam‘s tremendous help made setting it up easy; she patiently gave solutions to problems when I was irretrievably stuck. WordPress’s effective discussion forum took care of the rest.

If you wondered about the sudden spurt of posts in the recent past – then a share of credit can be attributed to Zoundry, a blog client service. A blog-client is like an email client (eg. Outlook Express) and makes posting and editing convenient. There are several such services available – Zoundry and Ecto being two of them. I had tried Ecto’s trial version earlier, but that was a paid service, and I wasn’t too sure I wanted to shell out more cash for it. Zoundry offered much the same ease and features – for free! What clinched the deal in Zoundry’s favor was their step-by-step tutorial on transferring MS Word files onto a blog-client. That was something I always wanted! An added feature is the links to Amazon.com and Buy.com that can be added to several products, apart from direct links to Wikipedia and Answer.com.

Thank you DreamHost, WordPress and Zoundry for making my blogging experience absolutely thrilling!

Thank you readers, for making this blog continue and survive!

Happy 3rd Anniversary to Random Expressions!

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The learned say that the best way to tackle a problem is to hold it by its horns directly. With two tags in a single day, case I thought it was best to delve straight into them and finish them off chronologically. Since I read Anks’ post first, adiposity so here we go:

(My comments in italics)

Have

Climbed a mountain – a small one!
Said ‘I love you’ and meant it – No comments!
Hugged a tree – probably would have done it as a kid.
Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise – not exactly the entire night, condom but was up early to witness the most beautiful and sensational sun-rise at Nagarkot, Nepal
Gotten drunk on champagne – err, add Bacardi, whisky, wine, beer and vodka to this list!
Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment – in front of the bossess
Ridden a roller coaster – I hate them, but have done them often, esp. at Appu Ghar!
Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking – after a few drinks, any one would do this!
Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment – many moments (thank God!)
Had two hard drives for your computer – its the best way to keep your data!
Had amazing friends – dare I say anything else in public?
Midnight walk on the beach – in Goa, readers of Random Expression should know of it too!
Played in the rain – very often!
Toured ancient sites – I am sure you all know of this!
Performed on stage – Played Tom Sawyer in the play by the same name, and also the young Lord Christ in another drama.
Spoken more than one language fluently – Well, I hope Hindi and English will qualify me for this one!
Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking – Keeps happening!
Had your picture in the newspaper – ahem, that too ‘internationally’ … in a Nepali newspaper!
Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about – too vague, but must have done so!
Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language – it happened in Nepal!
Had a booth at a street fair – And I earned an handsome amount as well!
Been a DJ – Well, I am DJ, ain’t I?
In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them – If you visit a crowded place like Saagar Ratna at Defence Colony, this isn’t that big a thing to happen!
Changed a baby’s diaper – Often , for my nephews, when they were toddlers. It’s quite a simple thing to do really!
Had a food fight – And hurt myself too!
Screamed as loudly as you possibly can – Don’t even want to remember that phase when this was a regularity!
Taken care of someone who was drunk – Keeps happening, what’s so great about this?!
Gone rock climbing – albeit, in controlled simulated conditions.
Played in the mud – I am sure every child would have done this.
Started a business – and it was a collosal failure!
Gotten married
Gotten divorced
Caused a car accident- and been in a couple of them!
Read The Iliad – and the Odyssey – Read both!
Been in a combat zone – Civil War in Aden (South Yemen) in 1986 and Nepal Insurgency (2004-6)
Picked up and moved to another city to just start over – Regular readers of this blog are aware of this. Have done it twice over now!
Wrote article for a large publication – Stories in Femina should qualify in this one, shouldn’t it?

Have not

Fallen in love and not had your heart broken – what the hell is love!
Broken someone’s heart – yuck, why would I do so?
Eaten sushi – Ahem, forgive my ignorance, what in good heavens is this?!
Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol – Never done so, but I know a list of people whom I would like to be on the wrong side of such instruments!
Ridden a horse – No!
Bought everyone in the bar a drink – Heavens, I am constantly broke, why would I do something so insane. I don’t mind another insane person doing the same to me, though!
Swam with wild dolphins – Errr, didn’t I say I am sane?!
Watched wild whales – This getting weirder!
Eaten shark – *Splurt, shock *Ok, Ok, this one is getting a wee bit too much out of hand! But then, I have eaten ‘snake pickle’!
Taken a Ferrari for a test drive – Ok, this was a bad one. Why step on raw nerves?
Held a tarantula – Too tired to check the dictionary, what is tarantula?
Watched a lightning storm at sea – Never stayed long enough near the sea.
Gone to a huge sports game – I am not a sports freak, so I dont think this will ever happen
Watched a meteor shower
Given more than you can afford to charity – I wouldn’t mind some charity for self!
Bet on a winning horse – I don’t condone gambling.
Asked out a stranger – Again , as I said, I am sane enough!
Held a lamb – Too girlish, in my opinion.
Seen a total eclipse – You are not supposed to see it even!
Hit a home run – That’s baseball?! Err, we Indians prefer cricket, don’t we?
Adopted an accent for an entire day – Aiyyo! No!
Danced with a stranger in a foreign country – Exotic, and I wouldn’t mind doing it either!
Stolen a sign – As in forgery?! Ram Ram!!
Gone sky diving – Nopes, don’t think I am strong enough to try it!
Visited Ireland – And what’s so special about Ireland?
Been heartbroken longer then you were actually in love – No comments!
Visited Japan – Why couldn’t they ask about Nepal, for instance? Or Sri Lanka, Belgium, Greece and Yemen?
Milked a cow
Pretended to be a superhero – Never!
Gone scuba diving – Again, quite a coward to try this. Plus, I’d have to learn swimming!
Visited the Great Wall of China- but definitely want to!
Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight – D&D bole toh?
Crashed a party – though I have thought to doing so at the neighborhood marriage hall!
Gone without food for 5 days – One day of fast becomes tough, five days would kill me!
Rafted the Snake River – Where is it?
Recorded music – Well, you’ll are lucky not to be tormented by my godawful voice!
Buried one of your parents – *Shudder * Don’t think I want to think about it. On lighter vein, I wouldn’t ever do it since in our religion, we cremate!
Created and named your own constellation of stars – Too kiddish for my taste!
Had plastic surgery – I think I have got used to my face, the others can close their eyes!
Survived an illness that you shouldn’t have survived- God forbid!
Lost over 100 pounds – If only I could!
Held someone while they were having a flashback- WHAT????
Piloted an airplane
Petted a stingray
Helped an animal give birth
Broken a bone – Thankfully, no and I dont think I ever want to experience it either!
Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced – I hate piercings, tattoos and other such things – on self and on others!
Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
Had major surgery – thank God, no!
Had a snake as a pet – I wouldn’t be alive to write this experience. Am petrified of snakes!
Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days – Well I hv had a canoe trip, but it didn’t last beyond 20 minutes!
Eaten kangaroo meat – is it any good? Or better than wild boar, which I found absolutely delectable!
Gone back to school
Parasailed
Petted a cockroach – Weird!
Eaten fried green tomatoes – Are they any good? I don’t mind trying it!
Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read
Killed and prepared an animal for eating
Skipped all your school reunions – by and large, now yes. Earlier I have attended a couple of them.
Been elected to public office
Written your own computer language – too computer dumb for this!
Had to put someone you love into hospice care
Built your own PC from parts – Why waste time?
Dyed your hair – Wouldnt do it, even though every one comments on the ‘peppered’ look!
Shaved your head – Arre, I dont have the courage to shave off my moustache, this is stretching things a bit too far!
Saved someone’s life
Gotten a tattoo – I abhor tattoos!
Won first prize in a costume contest – Hum ho, neither do I wish to!
Bungee jumped- And dont want to either!

Want to

Alphabetize your cds – and cassettes: a project that I seriously should finish off soon!
Go on an African photo safari
Take an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country – actually want to do a car tour, at least starting with within India!
Followed your favorite band/singer on tour – I would love to be with Lataji on her tour!
Go to Las Vegas – Not for gambling, but for the exuberant chamak-dhamak!
Go inside the Great Pyramid
Take a candlelit bath with someone- Hmm, erotic!
Visit Paris – and Switzerland!
See the Northern Lights
Walk the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa – actually, our very own Qutub Minar is good enough, if they allow, that is!
Grow and eat your own vegetables
Touch an iceberg
Sleep under the stars – sans the mosquitoes, though!
Take a trip in a hot air balloon – as it is I get enough gas from my bosses, some more will hardly harm me!
Look up at the night sky through a telescope
Have a snowball fight – haven’t really seen proper snowfall
Backpack in Europe- actually anywhere, without boss and targets!
Take a road-trip – As I said, definitely want to do this, and probably will do it also!
Sing karaoke – Brace yourselves!
Lounge around in bed all day – Actually, it sounds good, but often I have seen after a while I get restless!
Kiss in the rain – Sensuous!
Go to a drive-in theater – will a drive through drive-in McDonalds stand in good stead of this?
Take a martial arts class – and chop off a few brick heads!
Be in a movie – Actually, rather be behind the camera!
Make cookies from scratch – Have baked a cake; but cookies look…well, tough cookies to crack!
Ride a gondola in Venice – and sing ‘Do lafzon ki hai yeh dil ki kahani’!
Be on television news programs as an “expert” – Karan Johar, you listening?
Get flowers for no reason – I appreciate flowers, but do add some tangible gifts to make the entire experience more fragrant!
Go to Thailand – and get a massage!
Buy a house
Be on a cruise ship
Raise children
Win money on a T.V. game show
Sleep for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours –should be easy for me!
Visit more foreign countries than U.S. states
Visit all 7 continents
Think to yourself that you’re living your dream
Sell your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you

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I recall I wrote on a nightmare I had while I was in Nepal; unfortunately, doctor the older blog doesn t have a search option, and I couldn t find that post in my back-up MS Word file. Perhaps, it was part of another post. But when I saw Manish’s tag the sense of deja vu was extremely strong.

1. I saw this nightmare the previous Saturday afternoon. Being a half-day I was back home early, and fell asleep as soon as I lay on the bed. Details are hazy, but in my dream, I witnessed global darkening the sun had set at 4 pm, and everyone was panicky because it signified the end of the world. I woke up with a start; thankfully, the sun was still there, completing off its day’s chore!

2. Nudity is a recurring theme. Often I see myself naked. But this time I saw a colleague who has walked in the buff into a hall full of suited professionals, perhaps some sort of a dignified dinner party. To the boss’s aghast expressions, he replies non-chalantly, “Well, I wanted some exposure to such a large gathering!”

3. This was hilarious I actually saw Anz dating and marrying hold your breath – Himesh Reshammiya! I told her about this and strangely she wasn’t too amused. Any particular reasons for that?

The tag now passes on to:

Anks –sweet revenge!
Apoorva –I am sure he will have plenty of them
Priyangini –And now don t say that marriage is weird in itself
Kaushie and Mehak – Ha ha, how could I forget both of you!

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I recall I wrote on a nightmare I had while I was in Nepal; unfortunately, doctor the older blog doesn t have a search option, and I couldn t find that post in my back-up MS Word file. Perhaps, it was part of another post. But when I saw Manish’s tag the sense of deja vu was extremely strong.

1. I saw this nightmare the previous Saturday afternoon. Being a half-day I was back home early, and fell asleep as soon as I lay on the bed. Details are hazy, but in my dream, I witnessed global darkening the sun had set at 4 pm, and everyone was panicky because it signified the end of the world. I woke up with a start; thankfully, the sun was still there, completing off its day’s chore!

2. Nudity is a recurring theme. Often I see myself naked. But this time I saw a colleague who has walked in the buff into a hall full of suited professionals, perhaps some sort of a dignified dinner party. To the boss’s aghast expressions, he replies non-chalantly, “Well, I wanted some exposure to such a large gathering!”

3. This was hilarious I actually saw Anz dating and marrying hold your breath – Himesh Reshammiya! I told her about this and strangely she wasn’t too amused. Any particular reasons for that?

The tag now passes on to:

Anks –sweet revenge!
Apoorva –I am sure he will have plenty of them
Priyangini –And now don t say that marriage is weird in itself
Kaushie and Mehak – Ha ha, how could I forget both of you!

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(Since I mentioned a previous nightmare in the last post, tooth
I am re-publishing an entry from my previous blog, doctor
Initially, more about
the post was published on 20.08.05)

I am alone. I am lonely. Something is bothering the heart. I cannot place it. I am on this main road. A famous one. Darbar Marg. It is raining. It is night. There is no one on the road. Across, in the middle, there is a fountain. Somone is standing with an umbrella. I know that person. I dont go towards him. But sing aloud enough to attract attention. I want the person to know my presence but simultaneously dont want to talk to him.

I enter a shop. A showroom. It is open. It has a way through a door to adjacent shop. I wasnt aware of this. The entire effect is surreal. Sleep interrupts. I am walking through connecting doors. I am at a urinal. I can feel the liquid gurgle in my bladders. I dont stop. I notice another door.

Again sleep intervenes. Haze.

Door opens to a five star hotel lobby. Plush. If I was correctly following the way between the shops, I know this hotel. It looks different. This is plush. Polished marbles. Uber large but comfortable waiting seats. I move out of huge revolving doors. The city outside looks different. No rain. It is twilight. I see a green-yellow bus. DTC. The flyover is four-lane. It is smooth. It is wide. I stop a passerby. Which city is this? He looks curiously at me, and grunts – Delhi. I am shocked. How did I reach here? But Delhi looks different. I curiously view the hotel name. Taj Le Meridien. Merger of two large chains. When did this happen? I ask same passerby – what date and year? 2015, he replies gruffly and walks off. I stare dumbly behind him. I turn. I catch my reflection on the polished granite of hotel wall. My face is not mine.

(Courtesy – Juneli, for reminding me the exact date of the original entry)

Film Review

(Note-Spoilers ahead)

Despite some obvious flaws, buy information pills more about Reema Kagti’s debut venture about six couples is quite crisp and crackling and a giant leap forward from the tedious Salaam E Ishq, which essentially had a similar premise.

Six couples embark on their honeymoon in a bright purple Tata Starbus, and on the way we learn their little foibles, some idiosyncrasies and a few major surprises. The couples are a perpetually crying Gujarati girl (Dia Mirza), who walks out on her husband (Ranveer Sheory) as soon as she spies her former lover (Arjun Rampal); a young-at-heart elderly couple (Boman Irani and Shabana Azmi) who have entered into a hesitant second marriage well past their prime; a bourgouis Bengali couple (Raima Sen and Kay Kay Menon), who learn that it is not that bad to leave their societal shackles sometimes; a hearbroken girl (Sandhya Mridul) who jumps into a quick marriage with an NRI (Vikram Chhatwal) whom she met over the internet, only to discover that he is gay; a talkative Delhi Punju girl (Ameesha Patel) whose dreams are bigger than her realities, and her husband (Karran Kapoor) unravels an hitherto latent bisexual feelings; and, the two Parsis (Abhay Deol and Minnisha Lamba) sengued by their loneliness and Hailey’s comet!

Reema Kagti s biggest triumph lies in involving the audience in the journey. And despite some howlers (for example, Abhay and Minisha discover they are Superboy and Supergirl), she keeps the proceedings at a realistic plane and does not allow any overt gloss or glamour to creep in. It is the small interactions, the tiny dialogues, the everyday interactions which make the film hugely enjoyable. Another credit to her is in the cast selection, which is a perfect fit. Also, all the characters are brought together in one place making the film more cohesive than what Salaam E Ishq was! However, the sense of ‘un-structured-ness’ and non-symmetry in all the stories is trifle irritating.

From the couples Raima Sen and Kay Kay walk away with the best track as they dust off the soot of conventional Indian middle class living from their personalities, ending with Kay Kay dancing uninhibited to the film s best song Sajnaji vaari vaari jaayunji ! The scene where Sen does a paragliding ride and her saree comes off is particularly well-executed and presented; the saree becomes the metaphor for all that dos and donts which she has wrapped herself in, and the breaking free from it is a moment of surprise and joy for her. Both Sen and Menon pitch in a sparkling performance.

The next best couple is the cuties Minishha and Abhay, with their doggy-kitty act in the bedroom, and an extremely fluid dance in the bar. The only dampener is the discovery of being SuperBoy/SuperGirl come on Reema, what was this silly and kiddish thing doing in a film which is otherwise so realistic?!

Boman Irani and Shabana come a close third, though I suspect the director meant them to be the best one. At least, she presents them as the ideal couple. And because of that they end up bland and boring. The track revolving Boman’s daughter not accepting her new mother needed more fleshing out. And the solution (she accepts because she’s ditched by her lover) is too half-baked and very cliched. I was looking forward to some interesting dialogue-baazi!

The climax is a big dampener, and when the end-titles start rolling one is left a bit unsatisfied – this could be taken both as a negative (after all, there is no proper build up towards it or any reason for ending it just there) and a positive (one is enjoying the trip, and could have seen a few reels more!). I personally feel it is the former. In any case, there is no super-story to the six stories, but that s ok I guess, it is the new mantra of film making.

The film has a small-budget feel to it. And even though they are in Goa it doesn’t do much to further the state s tourism cause. The dialogues (Anurag Kashyap) are good.

Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are average and beyond Sajnaji vaari vaari and Pyaar ki ek kahaani suno, there isn t anything worthwhile. In fact, I preferred the old songs used to introduce some of the characters! A word of praise for the choreography of Sajnaji – it is loose, unstructured and open, much like a normal person would dance!

In the end I’d say I agree with Nikhat Kazmi’s review in Times of India, Reema Kagti shows promise, but needs to polish her storytelling technique.

Overall Good Timepass for a Sunday!

In case you find this site entertaining and useful please contribute your own bit by making a nominal donation

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Film Review

(Note-Spoilers ahead)

Despite some obvious flaws, buy information pills more about Reema Kagti’s debut venture about six couples is quite crisp and crackling and a giant leap forward from the tedious Salaam E Ishq, which essentially had a similar premise.

Six couples embark on their honeymoon in a bright purple Tata Starbus, and on the way we learn their little foibles, some idiosyncrasies and a few major surprises. The couples are a perpetually crying Gujarati girl (Dia Mirza), who walks out on her husband (Ranveer Sheory) as soon as she spies her former lover (Arjun Rampal); a young-at-heart elderly couple (Boman Irani and Shabana Azmi) who have entered into a hesitant second marriage well past their prime; a bourgouis Bengali couple (Raima Sen and Kay Kay Menon), who learn that it is not that bad to leave their societal shackles sometimes; a hearbroken girl (Sandhya Mridul) who jumps into a quick marriage with an NRI (Vikram Chhatwal) whom she met over the internet, only to discover that he is gay; a talkative Delhi Punju girl (Ameesha Patel) whose dreams are bigger than her realities, and her husband (Karran Kapoor) unravels an hitherto latent bisexual feelings; and, the two Parsis (Abhay Deol and Minnisha Lamba) sengued by their loneliness and Hailey’s comet!

Reema Kagti s biggest triumph lies in involving the audience in the journey. And despite some howlers (for example, Abhay and Minisha discover they are Superboy and Supergirl), she keeps the proceedings at a realistic plane and does not allow any overt gloss or glamour to creep in. It is the small interactions, the tiny dialogues, the everyday interactions which make the film hugely enjoyable. Another credit to her is in the cast selection, which is a perfect fit. Also, all the characters are brought together in one place making the film more cohesive than what Salaam E Ishq was! However, the sense of ‘un-structured-ness’ and non-symmetry in all the stories is trifle irritating.

From the couples Raima Sen and Kay Kay walk away with the best track as they dust off the soot of conventional Indian middle class living from their personalities, ending with Kay Kay dancing uninhibited to the film s best song Sajnaji vaari vaari jaayunji ! The scene where Sen does a paragliding ride and her saree comes off is particularly well-executed and presented; the saree becomes the metaphor for all that dos and donts which she has wrapped herself in, and the breaking free from it is a moment of surprise and joy for her. Both Sen and Menon pitch in a sparkling performance.

The next best couple is the cuties Minishha and Abhay, with their doggy-kitty act in the bedroom, and an extremely fluid dance in the bar. The only dampener is the discovery of being SuperBoy/SuperGirl come on Reema, what was this silly and kiddish thing doing in a film which is otherwise so realistic?!

Boman Irani and Shabana come a close third, though I suspect the director meant them to be the best one. At least, she presents them as the ideal couple. And because of that they end up bland and boring. The track revolving Boman’s daughter not accepting her new mother needed more fleshing out. And the solution (she accepts because she’s ditched by her lover) is too half-baked and very cliched. I was looking forward to some interesting dialogue-baazi!

The climax is a big dampener, and when the end-titles start rolling one is left a bit unsatisfied – this could be taken both as a negative (after all, there is no proper build up towards it or any reason for ending it just there) and a positive (one is enjoying the trip, and could have seen a few reels more!). I personally feel it is the former. In any case, there is no super-story to the six stories, but that s ok I guess, it is the new mantra of film making.

The film has a small-budget feel to it. And even though they are in Goa it doesn’t do much to further the state s tourism cause. The dialogues (Anurag Kashyap) are good.

Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are average and beyond Sajnaji vaari vaari and Pyaar ki ek kahaani suno, there isn t anything worthwhile. In fact, I preferred the old songs used to introduce some of the characters! A word of praise for the choreography of Sajnaji – it is loose, unstructured and open, much like a normal person would dance!

In the end I’d say I agree with Nikhat Kazmi’s review in Times of India, Reema Kagti shows promise, but needs to polish her storytelling technique.

Overall Good Timepass for a Sunday!

In case you find this site entertaining and useful please contribute your own bit by making a nominal donation

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode One

“I am pregnant.”

We were walking towards Patel Chest Institute, buy information pills from where we were to board our bus to return home. I froze in my tracks, contagion and gathered no import of her words, ampoule till she repeated them slowly and quietly this time. There have been many times in my life when I have been left grappling for words, but never has been the impact been as stunning as this; it took the wind out of my sails, and lungs and brain, and drowned me in a sea of sheer confusion.

“Err what how?” I stammered, struggling out desperately from my helplessness, only to be plunged into a bigger whirlpool of curiosity that had suddenly formed itself. “But who is the…”

She hesitated before replying. I stole a glance at her, trying to catch any tell-tale bulge, but it was probably still too early a stage to be visible.

“Ashish Sehgal,” she spoke, barely audible. Once again, she had to repeat the words for them to clearly make their passage through my aural cavities. I realized immediately that her reply would have had a similar impact even if she had mentioned Tom Cruise because I was still not sure how to react. And amidst the confusion, it also struck me that Ashish Sehgal wasn t anyone that I knew intimately or even remotely, for that matter. I mean I knew about him and her, and had met him once when she herself had introduced him as an ex-classmate and a good friend, but that s about it. Only now I came to understand how good the friend was. I was always wary of such rich, accented fellows wearing a ring in their right ears and riding a fancy bike, gifted by their super rich dads. These guys were always popular with college girls. But I had imagined Smita to be different.

“Are you sure you are… er… pregnant?” I made a very clumsy effort to break the silence that had swooped in between us. We were nearly at the bus stop. She stopped, sighed and gave me a sharp glance. I retracted. Of course, she was sure. No girl would like to talk about her pregnancy without being absolutely sure, and definitely not when she is still single and studying in second year college!

Still she was valiant enough to offer an answer. “Yes. The home pregnancy test is positive; the symptoms are all there”

The bus stop, in front of Patel Chest Institute, was a dilapidated shed probably neglected for centuries. It wasn’t our regular stop and we had to walk up till here, a kilometer away from our college, only when we had overstayed for an extra subsidiary class. With time the nomenclature for the stop had been shortened to simply Patel Chest which had sparked its own cheesy PJ: “if Patel was a lady, what would it be called?”

Stationary now, I viewed Smita more closely. She was beautiful, and the focal point of the attraction lay in those large expressive eyes, which she underlined with a bold line of kohl. A pert nose over bow-shaped mouth lent aristocracy to the fair face. And the lush flowing hair added a bounce to her personality. But as I stood watching her on that humid late July afternoon, I concluded that for me she was beautiful from within as well my best friend for the past two years. I did not like the idea of such a sweet girl getting into this messy trouble. I had always thought of her to be a strong girl, coming from a conservative family and one who kept boys, including me, at a respectable distance. To be honest, I admired her ability to ward off some nasty pile-ons from our class. But here she had walked into this, open-eyed and that too, with someone like Ashish!

“You hate him because you are jealous of him,” she had once said, when I had casually objected to her friendship with him.

“Jealous, me? Why?” I replied indignantly.

“Because I am going around with him,” she replied conspiratorially.

“You are kidding me,”

She had left without replying, giving a smile that would have made Mona Lisa’s cryptic one look clearer than a midsummer night’s sky.

Now, I tried to recall as to when this conversation of ours had taken place. It was near the first year exams, was all that I could retrieve from my fuzzy memory. So that made it some four months back. After this I recalled she had spoken about a few of her dates with Ashish. But it hadn t struck me anymore serious than her meetings with me. She was the one who always spoke about the emotional attachments and undying sincerity and purity of love it had not crossed my mind even once that she could get any of these from Ashish!

A few buses stopped and passed by but neither of us bothered to check.

“Have you told Ashish?” I asked, and immediately regretted having opened my mouth. It was yet another silly question, but dammit a man doesn’t get to know about his best friend’s pregnancy everyday and I suppose I had the right to act shaken.

She bit her lip, and her eyes opened wide open. I was prepared for a full blast rebuke this time. But what followed was something unusual. Her eyes were wet. And she was controlling her tears from falling.

“Smita,” I said softly, “Control yourself. Let’s go by an auto we’ll sit and discuss this at your place.”

She nodded absently.

Throughout the twenty five minute journey back we didn’t speak. As we crossed from Delhi University to Shakti Nagar to Shastri Nagar to her house at West Patel Nagar, my mind raced back to the days when we had initially met more than a year back, when both had joined Kirorimal College’s English Hons stream. Smita and I hit it off from the word go. There were many overlapping interests.

There was a small misunderstanding at that time. One bright student, in his zeal to play cupid, had sort of paired us off. The next morning when she was having her coffee, casually she had remarked, “too much jhaag” to which the bright chap had retorted, “well what did you expect, too much Dinesh in that?” When I reached college that day, I found her upset. But later we cleared the air and it settled that we shall always be friends, whatever the wagging tongues say; and soon they stopped when they saw no fire lit from the smoke spread by them.

From our class of twenty five students (which seemed to be made up of students picked up en masse from the telephone directory’s S and V listing), there were three clear beauty queens ones around whom the attention centered. Of them, Shilpa was too much into dramatics society to bother about lectures or her classmates. That left the kingdom shared between Smita and Vineeta Chawla. To many Vineeta took a clear lead she was from a background for which newspapers have created a special page, and her dress sense was clearly an echo from what she saw at those parties no doubt she was pretty, but L’Oreal and Max Factor had equal share in that enhancement.

It wasn’t official or ever stated, but there were obviously two groups formed due to them. Since I was the closest to Smita, automatically I came under her group, and consequently Vineeta’s biggest bete noir.

In the course of the year, I had befriended Smita’s parents, and during the exams was quite a regular guest at their place for joint study sessions. Her parents trust in her was explicit. They didn t mind my visiting her place when they weren t around. And that’s why I had suggested her place at this time, knowing fully well that her parents wouldn’t be home. We could talk easily.

The auto grinded over the hot asphalt and a pang grated my heart. What if on the day of that coffee incident our conversation had been different and had ended in us to use a common parlance going around ? I looked at her, feeling sorry for her, and for myself. Because I knew, that had the course of our friendship been different, I would have been a very happy man. And perhaps she would not have been in this awful predicament!

It was clear Ashish hadn’t been clean with her when she told him about the pregnancy. My anger against him was strong, and my mind framed a speech to speak against him when we reached her place.

I guided the auto rickshaw driver to her house, paid the fare and we ascended the small flight of stairs to her first floor flat.

“I love him, ” she said when we entered the house, without preamble, without any introduction. Again, she had punctured the wind off my sails, and I found myself drowning. “And I will always love him.”

I bore her with a steady gaze.

“Don’t say anything bad against him,please,” she half whispered, half pleaded.

I was aghast. That speech I had sort of prepared was washed away by the waves of tears welling up in her eyes. “You love him for disgracing you?” was all that I could manage.

“No. I love him for loving me,” she stated. There was something wrong that tone. There was a harshness to it.

Frustrated, I raised my arms and dropped myself on the beige velvet sofa, while she went inside to freshen up . The room was elegantly decorated, with an expensive cut-glass center table on which stood a fragile vase containing a single strand of rose, which her mother purchased fresh daily. On the floor, over the concrete marble, was an ethnically designed Kashmiri carpet, which covered nearly the entire room, leaving aside a small strip near the long French windows that overlooked a balcony.

She returned, relatively brighter, and sat opposite me.

This time I leapt at taking lead before she flummoxed me again. “You don’t love him any longer,” I told her. “And if you want to talk, be honest. First clear yourself up here,” I pointed to my temple, “and then we will think of clearing up here,” I placed my finger on my tummy.

She viewed me for an instant, but like always her mind was already made up, and she spoke. “Right. I don’t love him any longer. I stopped meeting him some two months back.”

I gasped. “Two months?” That would make it immediately after the exams.

“Yes. Two months. It didn’t seem long. I was sure I would bring him around. He was just a bit elusive, and then came the holidays and he was away to the US with his parents, so in any case we couldn’t have met, and now this,” she broke off, sniffing. “You know how it happened?”

I didn’t. Frankly, I wasn’t here to listen to her love making account, either. But still, there is a male curiosity in this regard which always takes a keen interest in knowing what’s happening in someone else’s bedroom. I stayed silent.

“It happened the day of our last exam. We had gone to Chanakya, remember?”

I did.

“Well, after that he said he wanted me to meet his mother, so he took me to his home. His mother wasn’t there. I don’t think she was ever supposed to be there. Anyways, we were alone. We talked and talked about our future, our marriage. And we came very close. When I tried to refuse,” she wet her lips nervously, “he didn ‘ agree. He said we were to marry. It s all fair. All Ok. I tried to reason, I tried to leave, but he didn’t let me.” She broke off again. Taking a deep breath, she said, I was nearly forced upon he was I was I mean I don t know if I relented or not but it just happened”

I saw her breath pass from a steady evenness to spasmodic sobbing. I allowed her to flush herself. Such incidents are bad when they happen, worse when said aloud but worst when thought of.

The human mind conjectures up stupid images. In front of me, she was sitting and sobbing, and my mind was trying to replay that scene where she was struggling to ward off Ashish. Date rape cases were not uncommon. But that it would happen to someone so close was something I wasn’t ever prepared for.

She sniffed again, and I broke from that vile imagery to the one in front of me. Her body was shaking, and tears had rolled down her fair cheeks, leaving a light trail of smudged kohl. Immediately I was overcome with immense love for her. I wanted to jump and hold her.

She wiped the tears with the back of her hand, and spoke, “From my childhood I have had a fulfilled life. Being the only daughter was easy I had to state it and my wish was always fulfilled. But I wasn t spoilt. I was put in a hostel for a few years so that I could value independence and discipline. My mother never failed to remind of a girl’s greatest gift from God her honor. My parents gave me immense freedom, yet I was always under their command . Maybe it wasn’t command. It was a friendship. Leaving my status of Ashish’s relationship, I have never hid a secret from them. Even about Ashish I told them he is a very good friend which I hope they will understand, since they themselves have had a love marriage.

“My principles, my values and all that I have been proud of, have been shattered. As modern as we may be, my parents won t accept that I am an unwed mother. I feel dirty.”She paused and wet her lips.

“For him,” she continued, “the relationship was just a timepass one. That’s what it sounded when I told him about this. For him, it’s over. But how do I explain this to my self, how do I tell this to my soul? Before I react to my body, I have to cure my soul and cleanse my conscience!”

That brittleness was returning. I feared it. “Smita, first up stop blaming yourself, please!”

She didn’t reply.

“Certainly love is not a sin,” I took a line of reasoning from her own book. “Why do you want to punish yourself for no fault of yours? Whats happened has happened. Neither you nor Ashish nor I can change it now. But what happens next is entirely in your hands. Think about that! Explain that to your soul and it will be cured. The process will be slow and painful but you will overcome.”

“I cannot, I will not. I guess this unhappiness is part and parcel of my life now.”

“It doesn’t have to be if…” I replied.

The hardness had solidified; she stared at me unblinking answering my unasked question. “I will not kill the child!”

“What?!”

“I will kill the father!”

I nearly fell from the sofa.

“I have a plan. You will have to help me.”

“Hold it hold it, Smita. For heaven’s sake, talk sense! You can’t go about murdering people!!” The pain and shock of the situation had made the normally sensible Smita inconsistent and incoherent girl.

“Then what else can I do?” She looked at me with the helplessness of a person who had examined all the options to get out of the predicament but couldn’t accept any of them.

“Abort the baby, and move on in life. There I will help you so that no one…”

“And leave that bastard to spoil lives,” she interrupted, sharply.

“You cannot take law into your hands.” I grimaced at my own sentence. It was a pathetic translation of a phrase used countless times in cheap Bollywood films.

“I don’t care. Are you or are you not helping?”

That was cornering of a typical woman-kind, but I wasn’t really keen on getting blood on my hands, and certainly wouldn’t ever allow Smita to get embroiled in further trouble. I refused any answer, and changed track again. “You know Smita, killing him actually means that you will be killing a part of yourself and the baby.”

“All the more better,” she threw back the words at me.

“But his death is no solution!”

“His death is the only solution for me.”

I was nearly tempted to ask which goddamn third rate bollywood film she had seen last night, but seeing her expression the words froze on my lips. Instead, I spoke from logic again. “If you really want to save the world from the likes of Ashish, get to the root of the problem flirtation, blind aping of western culture etc kill that and not the person, Smita!”

“He is the personification of sin. I shall kill him!” Her record was stuck, and I just didn t know how to proceed, and that I had to do before she again flung a ‘helping me or not with a caged yes or no’ question and honestly, I was always bad in these objective type of tests.

“Don’t forget Smita, you were a part of this sin, however small it may be!” I forwarded reasoning. I knew it wasn’t really small but at that point, seeing her vulnerable frame of mind, I wasn’t very keen on rubbing in the fact that she had been equally responsible.

My reasoning stuck its mark.She hesitated in her reply, and I carried on, “Were you really so low in will power?”

“I am not!”

“Then why didn t you stop him that very night? Why didn t you kill him then? Why now?”

“Because I loved him then.”

“Or his body probably,” I went on relentlessly. I saw that it hurt her ego, and it deflated the false indignation that she had built around herself. This would help her get back to the ground, and that ‘s what I wanted at that moment. “Come on, what do you have to say to that?”

She eyed me like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. “No, no,” she shook her head violently. “It wasn’t that. I mean, love starts physically but it went beyond.”

“Maybe for you, but certainly not for him.”

“Fine. But I was innocent. How could I read his mind?”

“Now don’t give me that. You weren’t exactly babe in the woods. You were plain simple foolish. I am sure apart from you anyone could read his mind.”

“Who did?”

“For starters, I did. Didn’t I warn you even about it?”

“Yeah but I thought…”

“…Thought that I was jealous? Yeah I was bloody well jealous. But that still doesn t take away the core fact that you didn’t heed to my advice. And that was because…”

“…because I thought you …”

“…because I cared for you!” I completed her sentence, and in a valiant sweep quite unbecoming my real self I fished out my inner feelings. “Because I found you sweet, Because I found you innocent, because I found a best friend in you, because I love you yes, that’s why I warned you..and… and…” Once the steam of speaking out is over, such tirades always end in a whimper which hangs between individuals in an awkward smoke trail. And so I just broke off. A lump hurt my throat, and I could feel the rushing beats within my ribs. I had finally said what I wanted to say to her, but the impact seemed to be lost. There was no expected sudden widening of eyes like I had expected. She just looked at me with a stupid pitiable expression. Perhaps, she had just taken my confession as a friend’s consolation.

To Be Continued

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Film Review

(Note-Spoilers ahead)

Despite some obvious flaws, buy information pills more about Reema Kagti’s debut venture about six couples is quite crisp and crackling and a giant leap forward from the tedious Salaam E Ishq, which essentially had a similar premise.

Six couples embark on their honeymoon in a bright purple Tata Starbus, and on the way we learn their little foibles, some idiosyncrasies and a few major surprises. The couples are a perpetually crying Gujarati girl (Dia Mirza), who walks out on her husband (Ranveer Sheory) as soon as she spies her former lover (Arjun Rampal); a young-at-heart elderly couple (Boman Irani and Shabana Azmi) who have entered into a hesitant second marriage well past their prime; a bourgouis Bengali couple (Raima Sen and Kay Kay Menon), who learn that it is not that bad to leave their societal shackles sometimes; a hearbroken girl (Sandhya Mridul) who jumps into a quick marriage with an NRI (Vikram Chhatwal) whom she met over the internet, only to discover that he is gay; a talkative Delhi Punju girl (Ameesha Patel) whose dreams are bigger than her realities, and her husband (Karran Kapoor) unravels an hitherto latent bisexual feelings; and, the two Parsis (Abhay Deol and Minnisha Lamba) sengued by their loneliness and Hailey’s comet!

Reema Kagti s biggest triumph lies in involving the audience in the journey. And despite some howlers (for example, Abhay and Minisha discover they are Superboy and Supergirl), she keeps the proceedings at a realistic plane and does not allow any overt gloss or glamour to creep in. It is the small interactions, the tiny dialogues, the everyday interactions which make the film hugely enjoyable. Another credit to her is in the cast selection, which is a perfect fit. Also, all the characters are brought together in one place making the film more cohesive than what Salaam E Ishq was! However, the sense of ‘un-structured-ness’ and non-symmetry in all the stories is trifle irritating.

From the couples Raima Sen and Kay Kay walk away with the best track as they dust off the soot of conventional Indian middle class living from their personalities, ending with Kay Kay dancing uninhibited to the film s best song Sajnaji vaari vaari jaayunji ! The scene where Sen does a paragliding ride and her saree comes off is particularly well-executed and presented; the saree becomes the metaphor for all that dos and donts which she has wrapped herself in, and the breaking free from it is a moment of surprise and joy for her. Both Sen and Menon pitch in a sparkling performance.

The next best couple is the cuties Minishha and Abhay, with their doggy-kitty act in the bedroom, and an extremely fluid dance in the bar. The only dampener is the discovery of being SuperBoy/SuperGirl come on Reema, what was this silly and kiddish thing doing in a film which is otherwise so realistic?!

Boman Irani and Shabana come a close third, though I suspect the director meant them to be the best one. At least, she presents them as the ideal couple. And because of that they end up bland and boring. The track revolving Boman’s daughter not accepting her new mother needed more fleshing out. And the solution (she accepts because she’s ditched by her lover) is too half-baked and very cliched. I was looking forward to some interesting dialogue-baazi!

The climax is a big dampener, and when the end-titles start rolling one is left a bit unsatisfied – this could be taken both as a negative (after all, there is no proper build up towards it or any reason for ending it just there) and a positive (one is enjoying the trip, and could have seen a few reels more!). I personally feel it is the former. In any case, there is no super-story to the six stories, but that s ok I guess, it is the new mantra of film making.

The film has a small-budget feel to it. And even though they are in Goa it doesn’t do much to further the state s tourism cause. The dialogues (Anurag Kashyap) are good.

Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are average and beyond Sajnaji vaari vaari and Pyaar ki ek kahaani suno, there isn t anything worthwhile. In fact, I preferred the old songs used to introduce some of the characters! A word of praise for the choreography of Sajnaji – it is loose, unstructured and open, much like a normal person would dance!

In the end I’d say I agree with Nikhat Kazmi’s review in Times of India, Reema Kagti shows promise, but needs to polish her storytelling technique.

Overall Good Timepass for a Sunday!

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode One

“I am pregnant.”

We were walking towards Patel Chest Institute, buy information pills from where we were to board our bus to return home. I froze in my tracks, contagion and gathered no import of her words, ampoule till she repeated them slowly and quietly this time. There have been many times in my life when I have been left grappling for words, but never has been the impact been as stunning as this; it took the wind out of my sails, and lungs and brain, and drowned me in a sea of sheer confusion.

“Err what how?” I stammered, struggling out desperately from my helplessness, only to be plunged into a bigger whirlpool of curiosity that had suddenly formed itself. “But who is the…”

She hesitated before replying. I stole a glance at her, trying to catch any tell-tale bulge, but it was probably still too early a stage to be visible.

“Ashish Sehgal,” she spoke, barely audible. Once again, she had to repeat the words for them to clearly make their passage through my aural cavities. I realized immediately that her reply would have had a similar impact even if she had mentioned Tom Cruise because I was still not sure how to react. And amidst the confusion, it also struck me that Ashish Sehgal wasn t anyone that I knew intimately or even remotely, for that matter. I mean I knew about him and her, and had met him once when she herself had introduced him as an ex-classmate and a good friend, but that s about it. Only now I came to understand how good the friend was. I was always wary of such rich, accented fellows wearing a ring in their right ears and riding a fancy bike, gifted by their super rich dads. These guys were always popular with college girls. But I had imagined Smita to be different.

“Are you sure you are… er… pregnant?” I made a very clumsy effort to break the silence that had swooped in between us. We were nearly at the bus stop. She stopped, sighed and gave me a sharp glance. I retracted. Of course, she was sure. No girl would like to talk about her pregnancy without being absolutely sure, and definitely not when she is still single and studying in second year college!

Still she was valiant enough to offer an answer. “Yes. The home pregnancy test is positive; the symptoms are all there”

The bus stop, in front of Patel Chest Institute, was a dilapidated shed probably neglected for centuries. It wasn’t our regular stop and we had to walk up till here, a kilometer away from our college, only when we had overstayed for an extra subsidiary class. With time the nomenclature for the stop had been shortened to simply Patel Chest which had sparked its own cheesy PJ: “if Patel was a lady, what would it be called?”

Stationary now, I viewed Smita more closely. She was beautiful, and the focal point of the attraction lay in those large expressive eyes, which she underlined with a bold line of kohl. A pert nose over bow-shaped mouth lent aristocracy to the fair face. And the lush flowing hair added a bounce to her personality. But as I stood watching her on that humid late July afternoon, I concluded that for me she was beautiful from within as well my best friend for the past two years. I did not like the idea of such a sweet girl getting into this messy trouble. I had always thought of her to be a strong girl, coming from a conservative family and one who kept boys, including me, at a respectable distance. To be honest, I admired her ability to ward off some nasty pile-ons from our class. But here she had walked into this, open-eyed and that too, with someone like Ashish!

“You hate him because you are jealous of him,” she had once said, when I had casually objected to her friendship with him.

“Jealous, me? Why?” I replied indignantly.

“Because I am going around with him,” she replied conspiratorially.

“You are kidding me,”

She had left without replying, giving a smile that would have made Mona Lisa’s cryptic one look clearer than a midsummer night’s sky.

Now, I tried to recall as to when this conversation of ours had taken place. It was near the first year exams, was all that I could retrieve from my fuzzy memory. So that made it some four months back. After this I recalled she had spoken about a few of her dates with Ashish. But it hadn t struck me anymore serious than her meetings with me. She was the one who always spoke about the emotional attachments and undying sincerity and purity of love it had not crossed my mind even once that she could get any of these from Ashish!

A few buses stopped and passed by but neither of us bothered to check.

“Have you told Ashish?” I asked, and immediately regretted having opened my mouth. It was yet another silly question, but dammit a man doesn’t get to know about his best friend’s pregnancy everyday and I suppose I had the right to act shaken.

She bit her lip, and her eyes opened wide open. I was prepared for a full blast rebuke this time. But what followed was something unusual. Her eyes were wet. And she was controlling her tears from falling.

“Smita,” I said softly, “Control yourself. Let’s go by an auto we’ll sit and discuss this at your place.”

She nodded absently.

Throughout the twenty five minute journey back we didn’t speak. As we crossed from Delhi University to Shakti Nagar to Shastri Nagar to her house at West Patel Nagar, my mind raced back to the days when we had initially met more than a year back, when both had joined Kirorimal College’s English Hons stream. Smita and I hit it off from the word go. There were many overlapping interests.

There was a small misunderstanding at that time. One bright student, in his zeal to play cupid, had sort of paired us off. The next morning when she was having her coffee, casually she had remarked, “too much jhaag” to which the bright chap had retorted, “well what did you expect, too much Dinesh in that?” When I reached college that day, I found her upset. But later we cleared the air and it settled that we shall always be friends, whatever the wagging tongues say; and soon they stopped when they saw no fire lit from the smoke spread by them.

From our class of twenty five students (which seemed to be made up of students picked up en masse from the telephone directory’s S and V listing), there were three clear beauty queens ones around whom the attention centered. Of them, Shilpa was too much into dramatics society to bother about lectures or her classmates. That left the kingdom shared between Smita and Vineeta Chawla. To many Vineeta took a clear lead she was from a background for which newspapers have created a special page, and her dress sense was clearly an echo from what she saw at those parties no doubt she was pretty, but L’Oreal and Max Factor had equal share in that enhancement.

It wasn’t official or ever stated, but there were obviously two groups formed due to them. Since I was the closest to Smita, automatically I came under her group, and consequently Vineeta’s biggest bete noir.

In the course of the year, I had befriended Smita’s parents, and during the exams was quite a regular guest at their place for joint study sessions. Her parents trust in her was explicit. They didn t mind my visiting her place when they weren t around. And that’s why I had suggested her place at this time, knowing fully well that her parents wouldn’t be home. We could talk easily.

The auto grinded over the hot asphalt and a pang grated my heart. What if on the day of that coffee incident our conversation had been different and had ended in us to use a common parlance going around ? I looked at her, feeling sorry for her, and for myself. Because I knew, that had the course of our friendship been different, I would have been a very happy man. And perhaps she would not have been in this awful predicament!

It was clear Ashish hadn’t been clean with her when she told him about the pregnancy. My anger against him was strong, and my mind framed a speech to speak against him when we reached her place.

I guided the auto rickshaw driver to her house, paid the fare and we ascended the small flight of stairs to her first floor flat.

“I love him, ” she said when we entered the house, without preamble, without any introduction. Again, she had punctured the wind off my sails, and I found myself drowning. “And I will always love him.”

I bore her with a steady gaze.

“Don’t say anything bad against him,please,” she half whispered, half pleaded.

I was aghast. That speech I had sort of prepared was washed away by the waves of tears welling up in her eyes. “You love him for disgracing you?” was all that I could manage.

“No. I love him for loving me,” she stated. There was something wrong that tone. There was a harshness to it.

Frustrated, I raised my arms and dropped myself on the beige velvet sofa, while she went inside to freshen up . The room was elegantly decorated, with an expensive cut-glass center table on which stood a fragile vase containing a single strand of rose, which her mother purchased fresh daily. On the floor, over the concrete marble, was an ethnically designed Kashmiri carpet, which covered nearly the entire room, leaving aside a small strip near the long French windows that overlooked a balcony.

She returned, relatively brighter, and sat opposite me.

This time I leapt at taking lead before she flummoxed me again. “You don’t love him any longer,” I told her. “And if you want to talk, be honest. First clear yourself up here,” I pointed to my temple, “and then we will think of clearing up here,” I placed my finger on my tummy.

She viewed me for an instant, but like always her mind was already made up, and she spoke. “Right. I don’t love him any longer. I stopped meeting him some two months back.”

I gasped. “Two months?” That would make it immediately after the exams.

“Yes. Two months. It didn’t seem long. I was sure I would bring him around. He was just a bit elusive, and then came the holidays and he was away to the US with his parents, so in any case we couldn’t have met, and now this,” she broke off, sniffing. “You know how it happened?”

I didn’t. Frankly, I wasn’t here to listen to her love making account, either. But still, there is a male curiosity in this regard which always takes a keen interest in knowing what’s happening in someone else’s bedroom. I stayed silent.

“It happened the day of our last exam. We had gone to Chanakya, remember?”

I did.

“Well, after that he said he wanted me to meet his mother, so he took me to his home. His mother wasn’t there. I don’t think she was ever supposed to be there. Anyways, we were alone. We talked and talked about our future, our marriage. And we came very close. When I tried to refuse,” she wet her lips nervously, “he didn ‘ agree. He said we were to marry. It s all fair. All Ok. I tried to reason, I tried to leave, but he didn’t let me.” She broke off again. Taking a deep breath, she said, I was nearly forced upon he was I was I mean I don t know if I relented or not but it just happened”

I saw her breath pass from a steady evenness to spasmodic sobbing. I allowed her to flush herself. Such incidents are bad when they happen, worse when said aloud but worst when thought of.

The human mind conjectures up stupid images. In front of me, she was sitting and sobbing, and my mind was trying to replay that scene where she was struggling to ward off Ashish. Date rape cases were not uncommon. But that it would happen to someone so close was something I wasn’t ever prepared for.

She sniffed again, and I broke from that vile imagery to the one in front of me. Her body was shaking, and tears had rolled down her fair cheeks, leaving a light trail of smudged kohl. Immediately I was overcome with immense love for her. I wanted to jump and hold her.

She wiped the tears with the back of her hand, and spoke, “From my childhood I have had a fulfilled life. Being the only daughter was easy I had to state it and my wish was always fulfilled. But I wasn t spoilt. I was put in a hostel for a few years so that I could value independence and discipline. My mother never failed to remind of a girl’s greatest gift from God her honor. My parents gave me immense freedom, yet I was always under their command . Maybe it wasn’t command. It was a friendship. Leaving my status of Ashish’s relationship, I have never hid a secret from them. Even about Ashish I told them he is a very good friend which I hope they will understand, since they themselves have had a love marriage.

“My principles, my values and all that I have been proud of, have been shattered. As modern as we may be, my parents won t accept that I am an unwed mother. I feel dirty.”She paused and wet her lips.

“For him,” she continued, “the relationship was just a timepass one. That’s what it sounded when I told him about this. For him, it’s over. But how do I explain this to my self, how do I tell this to my soul? Before I react to my body, I have to cure my soul and cleanse my conscience!”

That brittleness was returning. I feared it. “Smita, first up stop blaming yourself, please!”

She didn’t reply.

“Certainly love is not a sin,” I took a line of reasoning from her own book. “Why do you want to punish yourself for no fault of yours? Whats happened has happened. Neither you nor Ashish nor I can change it now. But what happens next is entirely in your hands. Think about that! Explain that to your soul and it will be cured. The process will be slow and painful but you will overcome.”

“I cannot, I will not. I guess this unhappiness is part and parcel of my life now.”

“It doesn’t have to be if…” I replied.

The hardness had solidified; she stared at me unblinking answering my unasked question. “I will not kill the child!”

“What?!”

“I will kill the father!”

I nearly fell from the sofa.

“I have a plan. You will have to help me.”

“Hold it hold it, Smita. For heaven’s sake, talk sense! You can’t go about murdering people!!” The pain and shock of the situation had made the normally sensible Smita inconsistent and incoherent girl.

“Then what else can I do?” She looked at me with the helplessness of a person who had examined all the options to get out of the predicament but couldn’t accept any of them.

“Abort the baby, and move on in life. There I will help you so that no one…”

“And leave that bastard to spoil lives,” she interrupted, sharply.

“You cannot take law into your hands.” I grimaced at my own sentence. It was a pathetic translation of a phrase used countless times in cheap Bollywood films.

“I don’t care. Are you or are you not helping?”

That was cornering of a typical woman-kind, but I wasn’t really keen on getting blood on my hands, and certainly wouldn’t ever allow Smita to get embroiled in further trouble. I refused any answer, and changed track again. “You know Smita, killing him actually means that you will be killing a part of yourself and the baby.”

“All the more better,” she threw back the words at me.

“But his death is no solution!”

“His death is the only solution for me.”

I was nearly tempted to ask which goddamn third rate bollywood film she had seen last night, but seeing her expression the words froze on my lips. Instead, I spoke from logic again. “If you really want to save the world from the likes of Ashish, get to the root of the problem flirtation, blind aping of western culture etc kill that and not the person, Smita!”

“He is the personification of sin. I shall kill him!” Her record was stuck, and I just didn t know how to proceed, and that I had to do before she again flung a ‘helping me or not with a caged yes or no’ question and honestly, I was always bad in these objective type of tests.

“Don’t forget Smita, you were a part of this sin, however small it may be!” I forwarded reasoning. I knew it wasn’t really small but at that point, seeing her vulnerable frame of mind, I wasn’t very keen on rubbing in the fact that she had been equally responsible.

My reasoning stuck its mark.She hesitated in her reply, and I carried on, “Were you really so low in will power?”

“I am not!”

“Then why didn t you stop him that very night? Why didn t you kill him then? Why now?”

“Because I loved him then.”

“Or his body probably,” I went on relentlessly. I saw that it hurt her ego, and it deflated the false indignation that she had built around herself. This would help her get back to the ground, and that ‘s what I wanted at that moment. “Come on, what do you have to say to that?”

She eyed me like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. “No, no,” she shook her head violently. “It wasn’t that. I mean, love starts physically but it went beyond.”

“Maybe for you, but certainly not for him.”

“Fine. But I was innocent. How could I read his mind?”

“Now don’t give me that. You weren’t exactly babe in the woods. You were plain simple foolish. I am sure apart from you anyone could read his mind.”

“Who did?”

“For starters, I did. Didn’t I warn you even about it?”

“Yeah but I thought…”

“…Thought that I was jealous? Yeah I was bloody well jealous. But that still doesn t take away the core fact that you didn’t heed to my advice. And that was because…”

“…because I thought you …”

“…because I cared for you!” I completed her sentence, and in a valiant sweep quite unbecoming my real self I fished out my inner feelings. “Because I found you sweet, Because I found you innocent, because I found a best friend in you, because I love you yes, that’s why I warned you..and… and…” Once the steam of speaking out is over, such tirades always end in a whimper which hangs between individuals in an awkward smoke trail. And so I just broke off. A lump hurt my throat, and I could feel the rushing beats within my ribs. I had finally said what I wanted to say to her, but the impact seemed to be lost. There was no expected sudden widening of eyes like I had expected. She just looked at me with a stupid pitiable expression. Perhaps, she had just taken my confession as a friend’s consolation.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Two

I searched her tear-stained face for any sign of emotion that could link to my confession. But she had a far-away look in her eyes that stared at the red rose between us though I am sure she was not really seeing it.

“What an irony, misbirth ” her whisper cut through the tense silence. “The one I thought loved me always told me that my friend was jealous of him but in reality it was the opposite. The man I cared for was jealous of the man who cared for me.”

Looking back, remedy I have to admit her sentence hardly made sense to me at that time. I brushed it off with a quick wave and said, physiotherapist “Leave all this. Now just follow what I have to say.”

She looked up questioningly.

“Get an abortion. And start afresh with a new outlook to life, love and God. You are repentant, God will forgive you. Just simply get this thing out of the way. I know where you can get easy abortion done.” Well, I didn’t. But then I thought a year back I hadn’t seen Delhi University either. Somehow I had managed to cut through the tedious admission process. Finding a safe clinic couldn’t be tougher than that!

“But abortion is killing.”

Her jumbled morals startled me. Hadn’t she been ready a minute back to share a foolproof plan to murder a man? “Smita, I left bio in class tenth, but whatever I remember from it is that this thing in your tummy is just yet a group of cells there is as much life in it as there would be in an inflamed appendix. You wouldn’t keep that? So why keep this! Plus, think logically. You can’t possible give birth to it, can you?”

The point struck home. She gave a wan smile. And for once since I had entered her house that day I sat back relaxed, though at the back of my mind I was already searching for the Yellow Pages in my house to find a good, safe clinic to take her to.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“For inviting and not serving lunch? You better be sorry for that!” I laughed, and she joined me with that tinkle which I adored.

“I am really sorry for that. I’ll just set the table.” She got up to leave the room. Before she exited, she turned back, sighed and said, “I wish Ashish was as considerate as you.”

**********************************************

Vineeta Chawla wore her jeans below the navel, something shiny glittering around that – “Swarovski,” she informed huskily to anyone who asked, or even to those who didn’t. Her white top had a late start and an early finish. It was a new ensemble, and obviously she was proud enough to have it noticed by everyone. “Isn’t it awesome, isn t it wonderful?” Her closest coterie Sugandha and Saina were there, cooing, oohing and aahing about it. I wouldn’t have bothered about Saina, she was a nitwit and all she had to do was dye her hair blonde! It was Sugandha’s chamchagiri of Vineeta which perplexed me. She seemed intelligent, and I knew her family since they lived in the same area as I. Her father was a simple government officer and her mother an LIC agent. They wouldn’t ever approve of Vineeta’s society. Perhaps Sugandha was living a vicarious life through VIneeta with that odd behanji look, and thick spectacles to boot, Sugandha could audition for a sister’s role in any C-grade potboiler and win it hands down.

Normally, I wouldn’t have really expected Vineeta and her gang to be in the class at that hour, but then if she had something on her mind she would obviously be here to get a bigger audience.

“Hi, Dinesh, long time no see,” Vineeta waved at me.

Really, I didn’t miss her. But now she mentioned it I realized she hadn’t joined in after the summer breaks.

“Yeah, where have you been?” I said and immediately bit my tongue. Dammit, that was a clear trap which I had walked into.

“You don’t know?” I didn’t, but she would surely tell. “We were on a world tour oooh, it was so fun. Have you seen the Swiss Alps?” I hadn’t, except in Yash Chopra films. “You should see them.” Yeah, please sponsor me bitch! “They are the most beautiful sight ever. You will forget your Kasaulis and Manalis here it’s awesome, it’s wonderful!” Get a dictionary girl, and learn some more adjectives.

I smiled, and didn’t venture an answer, and as she went on I knew why she had bothered to enter the class in the first place.

I looked around at Vasu and Vishal standing near the window and laughing at my discomfort. The classroom, the last one in that corridor, was empty. Smita hadn’t arrived as yet. We took the same bus, as her home was on the same route as mine. But today she was missing. I had to go to the canteen where the public phone booth was, to call her.

By now, Vineeta had moved on to her US leg of the trip quite literally. “You know that’s where I bought these jeans. See, the legs fit so beautifully. These Indian companies are simply hopeless, I tell you.”

Sugandha and Saima let out another dutiful ooh . My politeness cup had brimmeth over, and I was about to scream, when the staff room peon barged in. Bless the man.

“Mr. Gupta is on leave, so no class today.”

We let out a collective cheer. “That’s wonderful, that’s awesome,” said Vineeta, and I was ready to bang my head with the wall, but was again interrupted by her. “By the way, Dinesh I heard you topped last year’s final exam?”

That I had, and as modestly and nonchalantly as I could, I nodded.

“Ooooh, that’s wonderful, that’s awesome,” smiled Vineeta.

**************************************************

In my opinion there are very few things tougher than walking into a chemist shop and asking for a condom, with the staff there giving an all-knowing look it s sad that such a useful product doesn’t have an equally ostensible alternative usage. I am sure if it did, it would have aided in controlling our population to a great extent. Anyways, I found something more difficult than buying condoms and that was finding a gynecologist. For reasons of ease, I chose to meet a lady doctor after all, ladies are supposed to be more gentle and understanding. Perhaps, a bit high on the morality side, but I was ready to bear that.

So, with a handy Yellow Pages Directory, I short listed a few prospective ones. To say I was nervous is a gross understatement. Despite knowing that I was only on the phone, and could disconnect it any moment, I found a thick layer of perspiration on my forehead. The first call was a disaster. The receptionist wanted more details than I was ready to offer. And horridly, the line was not clear; she made me repeat everything.

“Can you just put me across to the doctor please!” I finally pleaded with her, and was almost in tears of relief when I heard her transferring the line. I was just about regaining my confidence when a stern voice burst in, Dr. Mukherjee here, “How can I help you?”

I was so terrified that I bleated, “Doctor, do you get pregnant?”

Even as the words leapt out of my lips, I could feel the phone burn against my ears and I dropped the receiver in embarrassment.

I decided to personally visit the next one. I felt a dialogue face to face would be easier, and more convincing. I chose a lady doctor by the name of Dr. Anjali Mehra, just because the name sounded soft and that she had her clinic in the southern side of the city, a criteria I was careful about farther the clinic, the better it was for Smita.

The clinic was a small rectangular room, with the receptionist’s corner on the far left side. A green curtain flew over an opening which led to the doctor’s cabin. An ungainly girl, enormous in size stood behind the desk. Her voice boomed in the small room. I have always felt that the receptionists and secretaries often act more snootily than their masters. This one was no different as she issued orders to the peon, and swept aside a demure patient to a corner seat. To my horror, she turned out to be a compounder as well and gave off a stern lecture on eating medicines on time as she handed it over to the woman who had just exited the doctor’s cabin.

The demure patient in the corner was next. The ogre bade her inside and looked at me. Once again, nervousness gripped me. Avoiding her gaze, I picked up the tattered ancient issue of Femina lying on the center table and flipped its pages. All this while, my mind was whirring. Concentrate, Dinesh. Concentrate on what you have to say. For good effect last night, I had prepared my opening lines to the doctor: “Doctor, A friend is pregnant and I would like to take your help in the abortion,” I rehearsed the lines repeatedly.

Yet, despite the mental rehearsal I was caught off guard when the huge monster blared out, “Go in, your turn mister.”

I entered a sparse room with a table, chair and an examining bed on the left side. The doctor, a smart middle-aged lady, wearing gargantuan black plastic spectacles, looked at me a trifle surprised to see a man alone, I guess.

“Yes, how can I help you?” she asked.

I felt my face redden and the blood gushing against my temple. A bead of perspiration ran down my sideburns onto the burning cheeks, and despite my best intentions, I blurted out, “I am pregnant and want your abortion!”

**********************************************

The rains in Delhi follow a strange cat-and-mouse game with the Met Department. When it says the monsoons are right around the corner, they will refuse to pour themselves. And just when the Met Department makes a solemn announcement about a drought situation, they will gleefully empty their hearts out. That early nineties summer was no different story. Had I been working in Met. Deptt. I would have died of a complex!

It was a wet Monday late July morning and like the past four days, it was raining heavily. Even though we were in the same bus, Smita and I couldn’t talk as a thick bunch of travelers separated us. On alighting, we exchanged pleasantries and I informed that I had finally managed to seek an appointment with a lady doctor.

“It’s becoming so difficult to hide it from mummy,” Smita said quietly. “I feel guilty all the time!”

As admitted earlier I am extremely bad when it comes to offering solace and comfort. Often I open my mouth, only to find my foot firmly placed in it. Hence, I kept quiet and murmured something to the effect that “sab theek ho jaayega” – a line straight off the last released Bollywood potboiler!

We entered the classroom, and immediately I wanted to rush out of it.

Our faces must have been awfully grim to elicit those enquiring looks from everyone. The silence was so thick that even a blunt knife could have cut a neat slice through it. Smita set her bag down and smiled wanly at all. Her pale face made a few clamor around her fussing about the supposed ‘fever’ that she had. I hate to admit this, but I felt superior in that one freak moment. Here was I, who had the full inside information quite literally too on her ailment. And there were those poor souls giving free advice on various medicines available to ward off the proliferating viruses that come along with the rains.

“It’s awesome, it’s wonderful,” I caught Vineeta cooing, “Smita, you should try that. My mother took it and the fever vanished in a day.” I wasn’t really sure which elixir she was talking about, but definitely was confident that only Vineeta could describe a medicine as awesome and wonderful .

Since not much love flowed between Vineeta and Smita, I saw the latter with a plastic smile trying her best to be polite.

Vasu’s eye caught mine and he gestured me to meet outside the room. I was curious. I liked Vasu – short, fair and cleanshaven, he came across as decent and well behaved. He was a faithful ally in marking my proxies whenever I was in the mood to bunk. And also, and more importantly, we were kiddishly bound together by our common hatred against Vineeta!

Once outside, I enquired of his secret talk.

“What’s wrong with Smita,” his voice pounced on me, and I recoiled like a snake stepped on its tail.

“What’s wrong with her?” I snapped back. “Just fever, why?”

“Cut out the crap buddy,” he said irritably. “You know it pretty well. I know it. And you will be shocked to know, majority of the class knows it!” His voice increased like a rising crescendo at the end of a well orchestrated symphony though the only applause he got was a deafening silence.

“Err… I don’t get you, Vasu,” I finally found my tongue after several heavy seconds.

“She’s pregnant, no? And that…” he stopped mid-way.

“And what?” I asked, with a force on the last word.

“And that either you or Ashish is the father!”

I slapped him across the cheek. I think it was the false accusation, which made me do that. But on hindsight, I reckon it was more the regret that I wasn t the father that made me imprint a solid mark on Vasu’s fair cheeks.

He staggered before regaining control. I admit I was amazed at his reticence. On my part, had someone slapped me, I would have either slapped back, or perhaps walked away. But he only complained, “Hell, what’s wrong with you?”

His small face held the most lost-puppy look, and I hugged him, patting his head like one would do to a hapless dog that has been ridiculed. “I am sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to do that but this business is getting so out of hand that I lost control.”

He pulled apart, and rubbing his cheek eyed me nervously. “It’s ok. You have heavy hand.” And you have tough cheeks! My hand was still ringing with the slap that I had implanted on his face.

“Sorry,” I repeated.

“Ok. ok. But how will you stop this from spreading?” he asked. The mind, as I often say, is a curious museum of multifarious images filed randomly within the folds of innumerable gray cells. And like the google search of today, it can cough up some outlandish image at any trigger. As Vasu spoke, the only thing that came to my brain was the film about a forest fire that I had seen on Doordarshan a few days back, spreading and engulfing any tree that came its way. Sadly, I also realized that fire-fighting is not exactly my forte.

“That bitch Vineeta is already too happy to tell it to anyone who comes her way,” Vasu continued. “According to her, Smita deserved it!”

The fire was not just in the images now. It was burning within me, the wild flames gushing alongwith my blood in the charred veins. I ran inside the classroom, banging the door open. Everyone fell silent and looked at me. My memory fails me now, so I don’t recall what exactly I said. But in that terrible moment of frustration, and seeing Vineeta engaged in a supposedly sweet talk with Smita, I think I bluntly told her to call off the bluff.

She understood, because she looked at Smita guiltily, though no speech came out of her goddamn awesome and wonderful mouth!

Looking at Smita I said, “They all know about it.” My sore voice grated against the coarse silence.

She looked up at me- terror, vulnerability and shame mixed in those limpid pools of her wine-like eyes, ready to brim over any instant, the pupils rapidly moving to seek solace from their pain, her tender mouth ajar in disbelief, the color drained out from her rosy cheeks, and the body shivering like a lone leaf against a monstrous storm. She dropped her head, and I leaned forward to hold her. When her body touched mine, it was shaking uncontrollably, and I felt the warmth of her tears seeping through my thin cotton shirt, and soaking my soul with the immense grief that flowed from her eyes, uncontrolled and unbridled.

Vineeta walked towards me. I fired a million hatred darts from my stony eyes. “I am sorry,” she whispered and walked out of the room.

To Be Continued

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Film Review

(Note-Spoilers ahead)

Despite some obvious flaws, buy information pills more about Reema Kagti’s debut venture about six couples is quite crisp and crackling and a giant leap forward from the tedious Salaam E Ishq, which essentially had a similar premise.

Six couples embark on their honeymoon in a bright purple Tata Starbus, and on the way we learn their little foibles, some idiosyncrasies and a few major surprises. The couples are a perpetually crying Gujarati girl (Dia Mirza), who walks out on her husband (Ranveer Sheory) as soon as she spies her former lover (Arjun Rampal); a young-at-heart elderly couple (Boman Irani and Shabana Azmi) who have entered into a hesitant second marriage well past their prime; a bourgouis Bengali couple (Raima Sen and Kay Kay Menon), who learn that it is not that bad to leave their societal shackles sometimes; a hearbroken girl (Sandhya Mridul) who jumps into a quick marriage with an NRI (Vikram Chhatwal) whom she met over the internet, only to discover that he is gay; a talkative Delhi Punju girl (Ameesha Patel) whose dreams are bigger than her realities, and her husband (Karran Kapoor) unravels an hitherto latent bisexual feelings; and, the two Parsis (Abhay Deol and Minnisha Lamba) sengued by their loneliness and Hailey’s comet!

Reema Kagti s biggest triumph lies in involving the audience in the journey. And despite some howlers (for example, Abhay and Minisha discover they are Superboy and Supergirl), she keeps the proceedings at a realistic plane and does not allow any overt gloss or glamour to creep in. It is the small interactions, the tiny dialogues, the everyday interactions which make the film hugely enjoyable. Another credit to her is in the cast selection, which is a perfect fit. Also, all the characters are brought together in one place making the film more cohesive than what Salaam E Ishq was! However, the sense of ‘un-structured-ness’ and non-symmetry in all the stories is trifle irritating.

From the couples Raima Sen and Kay Kay walk away with the best track as they dust off the soot of conventional Indian middle class living from their personalities, ending with Kay Kay dancing uninhibited to the film s best song Sajnaji vaari vaari jaayunji ! The scene where Sen does a paragliding ride and her saree comes off is particularly well-executed and presented; the saree becomes the metaphor for all that dos and donts which she has wrapped herself in, and the breaking free from it is a moment of surprise and joy for her. Both Sen and Menon pitch in a sparkling performance.

The next best couple is the cuties Minishha and Abhay, with their doggy-kitty act in the bedroom, and an extremely fluid dance in the bar. The only dampener is the discovery of being SuperBoy/SuperGirl come on Reema, what was this silly and kiddish thing doing in a film which is otherwise so realistic?!

Boman Irani and Shabana come a close third, though I suspect the director meant them to be the best one. At least, she presents them as the ideal couple. And because of that they end up bland and boring. The track revolving Boman’s daughter not accepting her new mother needed more fleshing out. And the solution (she accepts because she’s ditched by her lover) is too half-baked and very cliched. I was looking forward to some interesting dialogue-baazi!

The climax is a big dampener, and when the end-titles start rolling one is left a bit unsatisfied – this could be taken both as a negative (after all, there is no proper build up towards it or any reason for ending it just there) and a positive (one is enjoying the trip, and could have seen a few reels more!). I personally feel it is the former. In any case, there is no super-story to the six stories, but that s ok I guess, it is the new mantra of film making.

The film has a small-budget feel to it. And even though they are in Goa it doesn’t do much to further the state s tourism cause. The dialogues (Anurag Kashyap) are good.

Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are average and beyond Sajnaji vaari vaari and Pyaar ki ek kahaani suno, there isn t anything worthwhile. In fact, I preferred the old songs used to introduce some of the characters! A word of praise for the choreography of Sajnaji – it is loose, unstructured and open, much like a normal person would dance!

In the end I’d say I agree with Nikhat Kazmi’s review in Times of India, Reema Kagti shows promise, but needs to polish her storytelling technique.

Overall Good Timepass for a Sunday!

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode One

“I am pregnant.”

We were walking towards Patel Chest Institute, buy information pills from where we were to board our bus to return home. I froze in my tracks, contagion and gathered no import of her words, ampoule till she repeated them slowly and quietly this time. There have been many times in my life when I have been left grappling for words, but never has been the impact been as stunning as this; it took the wind out of my sails, and lungs and brain, and drowned me in a sea of sheer confusion.

“Err what how?” I stammered, struggling out desperately from my helplessness, only to be plunged into a bigger whirlpool of curiosity that had suddenly formed itself. “But who is the…”

She hesitated before replying. I stole a glance at her, trying to catch any tell-tale bulge, but it was probably still too early a stage to be visible.

“Ashish Sehgal,” she spoke, barely audible. Once again, she had to repeat the words for them to clearly make their passage through my aural cavities. I realized immediately that her reply would have had a similar impact even if she had mentioned Tom Cruise because I was still not sure how to react. And amidst the confusion, it also struck me that Ashish Sehgal wasn t anyone that I knew intimately or even remotely, for that matter. I mean I knew about him and her, and had met him once when she herself had introduced him as an ex-classmate and a good friend, but that s about it. Only now I came to understand how good the friend was. I was always wary of such rich, accented fellows wearing a ring in their right ears and riding a fancy bike, gifted by their super rich dads. These guys were always popular with college girls. But I had imagined Smita to be different.

“Are you sure you are… er… pregnant?” I made a very clumsy effort to break the silence that had swooped in between us. We were nearly at the bus stop. She stopped, sighed and gave me a sharp glance. I retracted. Of course, she was sure. No girl would like to talk about her pregnancy without being absolutely sure, and definitely not when she is still single and studying in second year college!

Still she was valiant enough to offer an answer. “Yes. The home pregnancy test is positive; the symptoms are all there”

The bus stop, in front of Patel Chest Institute, was a dilapidated shed probably neglected for centuries. It wasn’t our regular stop and we had to walk up till here, a kilometer away from our college, only when we had overstayed for an extra subsidiary class. With time the nomenclature for the stop had been shortened to simply Patel Chest which had sparked its own cheesy PJ: “if Patel was a lady, what would it be called?”

Stationary now, I viewed Smita more closely. She was beautiful, and the focal point of the attraction lay in those large expressive eyes, which she underlined with a bold line of kohl. A pert nose over bow-shaped mouth lent aristocracy to the fair face. And the lush flowing hair added a bounce to her personality. But as I stood watching her on that humid late July afternoon, I concluded that for me she was beautiful from within as well my best friend for the past two years. I did not like the idea of such a sweet girl getting into this messy trouble. I had always thought of her to be a strong girl, coming from a conservative family and one who kept boys, including me, at a respectable distance. To be honest, I admired her ability to ward off some nasty pile-ons from our class. But here she had walked into this, open-eyed and that too, with someone like Ashish!

“You hate him because you are jealous of him,” she had once said, when I had casually objected to her friendship with him.

“Jealous, me? Why?” I replied indignantly.

“Because I am going around with him,” she replied conspiratorially.

“You are kidding me,”

She had left without replying, giving a smile that would have made Mona Lisa’s cryptic one look clearer than a midsummer night’s sky.

Now, I tried to recall as to when this conversation of ours had taken place. It was near the first year exams, was all that I could retrieve from my fuzzy memory. So that made it some four months back. After this I recalled she had spoken about a few of her dates with Ashish. But it hadn t struck me anymore serious than her meetings with me. She was the one who always spoke about the emotional attachments and undying sincerity and purity of love it had not crossed my mind even once that she could get any of these from Ashish!

A few buses stopped and passed by but neither of us bothered to check.

“Have you told Ashish?” I asked, and immediately regretted having opened my mouth. It was yet another silly question, but dammit a man doesn’t get to know about his best friend’s pregnancy everyday and I suppose I had the right to act shaken.

She bit her lip, and her eyes opened wide open. I was prepared for a full blast rebuke this time. But what followed was something unusual. Her eyes were wet. And she was controlling her tears from falling.

“Smita,” I said softly, “Control yourself. Let’s go by an auto we’ll sit and discuss this at your place.”

She nodded absently.

Throughout the twenty five minute journey back we didn’t speak. As we crossed from Delhi University to Shakti Nagar to Shastri Nagar to her house at West Patel Nagar, my mind raced back to the days when we had initially met more than a year back, when both had joined Kirorimal College’s English Hons stream. Smita and I hit it off from the word go. There were many overlapping interests.

There was a small misunderstanding at that time. One bright student, in his zeal to play cupid, had sort of paired us off. The next morning when she was having her coffee, casually she had remarked, “too much jhaag” to which the bright chap had retorted, “well what did you expect, too much Dinesh in that?” When I reached college that day, I found her upset. But later we cleared the air and it settled that we shall always be friends, whatever the wagging tongues say; and soon they stopped when they saw no fire lit from the smoke spread by them.

From our class of twenty five students (which seemed to be made up of students picked up en masse from the telephone directory’s S and V listing), there were three clear beauty queens ones around whom the attention centered. Of them, Shilpa was too much into dramatics society to bother about lectures or her classmates. That left the kingdom shared between Smita and Vineeta Chawla. To many Vineeta took a clear lead she was from a background for which newspapers have created a special page, and her dress sense was clearly an echo from what she saw at those parties no doubt she was pretty, but L’Oreal and Max Factor had equal share in that enhancement.

It wasn’t official or ever stated, but there were obviously two groups formed due to them. Since I was the closest to Smita, automatically I came under her group, and consequently Vineeta’s biggest bete noir.

In the course of the year, I had befriended Smita’s parents, and during the exams was quite a regular guest at their place for joint study sessions. Her parents trust in her was explicit. They didn t mind my visiting her place when they weren t around. And that’s why I had suggested her place at this time, knowing fully well that her parents wouldn’t be home. We could talk easily.

The auto grinded over the hot asphalt and a pang grated my heart. What if on the day of that coffee incident our conversation had been different and had ended in us to use a common parlance going around ? I looked at her, feeling sorry for her, and for myself. Because I knew, that had the course of our friendship been different, I would have been a very happy man. And perhaps she would not have been in this awful predicament!

It was clear Ashish hadn’t been clean with her when she told him about the pregnancy. My anger against him was strong, and my mind framed a speech to speak against him when we reached her place.

I guided the auto rickshaw driver to her house, paid the fare and we ascended the small flight of stairs to her first floor flat.

“I love him, ” she said when we entered the house, without preamble, without any introduction. Again, she had punctured the wind off my sails, and I found myself drowning. “And I will always love him.”

I bore her with a steady gaze.

“Don’t say anything bad against him,please,” she half whispered, half pleaded.

I was aghast. That speech I had sort of prepared was washed away by the waves of tears welling up in her eyes. “You love him for disgracing you?” was all that I could manage.

“No. I love him for loving me,” she stated. There was something wrong that tone. There was a harshness to it.

Frustrated, I raised my arms and dropped myself on the beige velvet sofa, while she went inside to freshen up . The room was elegantly decorated, with an expensive cut-glass center table on which stood a fragile vase containing a single strand of rose, which her mother purchased fresh daily. On the floor, over the concrete marble, was an ethnically designed Kashmiri carpet, which covered nearly the entire room, leaving aside a small strip near the long French windows that overlooked a balcony.

She returned, relatively brighter, and sat opposite me.

This time I leapt at taking lead before she flummoxed me again. “You don’t love him any longer,” I told her. “And if you want to talk, be honest. First clear yourself up here,” I pointed to my temple, “and then we will think of clearing up here,” I placed my finger on my tummy.

She viewed me for an instant, but like always her mind was already made up, and she spoke. “Right. I don’t love him any longer. I stopped meeting him some two months back.”

I gasped. “Two months?” That would make it immediately after the exams.

“Yes. Two months. It didn’t seem long. I was sure I would bring him around. He was just a bit elusive, and then came the holidays and he was away to the US with his parents, so in any case we couldn’t have met, and now this,” she broke off, sniffing. “You know how it happened?”

I didn’t. Frankly, I wasn’t here to listen to her love making account, either. But still, there is a male curiosity in this regard which always takes a keen interest in knowing what’s happening in someone else’s bedroom. I stayed silent.

“It happened the day of our last exam. We had gone to Chanakya, remember?”

I did.

“Well, after that he said he wanted me to meet his mother, so he took me to his home. His mother wasn’t there. I don’t think she was ever supposed to be there. Anyways, we were alone. We talked and talked about our future, our marriage. And we came very close. When I tried to refuse,” she wet her lips nervously, “he didn ‘ agree. He said we were to marry. It s all fair. All Ok. I tried to reason, I tried to leave, but he didn’t let me.” She broke off again. Taking a deep breath, she said, I was nearly forced upon he was I was I mean I don t know if I relented or not but it just happened”

I saw her breath pass from a steady evenness to spasmodic sobbing. I allowed her to flush herself. Such incidents are bad when they happen, worse when said aloud but worst when thought of.

The human mind conjectures up stupid images. In front of me, she was sitting and sobbing, and my mind was trying to replay that scene where she was struggling to ward off Ashish. Date rape cases were not uncommon. But that it would happen to someone so close was something I wasn’t ever prepared for.

She sniffed again, and I broke from that vile imagery to the one in front of me. Her body was shaking, and tears had rolled down her fair cheeks, leaving a light trail of smudged kohl. Immediately I was overcome with immense love for her. I wanted to jump and hold her.

She wiped the tears with the back of her hand, and spoke, “From my childhood I have had a fulfilled life. Being the only daughter was easy I had to state it and my wish was always fulfilled. But I wasn t spoilt. I was put in a hostel for a few years so that I could value independence and discipline. My mother never failed to remind of a girl’s greatest gift from God her honor. My parents gave me immense freedom, yet I was always under their command . Maybe it wasn’t command. It was a friendship. Leaving my status of Ashish’s relationship, I have never hid a secret from them. Even about Ashish I told them he is a very good friend which I hope they will understand, since they themselves have had a love marriage.

“My principles, my values and all that I have been proud of, have been shattered. As modern as we may be, my parents won t accept that I am an unwed mother. I feel dirty.”She paused and wet her lips.

“For him,” she continued, “the relationship was just a timepass one. That’s what it sounded when I told him about this. For him, it’s over. But how do I explain this to my self, how do I tell this to my soul? Before I react to my body, I have to cure my soul and cleanse my conscience!”

That brittleness was returning. I feared it. “Smita, first up stop blaming yourself, please!”

She didn’t reply.

“Certainly love is not a sin,” I took a line of reasoning from her own book. “Why do you want to punish yourself for no fault of yours? Whats happened has happened. Neither you nor Ashish nor I can change it now. But what happens next is entirely in your hands. Think about that! Explain that to your soul and it will be cured. The process will be slow and painful but you will overcome.”

“I cannot, I will not. I guess this unhappiness is part and parcel of my life now.”

“It doesn’t have to be if…” I replied.

The hardness had solidified; she stared at me unblinking answering my unasked question. “I will not kill the child!”

“What?!”

“I will kill the father!”

I nearly fell from the sofa.

“I have a plan. You will have to help me.”

“Hold it hold it, Smita. For heaven’s sake, talk sense! You can’t go about murdering people!!” The pain and shock of the situation had made the normally sensible Smita inconsistent and incoherent girl.

“Then what else can I do?” She looked at me with the helplessness of a person who had examined all the options to get out of the predicament but couldn’t accept any of them.

“Abort the baby, and move on in life. There I will help you so that no one…”

“And leave that bastard to spoil lives,” she interrupted, sharply.

“You cannot take law into your hands.” I grimaced at my own sentence. It was a pathetic translation of a phrase used countless times in cheap Bollywood films.

“I don’t care. Are you or are you not helping?”

That was cornering of a typical woman-kind, but I wasn’t really keen on getting blood on my hands, and certainly wouldn’t ever allow Smita to get embroiled in further trouble. I refused any answer, and changed track again. “You know Smita, killing him actually means that you will be killing a part of yourself and the baby.”

“All the more better,” she threw back the words at me.

“But his death is no solution!”

“His death is the only solution for me.”

I was nearly tempted to ask which goddamn third rate bollywood film she had seen last night, but seeing her expression the words froze on my lips. Instead, I spoke from logic again. “If you really want to save the world from the likes of Ashish, get to the root of the problem flirtation, blind aping of western culture etc kill that and not the person, Smita!”

“He is the personification of sin. I shall kill him!” Her record was stuck, and I just didn t know how to proceed, and that I had to do before she again flung a ‘helping me or not with a caged yes or no’ question and honestly, I was always bad in these objective type of tests.

“Don’t forget Smita, you were a part of this sin, however small it may be!” I forwarded reasoning. I knew it wasn’t really small but at that point, seeing her vulnerable frame of mind, I wasn’t very keen on rubbing in the fact that she had been equally responsible.

My reasoning stuck its mark.She hesitated in her reply, and I carried on, “Were you really so low in will power?”

“I am not!”

“Then why didn t you stop him that very night? Why didn t you kill him then? Why now?”

“Because I loved him then.”

“Or his body probably,” I went on relentlessly. I saw that it hurt her ego, and it deflated the false indignation that she had built around herself. This would help her get back to the ground, and that ‘s what I wanted at that moment. “Come on, what do you have to say to that?”

She eyed me like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. “No, no,” she shook her head violently. “It wasn’t that. I mean, love starts physically but it went beyond.”

“Maybe for you, but certainly not for him.”

“Fine. But I was innocent. How could I read his mind?”

“Now don’t give me that. You weren’t exactly babe in the woods. You were plain simple foolish. I am sure apart from you anyone could read his mind.”

“Who did?”

“For starters, I did. Didn’t I warn you even about it?”

“Yeah but I thought…”

“…Thought that I was jealous? Yeah I was bloody well jealous. But that still doesn t take away the core fact that you didn’t heed to my advice. And that was because…”

“…because I thought you …”

“…because I cared for you!” I completed her sentence, and in a valiant sweep quite unbecoming my real self I fished out my inner feelings. “Because I found you sweet, Because I found you innocent, because I found a best friend in you, because I love you yes, that’s why I warned you..and… and…” Once the steam of speaking out is over, such tirades always end in a whimper which hangs between individuals in an awkward smoke trail. And so I just broke off. A lump hurt my throat, and I could feel the rushing beats within my ribs. I had finally said what I wanted to say to her, but the impact seemed to be lost. There was no expected sudden widening of eyes like I had expected. She just looked at me with a stupid pitiable expression. Perhaps, she had just taken my confession as a friend’s consolation.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Two

I searched her tear-stained face for any sign of emotion that could link to my confession. But she had a far-away look in her eyes that stared at the red rose between us though I am sure she was not really seeing it.

“What an irony, misbirth ” her whisper cut through the tense silence. “The one I thought loved me always told me that my friend was jealous of him but in reality it was the opposite. The man I cared for was jealous of the man who cared for me.”

Looking back, remedy I have to admit her sentence hardly made sense to me at that time. I brushed it off with a quick wave and said, physiotherapist “Leave all this. Now just follow what I have to say.”

She looked up questioningly.

“Get an abortion. And start afresh with a new outlook to life, love and God. You are repentant, God will forgive you. Just simply get this thing out of the way. I know where you can get easy abortion done.” Well, I didn’t. But then I thought a year back I hadn’t seen Delhi University either. Somehow I had managed to cut through the tedious admission process. Finding a safe clinic couldn’t be tougher than that!

“But abortion is killing.”

Her jumbled morals startled me. Hadn’t she been ready a minute back to share a foolproof plan to murder a man? “Smita, I left bio in class tenth, but whatever I remember from it is that this thing in your tummy is just yet a group of cells there is as much life in it as there would be in an inflamed appendix. You wouldn’t keep that? So why keep this! Plus, think logically. You can’t possible give birth to it, can you?”

The point struck home. She gave a wan smile. And for once since I had entered her house that day I sat back relaxed, though at the back of my mind I was already searching for the Yellow Pages in my house to find a good, safe clinic to take her to.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“For inviting and not serving lunch? You better be sorry for that!” I laughed, and she joined me with that tinkle which I adored.

“I am really sorry for that. I’ll just set the table.” She got up to leave the room. Before she exited, she turned back, sighed and said, “I wish Ashish was as considerate as you.”

**********************************************

Vineeta Chawla wore her jeans below the navel, something shiny glittering around that – “Swarovski,” she informed huskily to anyone who asked, or even to those who didn’t. Her white top had a late start and an early finish. It was a new ensemble, and obviously she was proud enough to have it noticed by everyone. “Isn’t it awesome, isn t it wonderful?” Her closest coterie Sugandha and Saina were there, cooing, oohing and aahing about it. I wouldn’t have bothered about Saina, she was a nitwit and all she had to do was dye her hair blonde! It was Sugandha’s chamchagiri of Vineeta which perplexed me. She seemed intelligent, and I knew her family since they lived in the same area as I. Her father was a simple government officer and her mother an LIC agent. They wouldn’t ever approve of Vineeta’s society. Perhaps Sugandha was living a vicarious life through VIneeta with that odd behanji look, and thick spectacles to boot, Sugandha could audition for a sister’s role in any C-grade potboiler and win it hands down.

Normally, I wouldn’t have really expected Vineeta and her gang to be in the class at that hour, but then if she had something on her mind she would obviously be here to get a bigger audience.

“Hi, Dinesh, long time no see,” Vineeta waved at me.

Really, I didn’t miss her. But now she mentioned it I realized she hadn’t joined in after the summer breaks.

“Yeah, where have you been?” I said and immediately bit my tongue. Dammit, that was a clear trap which I had walked into.

“You don’t know?” I didn’t, but she would surely tell. “We were on a world tour oooh, it was so fun. Have you seen the Swiss Alps?” I hadn’t, except in Yash Chopra films. “You should see them.” Yeah, please sponsor me bitch! “They are the most beautiful sight ever. You will forget your Kasaulis and Manalis here it’s awesome, it’s wonderful!” Get a dictionary girl, and learn some more adjectives.

I smiled, and didn’t venture an answer, and as she went on I knew why she had bothered to enter the class in the first place.

I looked around at Vasu and Vishal standing near the window and laughing at my discomfort. The classroom, the last one in that corridor, was empty. Smita hadn’t arrived as yet. We took the same bus, as her home was on the same route as mine. But today she was missing. I had to go to the canteen where the public phone booth was, to call her.

By now, Vineeta had moved on to her US leg of the trip quite literally. “You know that’s where I bought these jeans. See, the legs fit so beautifully. These Indian companies are simply hopeless, I tell you.”

Sugandha and Saima let out another dutiful ooh . My politeness cup had brimmeth over, and I was about to scream, when the staff room peon barged in. Bless the man.

“Mr. Gupta is on leave, so no class today.”

We let out a collective cheer. “That’s wonderful, that’s awesome,” said Vineeta, and I was ready to bang my head with the wall, but was again interrupted by her. “By the way, Dinesh I heard you topped last year’s final exam?”

That I had, and as modestly and nonchalantly as I could, I nodded.

“Ooooh, that’s wonderful, that’s awesome,” smiled Vineeta.

**************************************************

In my opinion there are very few things tougher than walking into a chemist shop and asking for a condom, with the staff there giving an all-knowing look it s sad that such a useful product doesn’t have an equally ostensible alternative usage. I am sure if it did, it would have aided in controlling our population to a great extent. Anyways, I found something more difficult than buying condoms and that was finding a gynecologist. For reasons of ease, I chose to meet a lady doctor after all, ladies are supposed to be more gentle and understanding. Perhaps, a bit high on the morality side, but I was ready to bear that.

So, with a handy Yellow Pages Directory, I short listed a few prospective ones. To say I was nervous is a gross understatement. Despite knowing that I was only on the phone, and could disconnect it any moment, I found a thick layer of perspiration on my forehead. The first call was a disaster. The receptionist wanted more details than I was ready to offer. And horridly, the line was not clear; she made me repeat everything.

“Can you just put me across to the doctor please!” I finally pleaded with her, and was almost in tears of relief when I heard her transferring the line. I was just about regaining my confidence when a stern voice burst in, Dr. Mukherjee here, “How can I help you?”

I was so terrified that I bleated, “Doctor, do you get pregnant?”

Even as the words leapt out of my lips, I could feel the phone burn against my ears and I dropped the receiver in embarrassment.

I decided to personally visit the next one. I felt a dialogue face to face would be easier, and more convincing. I chose a lady doctor by the name of Dr. Anjali Mehra, just because the name sounded soft and that she had her clinic in the southern side of the city, a criteria I was careful about farther the clinic, the better it was for Smita.

The clinic was a small rectangular room, with the receptionist’s corner on the far left side. A green curtain flew over an opening which led to the doctor’s cabin. An ungainly girl, enormous in size stood behind the desk. Her voice boomed in the small room. I have always felt that the receptionists and secretaries often act more snootily than their masters. This one was no different as she issued orders to the peon, and swept aside a demure patient to a corner seat. To my horror, she turned out to be a compounder as well and gave off a stern lecture on eating medicines on time as she handed it over to the woman who had just exited the doctor’s cabin.

The demure patient in the corner was next. The ogre bade her inside and looked at me. Once again, nervousness gripped me. Avoiding her gaze, I picked up the tattered ancient issue of Femina lying on the center table and flipped its pages. All this while, my mind was whirring. Concentrate, Dinesh. Concentrate on what you have to say. For good effect last night, I had prepared my opening lines to the doctor: “Doctor, A friend is pregnant and I would like to take your help in the abortion,” I rehearsed the lines repeatedly.

Yet, despite the mental rehearsal I was caught off guard when the huge monster blared out, “Go in, your turn mister.”

I entered a sparse room with a table, chair and an examining bed on the left side. The doctor, a smart middle-aged lady, wearing gargantuan black plastic spectacles, looked at me a trifle surprised to see a man alone, I guess.

“Yes, how can I help you?” she asked.

I felt my face redden and the blood gushing against my temple. A bead of perspiration ran down my sideburns onto the burning cheeks, and despite my best intentions, I blurted out, “I am pregnant and want your abortion!”

**********************************************

The rains in Delhi follow a strange cat-and-mouse game with the Met Department. When it says the monsoons are right around the corner, they will refuse to pour themselves. And just when the Met Department makes a solemn announcement about a drought situation, they will gleefully empty their hearts out. That early nineties summer was no different story. Had I been working in Met. Deptt. I would have died of a complex!

It was a wet Monday late July morning and like the past four days, it was raining heavily. Even though we were in the same bus, Smita and I couldn’t talk as a thick bunch of travelers separated us. On alighting, we exchanged pleasantries and I informed that I had finally managed to seek an appointment with a lady doctor.

“It’s becoming so difficult to hide it from mummy,” Smita said quietly. “I feel guilty all the time!”

As admitted earlier I am extremely bad when it comes to offering solace and comfort. Often I open my mouth, only to find my foot firmly placed in it. Hence, I kept quiet and murmured something to the effect that “sab theek ho jaayega” – a line straight off the last released Bollywood potboiler!

We entered the classroom, and immediately I wanted to rush out of it.

Our faces must have been awfully grim to elicit those enquiring looks from everyone. The silence was so thick that even a blunt knife could have cut a neat slice through it. Smita set her bag down and smiled wanly at all. Her pale face made a few clamor around her fussing about the supposed ‘fever’ that she had. I hate to admit this, but I felt superior in that one freak moment. Here was I, who had the full inside information quite literally too on her ailment. And there were those poor souls giving free advice on various medicines available to ward off the proliferating viruses that come along with the rains.

“It’s awesome, it’s wonderful,” I caught Vineeta cooing, “Smita, you should try that. My mother took it and the fever vanished in a day.” I wasn’t really sure which elixir she was talking about, but definitely was confident that only Vineeta could describe a medicine as awesome and wonderful .

Since not much love flowed between Vineeta and Smita, I saw the latter with a plastic smile trying her best to be polite.

Vasu’s eye caught mine and he gestured me to meet outside the room. I was curious. I liked Vasu – short, fair and cleanshaven, he came across as decent and well behaved. He was a faithful ally in marking my proxies whenever I was in the mood to bunk. And also, and more importantly, we were kiddishly bound together by our common hatred against Vineeta!

Once outside, I enquired of his secret talk.

“What’s wrong with Smita,” his voice pounced on me, and I recoiled like a snake stepped on its tail.

“What’s wrong with her?” I snapped back. “Just fever, why?”

“Cut out the crap buddy,” he said irritably. “You know it pretty well. I know it. And you will be shocked to know, majority of the class knows it!” His voice increased like a rising crescendo at the end of a well orchestrated symphony though the only applause he got was a deafening silence.

“Err… I don’t get you, Vasu,” I finally found my tongue after several heavy seconds.

“She’s pregnant, no? And that…” he stopped mid-way.

“And what?” I asked, with a force on the last word.

“And that either you or Ashish is the father!”

I slapped him across the cheek. I think it was the false accusation, which made me do that. But on hindsight, I reckon it was more the regret that I wasn t the father that made me imprint a solid mark on Vasu’s fair cheeks.

He staggered before regaining control. I admit I was amazed at his reticence. On my part, had someone slapped me, I would have either slapped back, or perhaps walked away. But he only complained, “Hell, what’s wrong with you?”

His small face held the most lost-puppy look, and I hugged him, patting his head like one would do to a hapless dog that has been ridiculed. “I am sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to do that but this business is getting so out of hand that I lost control.”

He pulled apart, and rubbing his cheek eyed me nervously. “It’s ok. You have heavy hand.” And you have tough cheeks! My hand was still ringing with the slap that I had implanted on his face.

“Sorry,” I repeated.

“Ok. ok. But how will you stop this from spreading?” he asked. The mind, as I often say, is a curious museum of multifarious images filed randomly within the folds of innumerable gray cells. And like the google search of today, it can cough up some outlandish image at any trigger. As Vasu spoke, the only thing that came to my brain was the film about a forest fire that I had seen on Doordarshan a few days back, spreading and engulfing any tree that came its way. Sadly, I also realized that fire-fighting is not exactly my forte.

“That bitch Vineeta is already too happy to tell it to anyone who comes her way,” Vasu continued. “According to her, Smita deserved it!”

The fire was not just in the images now. It was burning within me, the wild flames gushing alongwith my blood in the charred veins. I ran inside the classroom, banging the door open. Everyone fell silent and looked at me. My memory fails me now, so I don’t recall what exactly I said. But in that terrible moment of frustration, and seeing Vineeta engaged in a supposedly sweet talk with Smita, I think I bluntly told her to call off the bluff.

She understood, because she looked at Smita guiltily, though no speech came out of her goddamn awesome and wonderful mouth!

Looking at Smita I said, “They all know about it.” My sore voice grated against the coarse silence.

She looked up at me- terror, vulnerability and shame mixed in those limpid pools of her wine-like eyes, ready to brim over any instant, the pupils rapidly moving to seek solace from their pain, her tender mouth ajar in disbelief, the color drained out from her rosy cheeks, and the body shivering like a lone leaf against a monstrous storm. She dropped her head, and I leaned forward to hold her. When her body touched mine, it was shaking uncontrollably, and I felt the warmth of her tears seeping through my thin cotton shirt, and soaking my soul with the immense grief that flowed from her eyes, uncontrolled and unbridled.

Vineeta walked towards me. I fired a million hatred darts from my stony eyes. “I am sorry,” she whispered and walked out of the room.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Three

I am sure I will need to take another birth to fully comprehend the pain that Smita underwent on that rainy July afternoon. I don’t clearly recall for how long we sat in that claustrophobic room trying in vain to comfort her. She didn’t speak much, disinfection but the tears didn’t stop either. Her pretty face was smudged with the kohl streaming along with the tears. It was a Herculean task making her move from the room to the bus stop. Stripped off her dignity and having lost her peer acceptance, information pills she eyed every stranger with dread and fear, for sale and wondered as to how many really knew about her condition.

She took the next few days off.

As for Vineeta, her apology sounded so sincere that I had no reason to disbelieve her. It was a couple of days later, while walking towards Patel Chest Institute, to catch my bus home that I saw two very familiar figures. My blood and feet froze in their tracks. Ashish Sehgal and Vineeta Chawla were walking hand in hand towards a sleek white Maruti 1000 parked some distance away.

That evening, Vasu and I sat perched on the balcony of his bachelor’s pad, a few kilometers away from the college. The sun was setting behind the gray curtain of clouds, which it had failed to disperse for the past few days. Nature’s hand painted streaks of violet and orange in violently random strokes across Delhi s flat skyline. The air was moist and humid, though it wasn’t raining any longer. We sat, with two Kingfishers between us. My beer capacity was still in its nascent stage. And with the first bottle down, I could feel myself swim in haziness.

With Vasu, the friendship had been good and deep and our natural love for beer had sealed it further, and opened up many reserves that would have normally left potted in the college and canteen meetings.

“What should I do?” I asked Vasu finally, after we had beat around the bush for some while, till the time there was no bush left to thrash.

“You want me to state what you seem to have decided already?” he counter questioned.

Perhaps, yes!

Not getting any audible reply from me, he took a deep breath and said, “Dinesh, accept the child and her!”

This was exactly what I wanted to hear. I was relieved. Still, for sake of convincement I asked, “But will that be fair?”

“That,” he reasoned, “would be perfect.”

“And Ashish?”

“Leave him,” he said nonchalantly.

“You can’t do anything to him, can you?”

I was silent. His point was convincing. It made sense. But still, within me, I wanted to be sure I had all other doors closed before I countered Smita. So I decided to have a word with Ashish, even though I knew nothing would come off it. No, let me put it this way, even though I desperately wished that nothing would come off it!

*****************************************

Despite it being a natural act, there is something unnaturally exciting about sex and in college it makes for a great topic to discuss; and I suspect during those years, it is more talked about than actually done. In the still prudish nineties, a pregnant girl in a Delhi college was a colossal scandal. It towered over bus conversations, canteen small-talks and class room discussions; and it dwarfed all other polite pleasantries. Students found a wonderful alternative to begin conversations, other than the ubiquitous weather, politics and films!

To my horror I realized this the hard way, while traveling on the U-Special bus. A bunch of students, who could qualify as extras in films to dance behind the hero while he chased the leading lady but were under the mistaken belief they were the hero themselves, were standing precariously near the exit. I stood sandwiched somewhere behind, between two burly third year students, who looked like having watched too many Sunil Shetty films.

“Pata hai Kirorimal College mein kya chal raha hai?” one voice said.

“Kya? It’s such a rookha-sookha college. No hot babes there,” his friend remarked.

“Yeah, but it has heat other ways. Ek ladki pregnant hai wahan pe!”

“Don’t tell me”

“Sachi?”

“Ekdum. Hundred percent sahi news hai.”

“Tu jaanta hai usse?”

“Na, but I think science mein hai.”

Small relief! They had got the class wrong by a far margin.

“Kya jaldi thi usse dene mein,” laughed the second voice.

“Ha ha, kyun nahi. She should have come to us. Protection bhi de dete.”

“Waise, ab pata laga le kaun hai. Ek baar ho gaya, baar baar se kya sharam ?”

“Ha ha, Sahi kah raha hai. But be careful, maine suna hai she is the daughter of a politician. Kahiin baap teri na maar le baad mein.”

That was another factual error. I don’t know why the Chinese are blamed for their whispers, but I am convinced that the Indians are no less. As I embarrassingly heard the conversation, I understood that facts were hugely distorted and since we all love spices, a large measure was added to it. Over the next two days, I came to know that the scandal in college was a very hot topic. Whenever I heard it, I wanted to scream that she was raped, and she was innocent and pure. But I guess, no one would have understood. Date rape meant the girl called for it! But then, I can’t really blame the boys, because had this happened in some far off college, to some unknown girl, I am sure I would have partook in such lewd conversations with the same degree of interest and enthusiasm. Boys will be boys, after all! And we aren’t really conditioned to understand a girl’s feelings.

***************************************

Vishal Kathuria was another close confidante in my class. He spoke less, listened more and was generally a person with a happy disposition with a mysterious Buddha-like smile ever on his lips settled permanently below a thick bush of moustache. He was tall, dark though not necessarily very handsome. Yet, his appeal lay in an earthiness that kept the girls wondering if he would make a suitable boyfriend material. He didn t come from a very rich background, which made him pretty grounded and more likeable. He was one of those kind souls who was friend to all, and didn’t crystallize himself to any one group or gang . He had his own dreams, though I don t think he was anywhere near fulfilling them, or making any efforts to reach there. For me, he was a trusted bank vault any number of secrets could be stored there, and only a handful specialized people could open him up. Thankfully, I was one such specialized person.

Vishal and I had met on the first day of college. Since we stayed on the same side of town, our bus route was common. We were both freshers ragged by rowdy seniors in the bus itself. Mercifully, it was only to raunchily sing the then super hit double-entendre laden number Choli ke peechhe kya hai . Vishal has a coarse voice which rivaled Ila Arun s hefty intonations of the original number. I don t think I was half as effective as the other singer, but I plugged in enough sexiness to ensure that the seniors were pretty amused and let us off soon. This friendly duet began our friendship.

That day, he came up to me, a bit flushed and excited. We were in front of the in-house theater, next to the science wing, overlooking the path that led to the canteen. “You know why Smita is off for the past few days?” Quite likely, Mr.Zen had got the news pretty late, and was quite animated to share it with someone. Sorry, he chose the wrong person. I had had enough of the conversation in the bus that morning. Before I could reply, he was brimming to give the information on his own. “You know she used to go on all those dates with…”

“…Ashish Sehgal, and that she is carrying his baby,” I interjected, angrily. “And that she has been thrown out of her house, which in reality is not true.”

He had the grace to turn white.

“Also that it is the second month, and that she is getting the damn thing aborted at Khanna’s clinic in Greater Kailash,” I added for good measure.

He blinked like a kid whose toy has just been snatched away, and who is summoning up all the energy and tears to give a loud bawl.

“So you know about it?” he said, dejected.

“Of course I know about it. The whole college knows about it. The whole university knows about it. So who told you all this? Vineeta?”

“Vineeta?” he blinked hard again, genuinely confused. “Why her?”

“Because now the fool is going around with Ashish!” I paused to catch his reaction. “To end up in Smita’s state,” I added bitterly, as an afterthought.

“Vineeta going around with Ashish?” asked Vishal, in disbelief. “you must be crazy! She hates him!”

“Yeah, pretty weird hatred that makes her hold his hand lovingly,” I said sarcastically.

“Abbe, tujhe galti lagi hogi.”

“Oh come on Vishal. I was just a few meters away. My eyesight is not so bad that I wouldn’t recognize Vineeta and Ashish together!”

He wasn’t convinced, which made me very curious. Knowing that he would probably have more dope from the ‘other camp’ , “I pressed on, But tujhe aisa kyun lag raha that she hates Ashish?”

The direct questioning put Vishal off a bit. Flustered he said, “I just overheard her talk with Sunaina this morning. She was saying that he hesitated, that you are wrongly blaming her and saying that she had spread the news about Smita to everyone.”

“Which is a fact!” I interrupted emphatically.

“Arre yaar, poori baat toh sun le,” Vishal said irritably.

“Ok, ok carry on.”

“She was saying that she felt bad that you had felt that she was the one going and spreading this news. She was feeling pity for Smita.”

“Sab bakwaas hai!” I broke in again, boiling mad.

“Arre, phir beech mein bola? Let me at least complete na? Where was I? Yeah, that she was feeling bad about Smita and wanted to cut off Ashish’s balls for the cowardly act he has done.”

“Hypocrite!” I exclaimed.

“Uff, you wont let me complete will you?” he asked exasperated.

“Well, the fact is that she herself was questioning that who could have spread the rumors of Smita’s pregnancy in the class.”

“Woh usne khud ne, aur kis ne?” I burst in again, unable to control my rage.

“Woh aisa kyun karegi?” counter questioned Vishal.

“Because she doesn’t like Smita, and always wanted to downsize her. That’s why!”

“That’s what you think!”

“That’s what the whole world thinks!” I retorted.

“Nahi yaar, I am not convinced,” Vishal said, and he didn’t look convinced either. His lips were pursed, and thoughtfully he said, “Smita and Vineeta might have had differences but I don’t think either can do this to each other. I mean, chhote mote jhagde huein hai, that’s all. This enmity thing is bigger in your mind than in reality. Aise toh, Vasu aur Smita ke beech bhi locha hua tha, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t friends any longer. It’s just that two girls often seclude themselves after some silly cat-fight.” I was silent. After a grand dramatic pause, he concluded, “Your personal prejudice against Vineeta is the cause of your suspicion.”

This was the final blow; it hit where it hurt the most my conscience. I hated Vishal for putting words to a thought that I didn’t want to admit. I knew he was right. I looked out of the window. The rain had begun again. Everything was blanketed in a steady stream of the downpour. My mind was racing like a machine gone awry Smita, Ashish, the pregnancy, Vineeta all mixed together in the continual tip-tap that fell on the lawn.

“Hey Dinesh, Profesor Krishan Arora looking for you,” a classmate called up from behind. I turned and nodded acknowledgement. “He’s waiting in the tutorial room,” the class mate said and vanished.

“Chal Vishal. Let me see what he wants. Probably, something to do with the tutorial classes I had applied for. Milta hun, don’t go away.”

Vishal nodded. “I will see you in canteen”

The tutorial room was on the other side of the college, in the main wing. I passed groups of students carelessly whiling their time below the foyer, shaded from the rain; through the long corridor, that overlooked two small rectangular lawns beyond which the class rooms were lined, one after the other – Economics, English, BA Pass, and so on.

I reached the tutorial room, and politely knocked the door. “May I come in?” I asked – a sentence that always brought back uncomfortable from my early school years, when in my tiny child voice I had squeaked to my English teacher, “Can I go to the toilet?” to which she had replied, “Yes you can, but you may not.”

“Yes, come in,” came the reply from inside the room.

I entered the quiet room cautiously. Prof. Krishan Arora was one of the most loved lecturers- and also the most charming one. He was impossibly tall at 6’3″ , with a lean physique that ended in a very thoughtful face. The peppered beard added weight to his persona. And those eyes could pierce and probe at their own will. No doubt, he was an idol for all more so, for the girls who made sure that they never missed his romantic poetry class. For us boys, he was another rival to contend, plus we always found him a bit overbearing. Perhaps, he was after all, a ladies man!

The room was rectangular, with chairs arranged around its periphery on three sides. It wasn t a regular classroom. And hence the centre was left empty, with just one table, below the gigantic black-board. Prof. Arora sat on the chair, deeply engrossed in reading some book titled English for Science Students.

“Come come Dinesh,” he said, and pointed to the chair in front of the table.

I sat down on its edge, nervously. God knows where all my cockiness evaporated at the mere sight of Prof. Arora.

“Dinesh,” he started. “I have called you for a very important and sensitive matter, which I feel I should discuss with you. I hope you understand?”

I nodded, but in reality I didn’t. Before entering the room, I had sanguinely hoped that he would ask me to join his more vibrant tutorial group, so that I could get rid of the awful teacher that I was assigned to. But as I heard him, I realized that such a routine matter didn’t warrant a somber expression. Still, since he had fallen silent, I piped in, “I guess it is about my tutorial application?”

“Well, that we will see later on,” he smiled. “But at the moment,” he continued, stroking his peppered beard broodingly, “I want to talk about Smita.”

I nearly stumbled from my chair. Ok, this was a dream, and I would end any moment with my mother waking me up.But no, this wasn’t ending so soon, as I heard Prof. Arora’s next question, “Is she really pregnant?”

No, this is all a silly rumor, I felt like saying. But I did the mistake of looking up into his eyes. Like two sharp laser beams, they gorged into me, and with a dry mouth I mumbled an affirmative.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to assuage, “Relax, please,” he added. I would have but only if his eyes allowed me to do so. “I am the only one to know of it, at least I think so.”

You think wrongly, for all you know the whole world knows it. But nothing escaped my lips. Blankly, I sat there mute.

“Ashish Sehgal is my nephew – my sister’s son, I think you know that?” he went on. Another unexpected blow of course, I knew no such thing. How was I to know of Ashish’s relatives in the faculty? Smita hadn’t told me either. And I wondered if she herself was aware of this. “I don’t want his name unnecessarily dragged in this sordid matter. He paused, trying to gain some reaction from my vacant face. I am sad to see that he is getting unnecessarily dragged in this unwanted controversy.” At this, I raised a questioning eyebrow. “Aah, I see that you also seem to believe that he is the culprit.” My eyebrow drooped in disgust. Still, I kept quiet. “I have seen that you and Smita are good friends, so I thought I should first have a word with you. I want her to keep Ashish out of this.”

I nodded, trying desperately to find some meaningful words to say. At last, I said, “But he is the well, he is… I mean, he is the…”

“I don’t think so. He belongs to a very good family. His father is a reputed businessman. And often gives huge donations to the college trust.”

So, there it was family honor cake topped with the monetary cherry, all baked and ready to smother poor Smita’s chance of defense. But I wasn’t going to let this to happen. I took a deep breath, and collecting as much courage as I could, I said, “That’s ok sir. But Ashish is in the wrong. And he should own up to Smita at least. The poor girl is devastated. By the way, she is also from a very good family!” Perhaps, better than Ashish’s, I felt like adding, but discretion tied my tongue.

“I fully understand,” Prof. Arora said, in an even tone that belied any iota of understanding or sympathy. “I have no doubts. And I am sure she is in a bad shape. And that is the reason I didn’t want to talk to her directly, and called you for it. You are a mature boy and will definitely understand that some things are best swept beneath the carpet.”

“In any case, I don t think you have to fear Smita. She wouldn’t say anything. But the tongues are wagging already. Your fear lies somewhere else.”

Prof. Arora stared for a long time, and emphasizing each word, he said, “Since you are the closest to Smita, I want to make sure my fear doesn’t lie in you.” If ever any veiled threat comes up for any award ceremony, I would surely pass on this as an honorable contender.

“I love Smita,” I said, throwing off fear out of the window. I didn’t want to fear a man who was weak enough to give threats. “And I will marry her. Don’t you worry, sir. Ashish doesn’t know what he is losing on. And I don’t think Smita even cares about Ashish any longer! He can go to the nearest available hell.”

I left the room, dizzy, confused, shocked and hurt. My ears burnt in rage and uneasiness. My eyes smarted with sorrow for Smita. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening around me, or as to why I was suddenly the nucleus to a whirling atomic blizzard. I didn’t go to the canteen. I needed to sort my thoughts. I moved away, from the tutorial room, on the opposite side, towards a side exit leading towards the college hostel. A neatly landscaped lawn was to my right hand side, across which was the college boundary wall, with a small gate in-between. Trees lined the wall, and a group of students stood there enjoying the monsoon. I eyed them with envy; they didn’t have the worries that had besot me in the past few days. I stepped into the rain, and looked heavenward, seeking answers from the rain that fell from the gods above. The reply was a steady drum of the rains. I turned my gaze again towards the gate, from where a couple was entering, shielded by a common umbrella, bearing huge red polka dots on its shiny wet surface. Their umbrella tipped a little upward, and I caught their faces. Vineeta and Ashish- holding each other tightly beneath the small umbrella.

Only one question rang continuously in my ears – who do I believe? My eyes or Vishal’s ears?!

To Be Continued

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Film Review

(Note-Spoilers ahead)

Despite some obvious flaws, buy information pills more about Reema Kagti’s debut venture about six couples is quite crisp and crackling and a giant leap forward from the tedious Salaam E Ishq, which essentially had a similar premise.

Six couples embark on their honeymoon in a bright purple Tata Starbus, and on the way we learn their little foibles, some idiosyncrasies and a few major surprises. The couples are a perpetually crying Gujarati girl (Dia Mirza), who walks out on her husband (Ranveer Sheory) as soon as she spies her former lover (Arjun Rampal); a young-at-heart elderly couple (Boman Irani and Shabana Azmi) who have entered into a hesitant second marriage well past their prime; a bourgouis Bengali couple (Raima Sen and Kay Kay Menon), who learn that it is not that bad to leave their societal shackles sometimes; a hearbroken girl (Sandhya Mridul) who jumps into a quick marriage with an NRI (Vikram Chhatwal) whom she met over the internet, only to discover that he is gay; a talkative Delhi Punju girl (Ameesha Patel) whose dreams are bigger than her realities, and her husband (Karran Kapoor) unravels an hitherto latent bisexual feelings; and, the two Parsis (Abhay Deol and Minnisha Lamba) sengued by their loneliness and Hailey’s comet!

Reema Kagti s biggest triumph lies in involving the audience in the journey. And despite some howlers (for example, Abhay and Minisha discover they are Superboy and Supergirl), she keeps the proceedings at a realistic plane and does not allow any overt gloss or glamour to creep in. It is the small interactions, the tiny dialogues, the everyday interactions which make the film hugely enjoyable. Another credit to her is in the cast selection, which is a perfect fit. Also, all the characters are brought together in one place making the film more cohesive than what Salaam E Ishq was! However, the sense of ‘un-structured-ness’ and non-symmetry in all the stories is trifle irritating.

From the couples Raima Sen and Kay Kay walk away with the best track as they dust off the soot of conventional Indian middle class living from their personalities, ending with Kay Kay dancing uninhibited to the film s best song Sajnaji vaari vaari jaayunji ! The scene where Sen does a paragliding ride and her saree comes off is particularly well-executed and presented; the saree becomes the metaphor for all that dos and donts which she has wrapped herself in, and the breaking free from it is a moment of surprise and joy for her. Both Sen and Menon pitch in a sparkling performance.

The next best couple is the cuties Minishha and Abhay, with their doggy-kitty act in the bedroom, and an extremely fluid dance in the bar. The only dampener is the discovery of being SuperBoy/SuperGirl come on Reema, what was this silly and kiddish thing doing in a film which is otherwise so realistic?!

Boman Irani and Shabana come a close third, though I suspect the director meant them to be the best one. At least, she presents them as the ideal couple. And because of that they end up bland and boring. The track revolving Boman’s daughter not accepting her new mother needed more fleshing out. And the solution (she accepts because she’s ditched by her lover) is too half-baked and very cliched. I was looking forward to some interesting dialogue-baazi!

The climax is a big dampener, and when the end-titles start rolling one is left a bit unsatisfied – this could be taken both as a negative (after all, there is no proper build up towards it or any reason for ending it just there) and a positive (one is enjoying the trip, and could have seen a few reels more!). I personally feel it is the former. In any case, there is no super-story to the six stories, but that s ok I guess, it is the new mantra of film making.

The film has a small-budget feel to it. And even though they are in Goa it doesn’t do much to further the state s tourism cause. The dialogues (Anurag Kashyap) are good.

Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are average and beyond Sajnaji vaari vaari and Pyaar ki ek kahaani suno, there isn t anything worthwhile. In fact, I preferred the old songs used to introduce some of the characters! A word of praise for the choreography of Sajnaji – it is loose, unstructured and open, much like a normal person would dance!

In the end I’d say I agree with Nikhat Kazmi’s review in Times of India, Reema Kagti shows promise, but needs to polish her storytelling technique.

Overall Good Timepass for a Sunday!

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode One

“I am pregnant.”

We were walking towards Patel Chest Institute, buy information pills from where we were to board our bus to return home. I froze in my tracks, contagion and gathered no import of her words, ampoule till she repeated them slowly and quietly this time. There have been many times in my life when I have been left grappling for words, but never has been the impact been as stunning as this; it took the wind out of my sails, and lungs and brain, and drowned me in a sea of sheer confusion.

“Err what how?” I stammered, struggling out desperately from my helplessness, only to be plunged into a bigger whirlpool of curiosity that had suddenly formed itself. “But who is the…”

She hesitated before replying. I stole a glance at her, trying to catch any tell-tale bulge, but it was probably still too early a stage to be visible.

“Ashish Sehgal,” she spoke, barely audible. Once again, she had to repeat the words for them to clearly make their passage through my aural cavities. I realized immediately that her reply would have had a similar impact even if she had mentioned Tom Cruise because I was still not sure how to react. And amidst the confusion, it also struck me that Ashish Sehgal wasn t anyone that I knew intimately or even remotely, for that matter. I mean I knew about him and her, and had met him once when she herself had introduced him as an ex-classmate and a good friend, but that s about it. Only now I came to understand how good the friend was. I was always wary of such rich, accented fellows wearing a ring in their right ears and riding a fancy bike, gifted by their super rich dads. These guys were always popular with college girls. But I had imagined Smita to be different.

“Are you sure you are… er… pregnant?” I made a very clumsy effort to break the silence that had swooped in between us. We were nearly at the bus stop. She stopped, sighed and gave me a sharp glance. I retracted. Of course, she was sure. No girl would like to talk about her pregnancy without being absolutely sure, and definitely not when she is still single and studying in second year college!

Still she was valiant enough to offer an answer. “Yes. The home pregnancy test is positive; the symptoms are all there”

The bus stop, in front of Patel Chest Institute, was a dilapidated shed probably neglected for centuries. It wasn’t our regular stop and we had to walk up till here, a kilometer away from our college, only when we had overstayed for an extra subsidiary class. With time the nomenclature for the stop had been shortened to simply Patel Chest which had sparked its own cheesy PJ: “if Patel was a lady, what would it be called?”

Stationary now, I viewed Smita more closely. She was beautiful, and the focal point of the attraction lay in those large expressive eyes, which she underlined with a bold line of kohl. A pert nose over bow-shaped mouth lent aristocracy to the fair face. And the lush flowing hair added a bounce to her personality. But as I stood watching her on that humid late July afternoon, I concluded that for me she was beautiful from within as well my best friend for the past two years. I did not like the idea of such a sweet girl getting into this messy trouble. I had always thought of her to be a strong girl, coming from a conservative family and one who kept boys, including me, at a respectable distance. To be honest, I admired her ability to ward off some nasty pile-ons from our class. But here she had walked into this, open-eyed and that too, with someone like Ashish!

“You hate him because you are jealous of him,” she had once said, when I had casually objected to her friendship with him.

“Jealous, me? Why?” I replied indignantly.

“Because I am going around with him,” she replied conspiratorially.

“You are kidding me,”

She had left without replying, giving a smile that would have made Mona Lisa’s cryptic one look clearer than a midsummer night’s sky.

Now, I tried to recall as to when this conversation of ours had taken place. It was near the first year exams, was all that I could retrieve from my fuzzy memory. So that made it some four months back. After this I recalled she had spoken about a few of her dates with Ashish. But it hadn t struck me anymore serious than her meetings with me. She was the one who always spoke about the emotional attachments and undying sincerity and purity of love it had not crossed my mind even once that she could get any of these from Ashish!

A few buses stopped and passed by but neither of us bothered to check.

“Have you told Ashish?” I asked, and immediately regretted having opened my mouth. It was yet another silly question, but dammit a man doesn’t get to know about his best friend’s pregnancy everyday and I suppose I had the right to act shaken.

She bit her lip, and her eyes opened wide open. I was prepared for a full blast rebuke this time. But what followed was something unusual. Her eyes were wet. And she was controlling her tears from falling.

“Smita,” I said softly, “Control yourself. Let’s go by an auto we’ll sit and discuss this at your place.”

She nodded absently.

Throughout the twenty five minute journey back we didn’t speak. As we crossed from Delhi University to Shakti Nagar to Shastri Nagar to her house at West Patel Nagar, my mind raced back to the days when we had initially met more than a year back, when both had joined Kirorimal College’s English Hons stream. Smita and I hit it off from the word go. There were many overlapping interests.

There was a small misunderstanding at that time. One bright student, in his zeal to play cupid, had sort of paired us off. The next morning when she was having her coffee, casually she had remarked, “too much jhaag” to which the bright chap had retorted, “well what did you expect, too much Dinesh in that?” When I reached college that day, I found her upset. But later we cleared the air and it settled that we shall always be friends, whatever the wagging tongues say; and soon they stopped when they saw no fire lit from the smoke spread by them.

From our class of twenty five students (which seemed to be made up of students picked up en masse from the telephone directory’s S and V listing), there were three clear beauty queens ones around whom the attention centered. Of them, Shilpa was too much into dramatics society to bother about lectures or her classmates. That left the kingdom shared between Smita and Vineeta Chawla. To many Vineeta took a clear lead she was from a background for which newspapers have created a special page, and her dress sense was clearly an echo from what she saw at those parties no doubt she was pretty, but L’Oreal and Max Factor had equal share in that enhancement.

It wasn’t official or ever stated, but there were obviously two groups formed due to them. Since I was the closest to Smita, automatically I came under her group, and consequently Vineeta’s biggest bete noir.

In the course of the year, I had befriended Smita’s parents, and during the exams was quite a regular guest at their place for joint study sessions. Her parents trust in her was explicit. They didn t mind my visiting her place when they weren t around. And that’s why I had suggested her place at this time, knowing fully well that her parents wouldn’t be home. We could talk easily.

The auto grinded over the hot asphalt and a pang grated my heart. What if on the day of that coffee incident our conversation had been different and had ended in us to use a common parlance going around ? I looked at her, feeling sorry for her, and for myself. Because I knew, that had the course of our friendship been different, I would have been a very happy man. And perhaps she would not have been in this awful predicament!

It was clear Ashish hadn’t been clean with her when she told him about the pregnancy. My anger against him was strong, and my mind framed a speech to speak against him when we reached her place.

I guided the auto rickshaw driver to her house, paid the fare and we ascended the small flight of stairs to her first floor flat.

“I love him, ” she said when we entered the house, without preamble, without any introduction. Again, she had punctured the wind off my sails, and I found myself drowning. “And I will always love him.”

I bore her with a steady gaze.

“Don’t say anything bad against him,please,” she half whispered, half pleaded.

I was aghast. That speech I had sort of prepared was washed away by the waves of tears welling up in her eyes. “You love him for disgracing you?” was all that I could manage.

“No. I love him for loving me,” she stated. There was something wrong that tone. There was a harshness to it.

Frustrated, I raised my arms and dropped myself on the beige velvet sofa, while she went inside to freshen up . The room was elegantly decorated, with an expensive cut-glass center table on which stood a fragile vase containing a single strand of rose, which her mother purchased fresh daily. On the floor, over the concrete marble, was an ethnically designed Kashmiri carpet, which covered nearly the entire room, leaving aside a small strip near the long French windows that overlooked a balcony.

She returned, relatively brighter, and sat opposite me.

This time I leapt at taking lead before she flummoxed me again. “You don’t love him any longer,” I told her. “And if you want to talk, be honest. First clear yourself up here,” I pointed to my temple, “and then we will think of clearing up here,” I placed my finger on my tummy.

She viewed me for an instant, but like always her mind was already made up, and she spoke. “Right. I don’t love him any longer. I stopped meeting him some two months back.”

I gasped. “Two months?” That would make it immediately after the exams.

“Yes. Two months. It didn’t seem long. I was sure I would bring him around. He was just a bit elusive, and then came the holidays and he was away to the US with his parents, so in any case we couldn’t have met, and now this,” she broke off, sniffing. “You know how it happened?”

I didn’t. Frankly, I wasn’t here to listen to her love making account, either. But still, there is a male curiosity in this regard which always takes a keen interest in knowing what’s happening in someone else’s bedroom. I stayed silent.

“It happened the day of our last exam. We had gone to Chanakya, remember?”

I did.

“Well, after that he said he wanted me to meet his mother, so he took me to his home. His mother wasn’t there. I don’t think she was ever supposed to be there. Anyways, we were alone. We talked and talked about our future, our marriage. And we came very close. When I tried to refuse,” she wet her lips nervously, “he didn ‘ agree. He said we were to marry. It s all fair. All Ok. I tried to reason, I tried to leave, but he didn’t let me.” She broke off again. Taking a deep breath, she said, I was nearly forced upon he was I was I mean I don t know if I relented or not but it just happened”

I saw her breath pass from a steady evenness to spasmodic sobbing. I allowed her to flush herself. Such incidents are bad when they happen, worse when said aloud but worst when thought of.

The human mind conjectures up stupid images. In front of me, she was sitting and sobbing, and my mind was trying to replay that scene where she was struggling to ward off Ashish. Date rape cases were not uncommon. But that it would happen to someone so close was something I wasn’t ever prepared for.

She sniffed again, and I broke from that vile imagery to the one in front of me. Her body was shaking, and tears had rolled down her fair cheeks, leaving a light trail of smudged kohl. Immediately I was overcome with immense love for her. I wanted to jump and hold her.

She wiped the tears with the back of her hand, and spoke, “From my childhood I have had a fulfilled life. Being the only daughter was easy I had to state it and my wish was always fulfilled. But I wasn t spoilt. I was put in a hostel for a few years so that I could value independence and discipline. My mother never failed to remind of a girl’s greatest gift from God her honor. My parents gave me immense freedom, yet I was always under their command . Maybe it wasn’t command. It was a friendship. Leaving my status of Ashish’s relationship, I have never hid a secret from them. Even about Ashish I told them he is a very good friend which I hope they will understand, since they themselves have had a love marriage.

“My principles, my values and all that I have been proud of, have been shattered. As modern as we may be, my parents won t accept that I am an unwed mother. I feel dirty.”She paused and wet her lips.

“For him,” she continued, “the relationship was just a timepass one. That’s what it sounded when I told him about this. For him, it’s over. But how do I explain this to my self, how do I tell this to my soul? Before I react to my body, I have to cure my soul and cleanse my conscience!”

That brittleness was returning. I feared it. “Smita, first up stop blaming yourself, please!”

She didn’t reply.

“Certainly love is not a sin,” I took a line of reasoning from her own book. “Why do you want to punish yourself for no fault of yours? Whats happened has happened. Neither you nor Ashish nor I can change it now. But what happens next is entirely in your hands. Think about that! Explain that to your soul and it will be cured. The process will be slow and painful but you will overcome.”

“I cannot, I will not. I guess this unhappiness is part and parcel of my life now.”

“It doesn’t have to be if…” I replied.

The hardness had solidified; she stared at me unblinking answering my unasked question. “I will not kill the child!”

“What?!”

“I will kill the father!”

I nearly fell from the sofa.

“I have a plan. You will have to help me.”

“Hold it hold it, Smita. For heaven’s sake, talk sense! You can’t go about murdering people!!” The pain and shock of the situation had made the normally sensible Smita inconsistent and incoherent girl.

“Then what else can I do?” She looked at me with the helplessness of a person who had examined all the options to get out of the predicament but couldn’t accept any of them.

“Abort the baby, and move on in life. There I will help you so that no one…”

“And leave that bastard to spoil lives,” she interrupted, sharply.

“You cannot take law into your hands.” I grimaced at my own sentence. It was a pathetic translation of a phrase used countless times in cheap Bollywood films.

“I don’t care. Are you or are you not helping?”

That was cornering of a typical woman-kind, but I wasn’t really keen on getting blood on my hands, and certainly wouldn’t ever allow Smita to get embroiled in further trouble. I refused any answer, and changed track again. “You know Smita, killing him actually means that you will be killing a part of yourself and the baby.”

“All the more better,” she threw back the words at me.

“But his death is no solution!”

“His death is the only solution for me.”

I was nearly tempted to ask which goddamn third rate bollywood film she had seen last night, but seeing her expression the words froze on my lips. Instead, I spoke from logic again. “If you really want to save the world from the likes of Ashish, get to the root of the problem flirtation, blind aping of western culture etc kill that and not the person, Smita!”

“He is the personification of sin. I shall kill him!” Her record was stuck, and I just didn t know how to proceed, and that I had to do before she again flung a ‘helping me or not with a caged yes or no’ question and honestly, I was always bad in these objective type of tests.

“Don’t forget Smita, you were a part of this sin, however small it may be!” I forwarded reasoning. I knew it wasn’t really small but at that point, seeing her vulnerable frame of mind, I wasn’t very keen on rubbing in the fact that she had been equally responsible.

My reasoning stuck its mark.She hesitated in her reply, and I carried on, “Were you really so low in will power?”

“I am not!”

“Then why didn t you stop him that very night? Why didn t you kill him then? Why now?”

“Because I loved him then.”

“Or his body probably,” I went on relentlessly. I saw that it hurt her ego, and it deflated the false indignation that she had built around herself. This would help her get back to the ground, and that ‘s what I wanted at that moment. “Come on, what do you have to say to that?”

She eyed me like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. “No, no,” she shook her head violently. “It wasn’t that. I mean, love starts physically but it went beyond.”

“Maybe for you, but certainly not for him.”

“Fine. But I was innocent. How could I read his mind?”

“Now don’t give me that. You weren’t exactly babe in the woods. You were plain simple foolish. I am sure apart from you anyone could read his mind.”

“Who did?”

“For starters, I did. Didn’t I warn you even about it?”

“Yeah but I thought…”

“…Thought that I was jealous? Yeah I was bloody well jealous. But that still doesn t take away the core fact that you didn’t heed to my advice. And that was because…”

“…because I thought you …”

“…because I cared for you!” I completed her sentence, and in a valiant sweep quite unbecoming my real self I fished out my inner feelings. “Because I found you sweet, Because I found you innocent, because I found a best friend in you, because I love you yes, that’s why I warned you..and… and…” Once the steam of speaking out is over, such tirades always end in a whimper which hangs between individuals in an awkward smoke trail. And so I just broke off. A lump hurt my throat, and I could feel the rushing beats within my ribs. I had finally said what I wanted to say to her, but the impact seemed to be lost. There was no expected sudden widening of eyes like I had expected. She just looked at me with a stupid pitiable expression. Perhaps, she had just taken my confession as a friend’s consolation.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Two

I searched her tear-stained face for any sign of emotion that could link to my confession. But she had a far-away look in her eyes that stared at the red rose between us though I am sure she was not really seeing it.

“What an irony, misbirth ” her whisper cut through the tense silence. “The one I thought loved me always told me that my friend was jealous of him but in reality it was the opposite. The man I cared for was jealous of the man who cared for me.”

Looking back, remedy I have to admit her sentence hardly made sense to me at that time. I brushed it off with a quick wave and said, physiotherapist “Leave all this. Now just follow what I have to say.”

She looked up questioningly.

“Get an abortion. And start afresh with a new outlook to life, love and God. You are repentant, God will forgive you. Just simply get this thing out of the way. I know where you can get easy abortion done.” Well, I didn’t. But then I thought a year back I hadn’t seen Delhi University either. Somehow I had managed to cut through the tedious admission process. Finding a safe clinic couldn’t be tougher than that!

“But abortion is killing.”

Her jumbled morals startled me. Hadn’t she been ready a minute back to share a foolproof plan to murder a man? “Smita, I left bio in class tenth, but whatever I remember from it is that this thing in your tummy is just yet a group of cells there is as much life in it as there would be in an inflamed appendix. You wouldn’t keep that? So why keep this! Plus, think logically. You can’t possible give birth to it, can you?”

The point struck home. She gave a wan smile. And for once since I had entered her house that day I sat back relaxed, though at the back of my mind I was already searching for the Yellow Pages in my house to find a good, safe clinic to take her to.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“For inviting and not serving lunch? You better be sorry for that!” I laughed, and she joined me with that tinkle which I adored.

“I am really sorry for that. I’ll just set the table.” She got up to leave the room. Before she exited, she turned back, sighed and said, “I wish Ashish was as considerate as you.”

**********************************************

Vineeta Chawla wore her jeans below the navel, something shiny glittering around that – “Swarovski,” she informed huskily to anyone who asked, or even to those who didn’t. Her white top had a late start and an early finish. It was a new ensemble, and obviously she was proud enough to have it noticed by everyone. “Isn’t it awesome, isn t it wonderful?” Her closest coterie Sugandha and Saina were there, cooing, oohing and aahing about it. I wouldn’t have bothered about Saina, she was a nitwit and all she had to do was dye her hair blonde! It was Sugandha’s chamchagiri of Vineeta which perplexed me. She seemed intelligent, and I knew her family since they lived in the same area as I. Her father was a simple government officer and her mother an LIC agent. They wouldn’t ever approve of Vineeta’s society. Perhaps Sugandha was living a vicarious life through VIneeta with that odd behanji look, and thick spectacles to boot, Sugandha could audition for a sister’s role in any C-grade potboiler and win it hands down.

Normally, I wouldn’t have really expected Vineeta and her gang to be in the class at that hour, but then if she had something on her mind she would obviously be here to get a bigger audience.

“Hi, Dinesh, long time no see,” Vineeta waved at me.

Really, I didn’t miss her. But now she mentioned it I realized she hadn’t joined in after the summer breaks.

“Yeah, where have you been?” I said and immediately bit my tongue. Dammit, that was a clear trap which I had walked into.

“You don’t know?” I didn’t, but she would surely tell. “We were on a world tour oooh, it was so fun. Have you seen the Swiss Alps?” I hadn’t, except in Yash Chopra films. “You should see them.” Yeah, please sponsor me bitch! “They are the most beautiful sight ever. You will forget your Kasaulis and Manalis here it’s awesome, it’s wonderful!” Get a dictionary girl, and learn some more adjectives.

I smiled, and didn’t venture an answer, and as she went on I knew why she had bothered to enter the class in the first place.

I looked around at Vasu and Vishal standing near the window and laughing at my discomfort. The classroom, the last one in that corridor, was empty. Smita hadn’t arrived as yet. We took the same bus, as her home was on the same route as mine. But today she was missing. I had to go to the canteen where the public phone booth was, to call her.

By now, Vineeta had moved on to her US leg of the trip quite literally. “You know that’s where I bought these jeans. See, the legs fit so beautifully. These Indian companies are simply hopeless, I tell you.”

Sugandha and Saima let out another dutiful ooh . My politeness cup had brimmeth over, and I was about to scream, when the staff room peon barged in. Bless the man.

“Mr. Gupta is on leave, so no class today.”

We let out a collective cheer. “That’s wonderful, that’s awesome,” said Vineeta, and I was ready to bang my head with the wall, but was again interrupted by her. “By the way, Dinesh I heard you topped last year’s final exam?”

That I had, and as modestly and nonchalantly as I could, I nodded.

“Ooooh, that’s wonderful, that’s awesome,” smiled Vineeta.

**************************************************

In my opinion there are very few things tougher than walking into a chemist shop and asking for a condom, with the staff there giving an all-knowing look it s sad that such a useful product doesn’t have an equally ostensible alternative usage. I am sure if it did, it would have aided in controlling our population to a great extent. Anyways, I found something more difficult than buying condoms and that was finding a gynecologist. For reasons of ease, I chose to meet a lady doctor after all, ladies are supposed to be more gentle and understanding. Perhaps, a bit high on the morality side, but I was ready to bear that.

So, with a handy Yellow Pages Directory, I short listed a few prospective ones. To say I was nervous is a gross understatement. Despite knowing that I was only on the phone, and could disconnect it any moment, I found a thick layer of perspiration on my forehead. The first call was a disaster. The receptionist wanted more details than I was ready to offer. And horridly, the line was not clear; she made me repeat everything.

“Can you just put me across to the doctor please!” I finally pleaded with her, and was almost in tears of relief when I heard her transferring the line. I was just about regaining my confidence when a stern voice burst in, Dr. Mukherjee here, “How can I help you?”

I was so terrified that I bleated, “Doctor, do you get pregnant?”

Even as the words leapt out of my lips, I could feel the phone burn against my ears and I dropped the receiver in embarrassment.

I decided to personally visit the next one. I felt a dialogue face to face would be easier, and more convincing. I chose a lady doctor by the name of Dr. Anjali Mehra, just because the name sounded soft and that she had her clinic in the southern side of the city, a criteria I was careful about farther the clinic, the better it was for Smita.

The clinic was a small rectangular room, with the receptionist’s corner on the far left side. A green curtain flew over an opening which led to the doctor’s cabin. An ungainly girl, enormous in size stood behind the desk. Her voice boomed in the small room. I have always felt that the receptionists and secretaries often act more snootily than their masters. This one was no different as she issued orders to the peon, and swept aside a demure patient to a corner seat. To my horror, she turned out to be a compounder as well and gave off a stern lecture on eating medicines on time as she handed it over to the woman who had just exited the doctor’s cabin.

The demure patient in the corner was next. The ogre bade her inside and looked at me. Once again, nervousness gripped me. Avoiding her gaze, I picked up the tattered ancient issue of Femina lying on the center table and flipped its pages. All this while, my mind was whirring. Concentrate, Dinesh. Concentrate on what you have to say. For good effect last night, I had prepared my opening lines to the doctor: “Doctor, A friend is pregnant and I would like to take your help in the abortion,” I rehearsed the lines repeatedly.

Yet, despite the mental rehearsal I was caught off guard when the huge monster blared out, “Go in, your turn mister.”

I entered a sparse room with a table, chair and an examining bed on the left side. The doctor, a smart middle-aged lady, wearing gargantuan black plastic spectacles, looked at me a trifle surprised to see a man alone, I guess.

“Yes, how can I help you?” she asked.

I felt my face redden and the blood gushing against my temple. A bead of perspiration ran down my sideburns onto the burning cheeks, and despite my best intentions, I blurted out, “I am pregnant and want your abortion!”

**********************************************

The rains in Delhi follow a strange cat-and-mouse game with the Met Department. When it says the monsoons are right around the corner, they will refuse to pour themselves. And just when the Met Department makes a solemn announcement about a drought situation, they will gleefully empty their hearts out. That early nineties summer was no different story. Had I been working in Met. Deptt. I would have died of a complex!

It was a wet Monday late July morning and like the past four days, it was raining heavily. Even though we were in the same bus, Smita and I couldn’t talk as a thick bunch of travelers separated us. On alighting, we exchanged pleasantries and I informed that I had finally managed to seek an appointment with a lady doctor.

“It’s becoming so difficult to hide it from mummy,” Smita said quietly. “I feel guilty all the time!”

As admitted earlier I am extremely bad when it comes to offering solace and comfort. Often I open my mouth, only to find my foot firmly placed in it. Hence, I kept quiet and murmured something to the effect that “sab theek ho jaayega” – a line straight off the last released Bollywood potboiler!

We entered the classroom, and immediately I wanted to rush out of it.

Our faces must have been awfully grim to elicit those enquiring looks from everyone. The silence was so thick that even a blunt knife could have cut a neat slice through it. Smita set her bag down and smiled wanly at all. Her pale face made a few clamor around her fussing about the supposed ‘fever’ that she had. I hate to admit this, but I felt superior in that one freak moment. Here was I, who had the full inside information quite literally too on her ailment. And there were those poor souls giving free advice on various medicines available to ward off the proliferating viruses that come along with the rains.

“It’s awesome, it’s wonderful,” I caught Vineeta cooing, “Smita, you should try that. My mother took it and the fever vanished in a day.” I wasn’t really sure which elixir she was talking about, but definitely was confident that only Vineeta could describe a medicine as awesome and wonderful .

Since not much love flowed between Vineeta and Smita, I saw the latter with a plastic smile trying her best to be polite.

Vasu’s eye caught mine and he gestured me to meet outside the room. I was curious. I liked Vasu – short, fair and cleanshaven, he came across as decent and well behaved. He was a faithful ally in marking my proxies whenever I was in the mood to bunk. And also, and more importantly, we were kiddishly bound together by our common hatred against Vineeta!

Once outside, I enquired of his secret talk.

“What’s wrong with Smita,” his voice pounced on me, and I recoiled like a snake stepped on its tail.

“What’s wrong with her?” I snapped back. “Just fever, why?”

“Cut out the crap buddy,” he said irritably. “You know it pretty well. I know it. And you will be shocked to know, majority of the class knows it!” His voice increased like a rising crescendo at the end of a well orchestrated symphony though the only applause he got was a deafening silence.

“Err… I don’t get you, Vasu,” I finally found my tongue after several heavy seconds.

“She’s pregnant, no? And that…” he stopped mid-way.

“And what?” I asked, with a force on the last word.

“And that either you or Ashish is the father!”

I slapped him across the cheek. I think it was the false accusation, which made me do that. But on hindsight, I reckon it was more the regret that I wasn t the father that made me imprint a solid mark on Vasu’s fair cheeks.

He staggered before regaining control. I admit I was amazed at his reticence. On my part, had someone slapped me, I would have either slapped back, or perhaps walked away. But he only complained, “Hell, what’s wrong with you?”

His small face held the most lost-puppy look, and I hugged him, patting his head like one would do to a hapless dog that has been ridiculed. “I am sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to do that but this business is getting so out of hand that I lost control.”

He pulled apart, and rubbing his cheek eyed me nervously. “It’s ok. You have heavy hand.” And you have tough cheeks! My hand was still ringing with the slap that I had implanted on his face.

“Sorry,” I repeated.

“Ok. ok. But how will you stop this from spreading?” he asked. The mind, as I often say, is a curious museum of multifarious images filed randomly within the folds of innumerable gray cells. And like the google search of today, it can cough up some outlandish image at any trigger. As Vasu spoke, the only thing that came to my brain was the film about a forest fire that I had seen on Doordarshan a few days back, spreading and engulfing any tree that came its way. Sadly, I also realized that fire-fighting is not exactly my forte.

“That bitch Vineeta is already too happy to tell it to anyone who comes her way,” Vasu continued. “According to her, Smita deserved it!”

The fire was not just in the images now. It was burning within me, the wild flames gushing alongwith my blood in the charred veins. I ran inside the classroom, banging the door open. Everyone fell silent and looked at me. My memory fails me now, so I don’t recall what exactly I said. But in that terrible moment of frustration, and seeing Vineeta engaged in a supposedly sweet talk with Smita, I think I bluntly told her to call off the bluff.

She understood, because she looked at Smita guiltily, though no speech came out of her goddamn awesome and wonderful mouth!

Looking at Smita I said, “They all know about it.” My sore voice grated against the coarse silence.

She looked up at me- terror, vulnerability and shame mixed in those limpid pools of her wine-like eyes, ready to brim over any instant, the pupils rapidly moving to seek solace from their pain, her tender mouth ajar in disbelief, the color drained out from her rosy cheeks, and the body shivering like a lone leaf against a monstrous storm. She dropped her head, and I leaned forward to hold her. When her body touched mine, it was shaking uncontrollably, and I felt the warmth of her tears seeping through my thin cotton shirt, and soaking my soul with the immense grief that flowed from her eyes, uncontrolled and unbridled.

Vineeta walked towards me. I fired a million hatred darts from my stony eyes. “I am sorry,” she whispered and walked out of the room.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Three

I am sure I will need to take another birth to fully comprehend the pain that Smita underwent on that rainy July afternoon. I don’t clearly recall for how long we sat in that claustrophobic room trying in vain to comfort her. She didn’t speak much, disinfection but the tears didn’t stop either. Her pretty face was smudged with the kohl streaming along with the tears. It was a Herculean task making her move from the room to the bus stop. Stripped off her dignity and having lost her peer acceptance, information pills she eyed every stranger with dread and fear, for sale and wondered as to how many really knew about her condition.

She took the next few days off.

As for Vineeta, her apology sounded so sincere that I had no reason to disbelieve her. It was a couple of days later, while walking towards Patel Chest Institute, to catch my bus home that I saw two very familiar figures. My blood and feet froze in their tracks. Ashish Sehgal and Vineeta Chawla were walking hand in hand towards a sleek white Maruti 1000 parked some distance away.

That evening, Vasu and I sat perched on the balcony of his bachelor’s pad, a few kilometers away from the college. The sun was setting behind the gray curtain of clouds, which it had failed to disperse for the past few days. Nature’s hand painted streaks of violet and orange in violently random strokes across Delhi s flat skyline. The air was moist and humid, though it wasn’t raining any longer. We sat, with two Kingfishers between us. My beer capacity was still in its nascent stage. And with the first bottle down, I could feel myself swim in haziness.

With Vasu, the friendship had been good and deep and our natural love for beer had sealed it further, and opened up many reserves that would have normally left potted in the college and canteen meetings.

“What should I do?” I asked Vasu finally, after we had beat around the bush for some while, till the time there was no bush left to thrash.

“You want me to state what you seem to have decided already?” he counter questioned.

Perhaps, yes!

Not getting any audible reply from me, he took a deep breath and said, “Dinesh, accept the child and her!”

This was exactly what I wanted to hear. I was relieved. Still, for sake of convincement I asked, “But will that be fair?”

“That,” he reasoned, “would be perfect.”

“And Ashish?”

“Leave him,” he said nonchalantly.

“You can’t do anything to him, can you?”

I was silent. His point was convincing. It made sense. But still, within me, I wanted to be sure I had all other doors closed before I countered Smita. So I decided to have a word with Ashish, even though I knew nothing would come off it. No, let me put it this way, even though I desperately wished that nothing would come off it!

*****************************************

Despite it being a natural act, there is something unnaturally exciting about sex and in college it makes for a great topic to discuss; and I suspect during those years, it is more talked about than actually done. In the still prudish nineties, a pregnant girl in a Delhi college was a colossal scandal. It towered over bus conversations, canteen small-talks and class room discussions; and it dwarfed all other polite pleasantries. Students found a wonderful alternative to begin conversations, other than the ubiquitous weather, politics and films!

To my horror I realized this the hard way, while traveling on the U-Special bus. A bunch of students, who could qualify as extras in films to dance behind the hero while he chased the leading lady but were under the mistaken belief they were the hero themselves, were standing precariously near the exit. I stood sandwiched somewhere behind, between two burly third year students, who looked like having watched too many Sunil Shetty films.

“Pata hai Kirorimal College mein kya chal raha hai?” one voice said.

“Kya? It’s such a rookha-sookha college. No hot babes there,” his friend remarked.

“Yeah, but it has heat other ways. Ek ladki pregnant hai wahan pe!”

“Don’t tell me”

“Sachi?”

“Ekdum. Hundred percent sahi news hai.”

“Tu jaanta hai usse?”

“Na, but I think science mein hai.”

Small relief! They had got the class wrong by a far margin.

“Kya jaldi thi usse dene mein,” laughed the second voice.

“Ha ha, kyun nahi. She should have come to us. Protection bhi de dete.”

“Waise, ab pata laga le kaun hai. Ek baar ho gaya, baar baar se kya sharam ?”

“Ha ha, Sahi kah raha hai. But be careful, maine suna hai she is the daughter of a politician. Kahiin baap teri na maar le baad mein.”

That was another factual error. I don’t know why the Chinese are blamed for their whispers, but I am convinced that the Indians are no less. As I embarrassingly heard the conversation, I understood that facts were hugely distorted and since we all love spices, a large measure was added to it. Over the next two days, I came to know that the scandal in college was a very hot topic. Whenever I heard it, I wanted to scream that she was raped, and she was innocent and pure. But I guess, no one would have understood. Date rape meant the girl called for it! But then, I can’t really blame the boys, because had this happened in some far off college, to some unknown girl, I am sure I would have partook in such lewd conversations with the same degree of interest and enthusiasm. Boys will be boys, after all! And we aren’t really conditioned to understand a girl’s feelings.

***************************************

Vishal Kathuria was another close confidante in my class. He spoke less, listened more and was generally a person with a happy disposition with a mysterious Buddha-like smile ever on his lips settled permanently below a thick bush of moustache. He was tall, dark though not necessarily very handsome. Yet, his appeal lay in an earthiness that kept the girls wondering if he would make a suitable boyfriend material. He didn t come from a very rich background, which made him pretty grounded and more likeable. He was one of those kind souls who was friend to all, and didn’t crystallize himself to any one group or gang . He had his own dreams, though I don t think he was anywhere near fulfilling them, or making any efforts to reach there. For me, he was a trusted bank vault any number of secrets could be stored there, and only a handful specialized people could open him up. Thankfully, I was one such specialized person.

Vishal and I had met on the first day of college. Since we stayed on the same side of town, our bus route was common. We were both freshers ragged by rowdy seniors in the bus itself. Mercifully, it was only to raunchily sing the then super hit double-entendre laden number Choli ke peechhe kya hai . Vishal has a coarse voice which rivaled Ila Arun s hefty intonations of the original number. I don t think I was half as effective as the other singer, but I plugged in enough sexiness to ensure that the seniors were pretty amused and let us off soon. This friendly duet began our friendship.

That day, he came up to me, a bit flushed and excited. We were in front of the in-house theater, next to the science wing, overlooking the path that led to the canteen. “You know why Smita is off for the past few days?” Quite likely, Mr.Zen had got the news pretty late, and was quite animated to share it with someone. Sorry, he chose the wrong person. I had had enough of the conversation in the bus that morning. Before I could reply, he was brimming to give the information on his own. “You know she used to go on all those dates with…”

“…Ashish Sehgal, and that she is carrying his baby,” I interjected, angrily. “And that she has been thrown out of her house, which in reality is not true.”

He had the grace to turn white.

“Also that it is the second month, and that she is getting the damn thing aborted at Khanna’s clinic in Greater Kailash,” I added for good measure.

He blinked like a kid whose toy has just been snatched away, and who is summoning up all the energy and tears to give a loud bawl.

“So you know about it?” he said, dejected.

“Of course I know about it. The whole college knows about it. The whole university knows about it. So who told you all this? Vineeta?”

“Vineeta?” he blinked hard again, genuinely confused. “Why her?”

“Because now the fool is going around with Ashish!” I paused to catch his reaction. “To end up in Smita’s state,” I added bitterly, as an afterthought.

“Vineeta going around with Ashish?” asked Vishal, in disbelief. “you must be crazy! She hates him!”

“Yeah, pretty weird hatred that makes her hold his hand lovingly,” I said sarcastically.

“Abbe, tujhe galti lagi hogi.”

“Oh come on Vishal. I was just a few meters away. My eyesight is not so bad that I wouldn’t recognize Vineeta and Ashish together!”

He wasn’t convinced, which made me very curious. Knowing that he would probably have more dope from the ‘other camp’ , “I pressed on, But tujhe aisa kyun lag raha that she hates Ashish?”

The direct questioning put Vishal off a bit. Flustered he said, “I just overheard her talk with Sunaina this morning. She was saying that he hesitated, that you are wrongly blaming her and saying that she had spread the news about Smita to everyone.”

“Which is a fact!” I interrupted emphatically.

“Arre yaar, poori baat toh sun le,” Vishal said irritably.

“Ok, ok carry on.”

“She was saying that she felt bad that you had felt that she was the one going and spreading this news. She was feeling pity for Smita.”

“Sab bakwaas hai!” I broke in again, boiling mad.

“Arre, phir beech mein bola? Let me at least complete na? Where was I? Yeah, that she was feeling bad about Smita and wanted to cut off Ashish’s balls for the cowardly act he has done.”

“Hypocrite!” I exclaimed.

“Uff, you wont let me complete will you?” he asked exasperated.

“Well, the fact is that she herself was questioning that who could have spread the rumors of Smita’s pregnancy in the class.”

“Woh usne khud ne, aur kis ne?” I burst in again, unable to control my rage.

“Woh aisa kyun karegi?” counter questioned Vishal.

“Because she doesn’t like Smita, and always wanted to downsize her. That’s why!”

“That’s what you think!”

“That’s what the whole world thinks!” I retorted.

“Nahi yaar, I am not convinced,” Vishal said, and he didn’t look convinced either. His lips were pursed, and thoughtfully he said, “Smita and Vineeta might have had differences but I don’t think either can do this to each other. I mean, chhote mote jhagde huein hai, that’s all. This enmity thing is bigger in your mind than in reality. Aise toh, Vasu aur Smita ke beech bhi locha hua tha, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t friends any longer. It’s just that two girls often seclude themselves after some silly cat-fight.” I was silent. After a grand dramatic pause, he concluded, “Your personal prejudice against Vineeta is the cause of your suspicion.”

This was the final blow; it hit where it hurt the most my conscience. I hated Vishal for putting words to a thought that I didn’t want to admit. I knew he was right. I looked out of the window. The rain had begun again. Everything was blanketed in a steady stream of the downpour. My mind was racing like a machine gone awry Smita, Ashish, the pregnancy, Vineeta all mixed together in the continual tip-tap that fell on the lawn.

“Hey Dinesh, Profesor Krishan Arora looking for you,” a classmate called up from behind. I turned and nodded acknowledgement. “He’s waiting in the tutorial room,” the class mate said and vanished.

“Chal Vishal. Let me see what he wants. Probably, something to do with the tutorial classes I had applied for. Milta hun, don’t go away.”

Vishal nodded. “I will see you in canteen”

The tutorial room was on the other side of the college, in the main wing. I passed groups of students carelessly whiling their time below the foyer, shaded from the rain; through the long corridor, that overlooked two small rectangular lawns beyond which the class rooms were lined, one after the other – Economics, English, BA Pass, and so on.

I reached the tutorial room, and politely knocked the door. “May I come in?” I asked – a sentence that always brought back uncomfortable from my early school years, when in my tiny child voice I had squeaked to my English teacher, “Can I go to the toilet?” to which she had replied, “Yes you can, but you may not.”

“Yes, come in,” came the reply from inside the room.

I entered the quiet room cautiously. Prof. Krishan Arora was one of the most loved lecturers- and also the most charming one. He was impossibly tall at 6’3″ , with a lean physique that ended in a very thoughtful face. The peppered beard added weight to his persona. And those eyes could pierce and probe at their own will. No doubt, he was an idol for all more so, for the girls who made sure that they never missed his romantic poetry class. For us boys, he was another rival to contend, plus we always found him a bit overbearing. Perhaps, he was after all, a ladies man!

The room was rectangular, with chairs arranged around its periphery on three sides. It wasn t a regular classroom. And hence the centre was left empty, with just one table, below the gigantic black-board. Prof. Arora sat on the chair, deeply engrossed in reading some book titled English for Science Students.

“Come come Dinesh,” he said, and pointed to the chair in front of the table.

I sat down on its edge, nervously. God knows where all my cockiness evaporated at the mere sight of Prof. Arora.

“Dinesh,” he started. “I have called you for a very important and sensitive matter, which I feel I should discuss with you. I hope you understand?”

I nodded, but in reality I didn’t. Before entering the room, I had sanguinely hoped that he would ask me to join his more vibrant tutorial group, so that I could get rid of the awful teacher that I was assigned to. But as I heard him, I realized that such a routine matter didn’t warrant a somber expression. Still, since he had fallen silent, I piped in, “I guess it is about my tutorial application?”

“Well, that we will see later on,” he smiled. “But at the moment,” he continued, stroking his peppered beard broodingly, “I want to talk about Smita.”

I nearly stumbled from my chair. Ok, this was a dream, and I would end any moment with my mother waking me up.But no, this wasn’t ending so soon, as I heard Prof. Arora’s next question, “Is she really pregnant?”

No, this is all a silly rumor, I felt like saying. But I did the mistake of looking up into his eyes. Like two sharp laser beams, they gorged into me, and with a dry mouth I mumbled an affirmative.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to assuage, “Relax, please,” he added. I would have but only if his eyes allowed me to do so. “I am the only one to know of it, at least I think so.”

You think wrongly, for all you know the whole world knows it. But nothing escaped my lips. Blankly, I sat there mute.

“Ashish Sehgal is my nephew – my sister’s son, I think you know that?” he went on. Another unexpected blow of course, I knew no such thing. How was I to know of Ashish’s relatives in the faculty? Smita hadn’t told me either. And I wondered if she herself was aware of this. “I don’t want his name unnecessarily dragged in this sordid matter. He paused, trying to gain some reaction from my vacant face. I am sad to see that he is getting unnecessarily dragged in this unwanted controversy.” At this, I raised a questioning eyebrow. “Aah, I see that you also seem to believe that he is the culprit.” My eyebrow drooped in disgust. Still, I kept quiet. “I have seen that you and Smita are good friends, so I thought I should first have a word with you. I want her to keep Ashish out of this.”

I nodded, trying desperately to find some meaningful words to say. At last, I said, “But he is the well, he is… I mean, he is the…”

“I don’t think so. He belongs to a very good family. His father is a reputed businessman. And often gives huge donations to the college trust.”

So, there it was family honor cake topped with the monetary cherry, all baked and ready to smother poor Smita’s chance of defense. But I wasn’t going to let this to happen. I took a deep breath, and collecting as much courage as I could, I said, “That’s ok sir. But Ashish is in the wrong. And he should own up to Smita at least. The poor girl is devastated. By the way, she is also from a very good family!” Perhaps, better than Ashish’s, I felt like adding, but discretion tied my tongue.

“I fully understand,” Prof. Arora said, in an even tone that belied any iota of understanding or sympathy. “I have no doubts. And I am sure she is in a bad shape. And that is the reason I didn’t want to talk to her directly, and called you for it. You are a mature boy and will definitely understand that some things are best swept beneath the carpet.”

“In any case, I don t think you have to fear Smita. She wouldn’t say anything. But the tongues are wagging already. Your fear lies somewhere else.”

Prof. Arora stared for a long time, and emphasizing each word, he said, “Since you are the closest to Smita, I want to make sure my fear doesn’t lie in you.” If ever any veiled threat comes up for any award ceremony, I would surely pass on this as an honorable contender.

“I love Smita,” I said, throwing off fear out of the window. I didn’t want to fear a man who was weak enough to give threats. “And I will marry her. Don’t you worry, sir. Ashish doesn’t know what he is losing on. And I don’t think Smita even cares about Ashish any longer! He can go to the nearest available hell.”

I left the room, dizzy, confused, shocked and hurt. My ears burnt in rage and uneasiness. My eyes smarted with sorrow for Smita. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening around me, or as to why I was suddenly the nucleus to a whirling atomic blizzard. I didn’t go to the canteen. I needed to sort my thoughts. I moved away, from the tutorial room, on the opposite side, towards a side exit leading towards the college hostel. A neatly landscaped lawn was to my right hand side, across which was the college boundary wall, with a small gate in-between. Trees lined the wall, and a group of students stood there enjoying the monsoon. I eyed them with envy; they didn’t have the worries that had besot me in the past few days. I stepped into the rain, and looked heavenward, seeking answers from the rain that fell from the gods above. The reply was a steady drum of the rains. I turned my gaze again towards the gate, from where a couple was entering, shielded by a common umbrella, bearing huge red polka dots on its shiny wet surface. Their umbrella tipped a little upward, and I caught their faces. Vineeta and Ashish- holding each other tightly beneath the small umbrella.

Only one question rang continuously in my ears – who do I believe? My eyes or Vishal’s ears?!

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Four

When I reached the canteen, this web Vishal was sitting with Shilpa and Sugandha, quite an unlikely pair to sit together. But with Vineeta now firmly ensconced in Ashish’s arms and Saina probably busy with one of her umpteenth beauty parlor appointments, I guess Sugandha had to latch on to some other life force to survive her measly existence.

Shilpa Saxena’s breezy beauty made her a natural choice to play the leading lady in many dramas. Fortunately, she had talent as well. Last year, I had seen her play Desdemona in Shakespeare’s Othello during the Annual Dramatics Society Festival. She did the part with such consummate finesse that it came as no surprise when she won an award for it. A few months later, she made a brief appearance as Queen Helen of Troy in Christopher Marlowe’s morality play Faustus, and with her peaches-and-cream complexion, she looked so ravishingly beautiful that the line ‘a face that launched a thousand ships’ seemed to be written especially for her.

Since she spent more time at the theater than the class, our interaction had always been minimal. But whatever there had been, it was always mutually satisfying especially, her knowledge of literature was deep-rooted. Our debates on the nuances of Shakespeare, or the sub-text in John Donne, would go well beyond the normal text-book discussions. When she spoke emphatically to prove her point, the feral dance of her animated eyes was extremely appealing.

The canteen in our college was a badly lit grim rectangular room, hastily white washed, with tables and chairs carelessly strewn. On one end was the huge stone counter, behind which was the kitchen. More than the canteen, it was the partially covered foyer in front of it, and the lawn that extended beside it, that were the favorite of the students.

Vishal, Sugandha and Shilpa sat just outside the canteen’s entrance, below the foyer, on the farther corner. I dragged an empty chair and sat with them.

“Mil aaya Arora se? Kya kaha?” asked Vishal.

I smiled wanly, and said, “Kuchh nahi, routine yaar,” hastily, to avoid any further queries from him. I couldn’t have told the real reason for Arora’s calling me, here. For a split second, Vishal looked at me curiously, but didn’t press further.

“So what’s new Shilpa?” I turned to her, to change the topic.

“Bas, naye play kii rehearsals chal rahin hai,” and she gave a good five minutes monologue on the layers available beneath the supposedly simple surface of Becket’s Waiting For Godot a play which I didn’t care much about. “You be there to watch it. We are hosting it first at the Hindu College Fest.”

“Sure, I’ll be there, wouldn’t dare to miss your play!” I assured, more interested in seeing her performance, than the play per se.

Sugandha had been silent all this while. I turned to her. “Aap kuchh nahi bolengii, madam?”

She gave a stupid smile, which showed her small square fox-like teeth, and replied, “Ab do mahanubhav baithe baat kar rahe ho toh mai kya kahuun. Ek topper, ek super actor!” I could sense a trace of sarcasm there. But I let it go.

We lived in the same colony, and took the same bus home. Still, our conversation during those daily journeys had been so antiseptically clean that Dettol could have easily sponsored it.

“So why is the trio disbanded today? Where are Vineeta and Saina? You not with them today?” I gave back my own brand of sarcasm.

Again that idiotic smile. “I am not tied to them.” Aah! Point one to me! This time there was a definite hint of irritation. “Saina had a parlor appointment and Vineeta has gone home early,” she offered.

I raised a questioning eyebrow. “Sure?”

The stupid smile chilled on her flat visage. “Yeah, kyun?” Round two to me!

I gave a sweet look and said,”Aise hi yaar, don’t get hyper. Of course you would know better!”

Sugandha recovered soon, “Ha ha, yeah yeah. Waise, Smita nahi aayi kuchh dinon se?” Uh oh ! All points to her. She had touched a raw nerve.

“Yeah, what’s this I hear about Smita?” Shilpa butted in. “I mean, is this really true?”

Even before I could answer, I saw Sugandha’s huge oily head bouncing wildly in affirmation. My discomfort would have been visible, and Sugandha was clearly having fun pouring a bucketful of salt on my raw wounds!

“Sad, no?” said Shilpa. Thank goodness, she sounded genuinely concerned. “You know what Dinesh? When I first heard of it, I was sure it couldn’t be Smita. She comes across as a sensible person, not someone who would get into such a mess.”

I pursed my lips. “Hmm,” and shrugged to denote an it happens kind of sentiment.

“I am sure it is terrible for her,” Shilpa went on. “I mean, if I were put in her situation, goodness knows what I would do. Probably, jump off the balcony or something. I really shudder to think of it. Dinesh, give me her number. I will call her up. I think at this point, she needs friends and acceptance the most.”

I gave her the number that was on top of my mind’s address book. She noted it carefully in her small telephone diary. As she wrote, I saw she had a very strong and controlled handwriting much like her own self. I was happy to see that there was someone who was more bothered about Smita as a person, than just about Smita as a scandal in college. I had begun to feel that everyone had forgotten that behind the juicy gossip was a living person who breathed and felt just like anyone of us.

We sat for some more time before parting ways. Shilpa went back to her rehearsals, Sugandha ended up in the library, a place where she was fit to be enshrined. Vishal and I walked to the bus stop. The rain had subsided, and our feet splashed on the puddles as we made way towards Patel Chest Institute.

I downloaded the entire conversation I had with Krishan Arora. As ever, Vishal offered no comment. For all I knew, I could have spoken into a recording machine with the playback button missing.

“Waise, Shilpa ne ek baat pate kii kahii,” he said, as we rounded a corner to reach the stop.

“Kya?”

“That Smita really needs love and care the most at this time. I wonder if she is getting it, even from you.”

“Meaning?”

“True friendship probably. Think about it. I think we have all been taken up by the enormity of the ‘scandal’,” he said, making a quotation mark sign with his hands, “that we seem to have forgotten that perhaps we should be just normal with her, like we were before, and not remind her of the problem round the clock.”

“Hmmm…”

Not getting a very voluble response from me, he continued after a pause. “She has lost her self esteem, her confidence and her peace of mind. This sudden glare of the entire class and college has made her feel very small worst of all, in her own eyes. She’s probably very insecure. Come on, she is not the first unwed mother, not the last, but the whole exercise of being interrogated even by you I guess has had a very bad effect. His emphasis on very sent a shiver down my spine. Self love is a precious thing to lose. It makes a person weak from within. All his defenses are destroyed; he remains like a wounded animal, watching and waiting in fear for the hunters to arrive. At that moment, one can cross the thin line dividing sanity from madness.”

I wasn’t sure where his monologue was leading. I wondered if he himself was. Strangely, I realized that despite being friends, we had never really talked about our past lives. Was he bringing all this out from his own experience? At that moment, I felt woefully sad to realize that we had remained only superficial friends, something that was probably amiss from my side, since being the more extrovert person I should have tried to bridge the gap.

“At this time, Dinesh, just be around her normally as you would had this not happened,” Vishal said. “And I stress normally. Please.”

I nodded.

*******************************************

Even though I thought I had understood, as soon as I met Smita, I realized to my utmost horror that I really didn’t know how to behave normally, especially when my illogical eyes went, on their own free will, towards her still flat tummy. This was going to be very tough for me.

I told her about college and the classes in the past few days, about the awful rains that I am sure she also knew about since her house had windows and about some trivial news items. But clearly, it was a sham, and I think she saw through it.

Before entering her apartment I was sure that I wouldn’t talk about my meeting with Mr. Arora, and certainly not about Vineeta and Ashish. But when an awkward silence befell between us, and out of the blue she said, “Ashish hasn’t called as yet,” I couldn’t help blurting out that “probably he is too busy with Vineeta to bother about you.”

Evidently, it was a very bad thing to say and as always I found that my foot had managed to lodge itself in my mouth. But her reaction was so numb that I feared she would faint and despite my friendship, I didn’t want to be alone with a fainted pregnant girl in her own house. Well, make that in anyone’s house, or better any place!

“But I could be wrong too, I tried to clean up the air, and told of what Vishal had overheard,” but since I was on my own not convinced, I don’t think I passed it on much convincingly.

Since the curtain of normalcy had already been ripped apart, I went on to narrate my meeting with Mr. Arora. This was the biggest mistake. She burst out like a volcano raised from its dormancy.

“And who are you to speak on my behalf?” she exclaimed, taking me completely off guard.

This was depressing. All that I was doing was to help her, and she was chiding me for no reason at all. I tried to explain that I had merely repeated to Mr. Arora what she had said at her own place some days back.

“Listen Dinesh. Just get one thing straight. No one can take Ashish’s place in my heart. He may have ditched me right now, but I have spent some wonderful moments with him, and have been close to his heart, and I am sure there is a valid reason for his not owning up!”

I was very pissed off at her reaction. “My! My! How you talk! You know that he is going around with Vineeta, you know that all your wonderful moments were nothing but carnal pleasure for him. You yourself said you hate him, and now you make me sound like some third rate villain.”

“Dinesh, if you think by creating enmity in my heart for Ashish, you will succeed in finding a place there, you are sadly mistaken!” she spoke sharply.

“That’s not what I’m doing ?”

“That’s what it looks to me. You are distorting facts, and interpreting them the way you want them to be. I never said I did not want to marry Ashish. I still love him. You could have used your meeting Mr. Arora to get that point across, and probably help me reach Ashish. But no, you chose to put your agenda ahead there.”

“What are you saying? I was only trying to protect you.”

“I am not yours to protect. You told all that to Mr. Arora to ruin my chances of marrying Ashish and then take pity on me and claim me!”

“You are not an object that I have to claim, Smita. I genuinely care for you!”

“Stop it, Ashish, pl…”

“I am Dinesh! Smita!!!”

“Yeah yeah, Dinesh, Ashish you all are the same. Leave now please, I have had enough of men, opportunists all of you…”

She closed her eyes, and was breathing heavily. I wasn’t sure what to do, but the next instant she cried, “Please. Just leave. I want to be alone…”

Despite her rudeness, I was a bit hesitant to leave her in this excited state. Yet, I knew better. It was no point in sticking around; also, my wounded ego was spurring me to run away from her house immediately.

On my journey homewards, the conversation with Smita played like a stuck reel in my mind. Suddenly, I felt very unsure about everything. A few months back I had attended a pravachan at the local Arya Samaj Mandir. It was on the Vedas. The speaker an eloquent person with a deep soothing voice had said that a person leaves the road of truth for two reasons: fear and greed. If Smita was right that I had left truth, what could be my reason? Fear? What did I fear? Probably losing Smita, whom I had started to love. Greed? Yes, probably I was greedy greedy to want her, to want her love which, I think I lost forever that day.

I also debated whether I should still talk to Ashish, now that Smita had disowned me. One part of me said that I should. Instead of going back to Mr Arora (and I shuddered at the thought), I should make Ashish realize his mistake, and hence retrieve whatever I could of Smita s battered trust and friendship. The other half said that I should distance myself, and wipe off my hands from this matter forever!

When I reached home, I hadn’t made any decision.

To Be Continued

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Film Review

(Note-Spoilers ahead)

Despite some obvious flaws, buy information pills more about Reema Kagti’s debut venture about six couples is quite crisp and crackling and a giant leap forward from the tedious Salaam E Ishq, which essentially had a similar premise.

Six couples embark on their honeymoon in a bright purple Tata Starbus, and on the way we learn their little foibles, some idiosyncrasies and a few major surprises. The couples are a perpetually crying Gujarati girl (Dia Mirza), who walks out on her husband (Ranveer Sheory) as soon as she spies her former lover (Arjun Rampal); a young-at-heart elderly couple (Boman Irani and Shabana Azmi) who have entered into a hesitant second marriage well past their prime; a bourgouis Bengali couple (Raima Sen and Kay Kay Menon), who learn that it is not that bad to leave their societal shackles sometimes; a hearbroken girl (Sandhya Mridul) who jumps into a quick marriage with an NRI (Vikram Chhatwal) whom she met over the internet, only to discover that he is gay; a talkative Delhi Punju girl (Ameesha Patel) whose dreams are bigger than her realities, and her husband (Karran Kapoor) unravels an hitherto latent bisexual feelings; and, the two Parsis (Abhay Deol and Minnisha Lamba) sengued by their loneliness and Hailey’s comet!

Reema Kagti s biggest triumph lies in involving the audience in the journey. And despite some howlers (for example, Abhay and Minisha discover they are Superboy and Supergirl), she keeps the proceedings at a realistic plane and does not allow any overt gloss or glamour to creep in. It is the small interactions, the tiny dialogues, the everyday interactions which make the film hugely enjoyable. Another credit to her is in the cast selection, which is a perfect fit. Also, all the characters are brought together in one place making the film more cohesive than what Salaam E Ishq was! However, the sense of ‘un-structured-ness’ and non-symmetry in all the stories is trifle irritating.

From the couples Raima Sen and Kay Kay walk away with the best track as they dust off the soot of conventional Indian middle class living from their personalities, ending with Kay Kay dancing uninhibited to the film s best song Sajnaji vaari vaari jaayunji ! The scene where Sen does a paragliding ride and her saree comes off is particularly well-executed and presented; the saree becomes the metaphor for all that dos and donts which she has wrapped herself in, and the breaking free from it is a moment of surprise and joy for her. Both Sen and Menon pitch in a sparkling performance.

The next best couple is the cuties Minishha and Abhay, with their doggy-kitty act in the bedroom, and an extremely fluid dance in the bar. The only dampener is the discovery of being SuperBoy/SuperGirl come on Reema, what was this silly and kiddish thing doing in a film which is otherwise so realistic?!

Boman Irani and Shabana come a close third, though I suspect the director meant them to be the best one. At least, she presents them as the ideal couple. And because of that they end up bland and boring. The track revolving Boman’s daughter not accepting her new mother needed more fleshing out. And the solution (she accepts because she’s ditched by her lover) is too half-baked and very cliched. I was looking forward to some interesting dialogue-baazi!

The climax is a big dampener, and when the end-titles start rolling one is left a bit unsatisfied – this could be taken both as a negative (after all, there is no proper build up towards it or any reason for ending it just there) and a positive (one is enjoying the trip, and could have seen a few reels more!). I personally feel it is the former. In any case, there is no super-story to the six stories, but that s ok I guess, it is the new mantra of film making.

The film has a small-budget feel to it. And even though they are in Goa it doesn’t do much to further the state s tourism cause. The dialogues (Anurag Kashyap) are good.

Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are average and beyond Sajnaji vaari vaari and Pyaar ki ek kahaani suno, there isn t anything worthwhile. In fact, I preferred the old songs used to introduce some of the characters! A word of praise for the choreography of Sajnaji – it is loose, unstructured and open, much like a normal person would dance!

In the end I’d say I agree with Nikhat Kazmi’s review in Times of India, Reema Kagti shows promise, but needs to polish her storytelling technique.

Overall Good Timepass for a Sunday!

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode One

“I am pregnant.”

We were walking towards Patel Chest Institute, buy information pills from where we were to board our bus to return home. I froze in my tracks, contagion and gathered no import of her words, ampoule till she repeated them slowly and quietly this time. There have been many times in my life when I have been left grappling for words, but never has been the impact been as stunning as this; it took the wind out of my sails, and lungs and brain, and drowned me in a sea of sheer confusion.

“Err what how?” I stammered, struggling out desperately from my helplessness, only to be plunged into a bigger whirlpool of curiosity that had suddenly formed itself. “But who is the…”

She hesitated before replying. I stole a glance at her, trying to catch any tell-tale bulge, but it was probably still too early a stage to be visible.

“Ashish Sehgal,” she spoke, barely audible. Once again, she had to repeat the words for them to clearly make their passage through my aural cavities. I realized immediately that her reply would have had a similar impact even if she had mentioned Tom Cruise because I was still not sure how to react. And amidst the confusion, it also struck me that Ashish Sehgal wasn t anyone that I knew intimately or even remotely, for that matter. I mean I knew about him and her, and had met him once when she herself had introduced him as an ex-classmate and a good friend, but that s about it. Only now I came to understand how good the friend was. I was always wary of such rich, accented fellows wearing a ring in their right ears and riding a fancy bike, gifted by their super rich dads. These guys were always popular with college girls. But I had imagined Smita to be different.

“Are you sure you are… er… pregnant?” I made a very clumsy effort to break the silence that had swooped in between us. We were nearly at the bus stop. She stopped, sighed and gave me a sharp glance. I retracted. Of course, she was sure. No girl would like to talk about her pregnancy without being absolutely sure, and definitely not when she is still single and studying in second year college!

Still she was valiant enough to offer an answer. “Yes. The home pregnancy test is positive; the symptoms are all there”

The bus stop, in front of Patel Chest Institute, was a dilapidated shed probably neglected for centuries. It wasn’t our regular stop and we had to walk up till here, a kilometer away from our college, only when we had overstayed for an extra subsidiary class. With time the nomenclature for the stop had been shortened to simply Patel Chest which had sparked its own cheesy PJ: “if Patel was a lady, what would it be called?”

Stationary now, I viewed Smita more closely. She was beautiful, and the focal point of the attraction lay in those large expressive eyes, which she underlined with a bold line of kohl. A pert nose over bow-shaped mouth lent aristocracy to the fair face. And the lush flowing hair added a bounce to her personality. But as I stood watching her on that humid late July afternoon, I concluded that for me she was beautiful from within as well my best friend for the past two years. I did not like the idea of such a sweet girl getting into this messy trouble. I had always thought of her to be a strong girl, coming from a conservative family and one who kept boys, including me, at a respectable distance. To be honest, I admired her ability to ward off some nasty pile-ons from our class. But here she had walked into this, open-eyed and that too, with someone like Ashish!

“You hate him because you are jealous of him,” she had once said, when I had casually objected to her friendship with him.

“Jealous, me? Why?” I replied indignantly.

“Because I am going around with him,” she replied conspiratorially.

“You are kidding me,”

She had left without replying, giving a smile that would have made Mona Lisa’s cryptic one look clearer than a midsummer night’s sky.

Now, I tried to recall as to when this conversation of ours had taken place. It was near the first year exams, was all that I could retrieve from my fuzzy memory. So that made it some four months back. After this I recalled she had spoken about a few of her dates with Ashish. But it hadn t struck me anymore serious than her meetings with me. She was the one who always spoke about the emotional attachments and undying sincerity and purity of love it had not crossed my mind even once that she could get any of these from Ashish!

A few buses stopped and passed by but neither of us bothered to check.

“Have you told Ashish?” I asked, and immediately regretted having opened my mouth. It was yet another silly question, but dammit a man doesn’t get to know about his best friend’s pregnancy everyday and I suppose I had the right to act shaken.

She bit her lip, and her eyes opened wide open. I was prepared for a full blast rebuke this time. But what followed was something unusual. Her eyes were wet. And she was controlling her tears from falling.

“Smita,” I said softly, “Control yourself. Let’s go by an auto we’ll sit and discuss this at your place.”

She nodded absently.

Throughout the twenty five minute journey back we didn’t speak. As we crossed from Delhi University to Shakti Nagar to Shastri Nagar to her house at West Patel Nagar, my mind raced back to the days when we had initially met more than a year back, when both had joined Kirorimal College’s English Hons stream. Smita and I hit it off from the word go. There were many overlapping interests.

There was a small misunderstanding at that time. One bright student, in his zeal to play cupid, had sort of paired us off. The next morning when she was having her coffee, casually she had remarked, “too much jhaag” to which the bright chap had retorted, “well what did you expect, too much Dinesh in that?” When I reached college that day, I found her upset. But later we cleared the air and it settled that we shall always be friends, whatever the wagging tongues say; and soon they stopped when they saw no fire lit from the smoke spread by them.

From our class of twenty five students (which seemed to be made up of students picked up en masse from the telephone directory’s S and V listing), there were three clear beauty queens ones around whom the attention centered. Of them, Shilpa was too much into dramatics society to bother about lectures or her classmates. That left the kingdom shared between Smita and Vineeta Chawla. To many Vineeta took a clear lead she was from a background for which newspapers have created a special page, and her dress sense was clearly an echo from what she saw at those parties no doubt she was pretty, but L’Oreal and Max Factor had equal share in that enhancement.

It wasn’t official or ever stated, but there were obviously two groups formed due to them. Since I was the closest to Smita, automatically I came under her group, and consequently Vineeta’s biggest bete noir.

In the course of the year, I had befriended Smita’s parents, and during the exams was quite a regular guest at their place for joint study sessions. Her parents trust in her was explicit. They didn t mind my visiting her place when they weren t around. And that’s why I had suggested her place at this time, knowing fully well that her parents wouldn’t be home. We could talk easily.

The auto grinded over the hot asphalt and a pang grated my heart. What if on the day of that coffee incident our conversation had been different and had ended in us to use a common parlance going around ? I looked at her, feeling sorry for her, and for myself. Because I knew, that had the course of our friendship been different, I would have been a very happy man. And perhaps she would not have been in this awful predicament!

It was clear Ashish hadn’t been clean with her when she told him about the pregnancy. My anger against him was strong, and my mind framed a speech to speak against him when we reached her place.

I guided the auto rickshaw driver to her house, paid the fare and we ascended the small flight of stairs to her first floor flat.

“I love him, ” she said when we entered the house, without preamble, without any introduction. Again, she had punctured the wind off my sails, and I found myself drowning. “And I will always love him.”

I bore her with a steady gaze.

“Don’t say anything bad against him,please,” she half whispered, half pleaded.

I was aghast. That speech I had sort of prepared was washed away by the waves of tears welling up in her eyes. “You love him for disgracing you?” was all that I could manage.

“No. I love him for loving me,” she stated. There was something wrong that tone. There was a harshness to it.

Frustrated, I raised my arms and dropped myself on the beige velvet sofa, while she went inside to freshen up . The room was elegantly decorated, with an expensive cut-glass center table on which stood a fragile vase containing a single strand of rose, which her mother purchased fresh daily. On the floor, over the concrete marble, was an ethnically designed Kashmiri carpet, which covered nearly the entire room, leaving aside a small strip near the long French windows that overlooked a balcony.

She returned, relatively brighter, and sat opposite me.

This time I leapt at taking lead before she flummoxed me again. “You don’t love him any longer,” I told her. “And if you want to talk, be honest. First clear yourself up here,” I pointed to my temple, “and then we will think of clearing up here,” I placed my finger on my tummy.

She viewed me for an instant, but like always her mind was already made up, and she spoke. “Right. I don’t love him any longer. I stopped meeting him some two months back.”

I gasped. “Two months?” That would make it immediately after the exams.

“Yes. Two months. It didn’t seem long. I was sure I would bring him around. He was just a bit elusive, and then came the holidays and he was away to the US with his parents, so in any case we couldn’t have met, and now this,” she broke off, sniffing. “You know how it happened?”

I didn’t. Frankly, I wasn’t here to listen to her love making account, either. But still, there is a male curiosity in this regard which always takes a keen interest in knowing what’s happening in someone else’s bedroom. I stayed silent.

“It happened the day of our last exam. We had gone to Chanakya, remember?”

I did.

“Well, after that he said he wanted me to meet his mother, so he took me to his home. His mother wasn’t there. I don’t think she was ever supposed to be there. Anyways, we were alone. We talked and talked about our future, our marriage. And we came very close. When I tried to refuse,” she wet her lips nervously, “he didn ‘ agree. He said we were to marry. It s all fair. All Ok. I tried to reason, I tried to leave, but he didn’t let me.” She broke off again. Taking a deep breath, she said, I was nearly forced upon he was I was I mean I don t know if I relented or not but it just happened”

I saw her breath pass from a steady evenness to spasmodic sobbing. I allowed her to flush herself. Such incidents are bad when they happen, worse when said aloud but worst when thought of.

The human mind conjectures up stupid images. In front of me, she was sitting and sobbing, and my mind was trying to replay that scene where she was struggling to ward off Ashish. Date rape cases were not uncommon. But that it would happen to someone so close was something I wasn’t ever prepared for.

She sniffed again, and I broke from that vile imagery to the one in front of me. Her body was shaking, and tears had rolled down her fair cheeks, leaving a light trail of smudged kohl. Immediately I was overcome with immense love for her. I wanted to jump and hold her.

She wiped the tears with the back of her hand, and spoke, “From my childhood I have had a fulfilled life. Being the only daughter was easy I had to state it and my wish was always fulfilled. But I wasn t spoilt. I was put in a hostel for a few years so that I could value independence and discipline. My mother never failed to remind of a girl’s greatest gift from God her honor. My parents gave me immense freedom, yet I was always under their command . Maybe it wasn’t command. It was a friendship. Leaving my status of Ashish’s relationship, I have never hid a secret from them. Even about Ashish I told them he is a very good friend which I hope they will understand, since they themselves have had a love marriage.

“My principles, my values and all that I have been proud of, have been shattered. As modern as we may be, my parents won t accept that I am an unwed mother. I feel dirty.”She paused and wet her lips.

“For him,” she continued, “the relationship was just a timepass one. That’s what it sounded when I told him about this. For him, it’s over. But how do I explain this to my self, how do I tell this to my soul? Before I react to my body, I have to cure my soul and cleanse my conscience!”

That brittleness was returning. I feared it. “Smita, first up stop blaming yourself, please!”

She didn’t reply.

“Certainly love is not a sin,” I took a line of reasoning from her own book. “Why do you want to punish yourself for no fault of yours? Whats happened has happened. Neither you nor Ashish nor I can change it now. But what happens next is entirely in your hands. Think about that! Explain that to your soul and it will be cured. The process will be slow and painful but you will overcome.”

“I cannot, I will not. I guess this unhappiness is part and parcel of my life now.”

“It doesn’t have to be if…” I replied.

The hardness had solidified; she stared at me unblinking answering my unasked question. “I will not kill the child!”

“What?!”

“I will kill the father!”

I nearly fell from the sofa.

“I have a plan. You will have to help me.”

“Hold it hold it, Smita. For heaven’s sake, talk sense! You can’t go about murdering people!!” The pain and shock of the situation had made the normally sensible Smita inconsistent and incoherent girl.

“Then what else can I do?” She looked at me with the helplessness of a person who had examined all the options to get out of the predicament but couldn’t accept any of them.

“Abort the baby, and move on in life. There I will help you so that no one…”

“And leave that bastard to spoil lives,” she interrupted, sharply.

“You cannot take law into your hands.” I grimaced at my own sentence. It was a pathetic translation of a phrase used countless times in cheap Bollywood films.

“I don’t care. Are you or are you not helping?”

That was cornering of a typical woman-kind, but I wasn’t really keen on getting blood on my hands, and certainly wouldn’t ever allow Smita to get embroiled in further trouble. I refused any answer, and changed track again. “You know Smita, killing him actually means that you will be killing a part of yourself and the baby.”

“All the more better,” she threw back the words at me.

“But his death is no solution!”

“His death is the only solution for me.”

I was nearly tempted to ask which goddamn third rate bollywood film she had seen last night, but seeing her expression the words froze on my lips. Instead, I spoke from logic again. “If you really want to save the world from the likes of Ashish, get to the root of the problem flirtation, blind aping of western culture etc kill that and not the person, Smita!”

“He is the personification of sin. I shall kill him!” Her record was stuck, and I just didn t know how to proceed, and that I had to do before she again flung a ‘helping me or not with a caged yes or no’ question and honestly, I was always bad in these objective type of tests.

“Don’t forget Smita, you were a part of this sin, however small it may be!” I forwarded reasoning. I knew it wasn’t really small but at that point, seeing her vulnerable frame of mind, I wasn’t very keen on rubbing in the fact that she had been equally responsible.

My reasoning stuck its mark.She hesitated in her reply, and I carried on, “Were you really so low in will power?”

“I am not!”

“Then why didn t you stop him that very night? Why didn t you kill him then? Why now?”

“Because I loved him then.”

“Or his body probably,” I went on relentlessly. I saw that it hurt her ego, and it deflated the false indignation that she had built around herself. This would help her get back to the ground, and that ‘s what I wanted at that moment. “Come on, what do you have to say to that?”

She eyed me like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. “No, no,” she shook her head violently. “It wasn’t that. I mean, love starts physically but it went beyond.”

“Maybe for you, but certainly not for him.”

“Fine. But I was innocent. How could I read his mind?”

“Now don’t give me that. You weren’t exactly babe in the woods. You were plain simple foolish. I am sure apart from you anyone could read his mind.”

“Who did?”

“For starters, I did. Didn’t I warn you even about it?”

“Yeah but I thought…”

“…Thought that I was jealous? Yeah I was bloody well jealous. But that still doesn t take away the core fact that you didn’t heed to my advice. And that was because…”

“…because I thought you …”

“…because I cared for you!” I completed her sentence, and in a valiant sweep quite unbecoming my real self I fished out my inner feelings. “Because I found you sweet, Because I found you innocent, because I found a best friend in you, because I love you yes, that’s why I warned you..and… and…” Once the steam of speaking out is over, such tirades always end in a whimper which hangs between individuals in an awkward smoke trail. And so I just broke off. A lump hurt my throat, and I could feel the rushing beats within my ribs. I had finally said what I wanted to say to her, but the impact seemed to be lost. There was no expected sudden widening of eyes like I had expected. She just looked at me with a stupid pitiable expression. Perhaps, she had just taken my confession as a friend’s consolation.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Two

I searched her tear-stained face for any sign of emotion that could link to my confession. But she had a far-away look in her eyes that stared at the red rose between us though I am sure she was not really seeing it.

“What an irony, misbirth ” her whisper cut through the tense silence. “The one I thought loved me always told me that my friend was jealous of him but in reality it was the opposite. The man I cared for was jealous of the man who cared for me.”

Looking back, remedy I have to admit her sentence hardly made sense to me at that time. I brushed it off with a quick wave and said, physiotherapist “Leave all this. Now just follow what I have to say.”

She looked up questioningly.

“Get an abortion. And start afresh with a new outlook to life, love and God. You are repentant, God will forgive you. Just simply get this thing out of the way. I know where you can get easy abortion done.” Well, I didn’t. But then I thought a year back I hadn’t seen Delhi University either. Somehow I had managed to cut through the tedious admission process. Finding a safe clinic couldn’t be tougher than that!

“But abortion is killing.”

Her jumbled morals startled me. Hadn’t she been ready a minute back to share a foolproof plan to murder a man? “Smita, I left bio in class tenth, but whatever I remember from it is that this thing in your tummy is just yet a group of cells there is as much life in it as there would be in an inflamed appendix. You wouldn’t keep that? So why keep this! Plus, think logically. You can’t possible give birth to it, can you?”

The point struck home. She gave a wan smile. And for once since I had entered her house that day I sat back relaxed, though at the back of my mind I was already searching for the Yellow Pages in my house to find a good, safe clinic to take her to.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“For inviting and not serving lunch? You better be sorry for that!” I laughed, and she joined me with that tinkle which I adored.

“I am really sorry for that. I’ll just set the table.” She got up to leave the room. Before she exited, she turned back, sighed and said, “I wish Ashish was as considerate as you.”

**********************************************

Vineeta Chawla wore her jeans below the navel, something shiny glittering around that – “Swarovski,” she informed huskily to anyone who asked, or even to those who didn’t. Her white top had a late start and an early finish. It was a new ensemble, and obviously she was proud enough to have it noticed by everyone. “Isn’t it awesome, isn t it wonderful?” Her closest coterie Sugandha and Saina were there, cooing, oohing and aahing about it. I wouldn’t have bothered about Saina, she was a nitwit and all she had to do was dye her hair blonde! It was Sugandha’s chamchagiri of Vineeta which perplexed me. She seemed intelligent, and I knew her family since they lived in the same area as I. Her father was a simple government officer and her mother an LIC agent. They wouldn’t ever approve of Vineeta’s society. Perhaps Sugandha was living a vicarious life through VIneeta with that odd behanji look, and thick spectacles to boot, Sugandha could audition for a sister’s role in any C-grade potboiler and win it hands down.

Normally, I wouldn’t have really expected Vineeta and her gang to be in the class at that hour, but then if she had something on her mind she would obviously be here to get a bigger audience.

“Hi, Dinesh, long time no see,” Vineeta waved at me.

Really, I didn’t miss her. But now she mentioned it I realized she hadn’t joined in after the summer breaks.

“Yeah, where have you been?” I said and immediately bit my tongue. Dammit, that was a clear trap which I had walked into.

“You don’t know?” I didn’t, but she would surely tell. “We were on a world tour oooh, it was so fun. Have you seen the Swiss Alps?” I hadn’t, except in Yash Chopra films. “You should see them.” Yeah, please sponsor me bitch! “They are the most beautiful sight ever. You will forget your Kasaulis and Manalis here it’s awesome, it’s wonderful!” Get a dictionary girl, and learn some more adjectives.

I smiled, and didn’t venture an answer, and as she went on I knew why she had bothered to enter the class in the first place.

I looked around at Vasu and Vishal standing near the window and laughing at my discomfort. The classroom, the last one in that corridor, was empty. Smita hadn’t arrived as yet. We took the same bus, as her home was on the same route as mine. But today she was missing. I had to go to the canteen where the public phone booth was, to call her.

By now, Vineeta had moved on to her US leg of the trip quite literally. “You know that’s where I bought these jeans. See, the legs fit so beautifully. These Indian companies are simply hopeless, I tell you.”

Sugandha and Saima let out another dutiful ooh . My politeness cup had brimmeth over, and I was about to scream, when the staff room peon barged in. Bless the man.

“Mr. Gupta is on leave, so no class today.”

We let out a collective cheer. “That’s wonderful, that’s awesome,” said Vineeta, and I was ready to bang my head with the wall, but was again interrupted by her. “By the way, Dinesh I heard you topped last year’s final exam?”

That I had, and as modestly and nonchalantly as I could, I nodded.

“Ooooh, that’s wonderful, that’s awesome,” smiled Vineeta.

**************************************************

In my opinion there are very few things tougher than walking into a chemist shop and asking for a condom, with the staff there giving an all-knowing look it s sad that such a useful product doesn’t have an equally ostensible alternative usage. I am sure if it did, it would have aided in controlling our population to a great extent. Anyways, I found something more difficult than buying condoms and that was finding a gynecologist. For reasons of ease, I chose to meet a lady doctor after all, ladies are supposed to be more gentle and understanding. Perhaps, a bit high on the morality side, but I was ready to bear that.

So, with a handy Yellow Pages Directory, I short listed a few prospective ones. To say I was nervous is a gross understatement. Despite knowing that I was only on the phone, and could disconnect it any moment, I found a thick layer of perspiration on my forehead. The first call was a disaster. The receptionist wanted more details than I was ready to offer. And horridly, the line was not clear; she made me repeat everything.

“Can you just put me across to the doctor please!” I finally pleaded with her, and was almost in tears of relief when I heard her transferring the line. I was just about regaining my confidence when a stern voice burst in, Dr. Mukherjee here, “How can I help you?”

I was so terrified that I bleated, “Doctor, do you get pregnant?”

Even as the words leapt out of my lips, I could feel the phone burn against my ears and I dropped the receiver in embarrassment.

I decided to personally visit the next one. I felt a dialogue face to face would be easier, and more convincing. I chose a lady doctor by the name of Dr. Anjali Mehra, just because the name sounded soft and that she had her clinic in the southern side of the city, a criteria I was careful about farther the clinic, the better it was for Smita.

The clinic was a small rectangular room, with the receptionist’s corner on the far left side. A green curtain flew over an opening which led to the doctor’s cabin. An ungainly girl, enormous in size stood behind the desk. Her voice boomed in the small room. I have always felt that the receptionists and secretaries often act more snootily than their masters. This one was no different as she issued orders to the peon, and swept aside a demure patient to a corner seat. To my horror, she turned out to be a compounder as well and gave off a stern lecture on eating medicines on time as she handed it over to the woman who had just exited the doctor’s cabin.

The demure patient in the corner was next. The ogre bade her inside and looked at me. Once again, nervousness gripped me. Avoiding her gaze, I picked up the tattered ancient issue of Femina lying on the center table and flipped its pages. All this while, my mind was whirring. Concentrate, Dinesh. Concentrate on what you have to say. For good effect last night, I had prepared my opening lines to the doctor: “Doctor, A friend is pregnant and I would like to take your help in the abortion,” I rehearsed the lines repeatedly.

Yet, despite the mental rehearsal I was caught off guard when the huge monster blared out, “Go in, your turn mister.”

I entered a sparse room with a table, chair and an examining bed on the left side. The doctor, a smart middle-aged lady, wearing gargantuan black plastic spectacles, looked at me a trifle surprised to see a man alone, I guess.

“Yes, how can I help you?” she asked.

I felt my face redden and the blood gushing against my temple. A bead of perspiration ran down my sideburns onto the burning cheeks, and despite my best intentions, I blurted out, “I am pregnant and want your abortion!”

**********************************************

The rains in Delhi follow a strange cat-and-mouse game with the Met Department. When it says the monsoons are right around the corner, they will refuse to pour themselves. And just when the Met Department makes a solemn announcement about a drought situation, they will gleefully empty their hearts out. That early nineties summer was no different story. Had I been working in Met. Deptt. I would have died of a complex!

It was a wet Monday late July morning and like the past four days, it was raining heavily. Even though we were in the same bus, Smita and I couldn’t talk as a thick bunch of travelers separated us. On alighting, we exchanged pleasantries and I informed that I had finally managed to seek an appointment with a lady doctor.

“It’s becoming so difficult to hide it from mummy,” Smita said quietly. “I feel guilty all the time!”

As admitted earlier I am extremely bad when it comes to offering solace and comfort. Often I open my mouth, only to find my foot firmly placed in it. Hence, I kept quiet and murmured something to the effect that “sab theek ho jaayega” – a line straight off the last released Bollywood potboiler!

We entered the classroom, and immediately I wanted to rush out of it.

Our faces must have been awfully grim to elicit those enquiring looks from everyone. The silence was so thick that even a blunt knife could have cut a neat slice through it. Smita set her bag down and smiled wanly at all. Her pale face made a few clamor around her fussing about the supposed ‘fever’ that she had. I hate to admit this, but I felt superior in that one freak moment. Here was I, who had the full inside information quite literally too on her ailment. And there were those poor souls giving free advice on various medicines available to ward off the proliferating viruses that come along with the rains.

“It’s awesome, it’s wonderful,” I caught Vineeta cooing, “Smita, you should try that. My mother took it and the fever vanished in a day.” I wasn’t really sure which elixir she was talking about, but definitely was confident that only Vineeta could describe a medicine as awesome and wonderful .

Since not much love flowed between Vineeta and Smita, I saw the latter with a plastic smile trying her best to be polite.

Vasu’s eye caught mine and he gestured me to meet outside the room. I was curious. I liked Vasu – short, fair and cleanshaven, he came across as decent and well behaved. He was a faithful ally in marking my proxies whenever I was in the mood to bunk. And also, and more importantly, we were kiddishly bound together by our common hatred against Vineeta!

Once outside, I enquired of his secret talk.

“What’s wrong with Smita,” his voice pounced on me, and I recoiled like a snake stepped on its tail.

“What’s wrong with her?” I snapped back. “Just fever, why?”

“Cut out the crap buddy,” he said irritably. “You know it pretty well. I know it. And you will be shocked to know, majority of the class knows it!” His voice increased like a rising crescendo at the end of a well orchestrated symphony though the only applause he got was a deafening silence.

“Err… I don’t get you, Vasu,” I finally found my tongue after several heavy seconds.

“She’s pregnant, no? And that…” he stopped mid-way.

“And what?” I asked, with a force on the last word.

“And that either you or Ashish is the father!”

I slapped him across the cheek. I think it was the false accusation, which made me do that. But on hindsight, I reckon it was more the regret that I wasn t the father that made me imprint a solid mark on Vasu’s fair cheeks.

He staggered before regaining control. I admit I was amazed at his reticence. On my part, had someone slapped me, I would have either slapped back, or perhaps walked away. But he only complained, “Hell, what’s wrong with you?”

His small face held the most lost-puppy look, and I hugged him, patting his head like one would do to a hapless dog that has been ridiculed. “I am sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to do that but this business is getting so out of hand that I lost control.”

He pulled apart, and rubbing his cheek eyed me nervously. “It’s ok. You have heavy hand.” And you have tough cheeks! My hand was still ringing with the slap that I had implanted on his face.

“Sorry,” I repeated.

“Ok. ok. But how will you stop this from spreading?” he asked. The mind, as I often say, is a curious museum of multifarious images filed randomly within the folds of innumerable gray cells. And like the google search of today, it can cough up some outlandish image at any trigger. As Vasu spoke, the only thing that came to my brain was the film about a forest fire that I had seen on Doordarshan a few days back, spreading and engulfing any tree that came its way. Sadly, I also realized that fire-fighting is not exactly my forte.

“That bitch Vineeta is already too happy to tell it to anyone who comes her way,” Vasu continued. “According to her, Smita deserved it!”

The fire was not just in the images now. It was burning within me, the wild flames gushing alongwith my blood in the charred veins. I ran inside the classroom, banging the door open. Everyone fell silent and looked at me. My memory fails me now, so I don’t recall what exactly I said. But in that terrible moment of frustration, and seeing Vineeta engaged in a supposedly sweet talk with Smita, I think I bluntly told her to call off the bluff.

She understood, because she looked at Smita guiltily, though no speech came out of her goddamn awesome and wonderful mouth!

Looking at Smita I said, “They all know about it.” My sore voice grated against the coarse silence.

She looked up at me- terror, vulnerability and shame mixed in those limpid pools of her wine-like eyes, ready to brim over any instant, the pupils rapidly moving to seek solace from their pain, her tender mouth ajar in disbelief, the color drained out from her rosy cheeks, and the body shivering like a lone leaf against a monstrous storm. She dropped her head, and I leaned forward to hold her. When her body touched mine, it was shaking uncontrollably, and I felt the warmth of her tears seeping through my thin cotton shirt, and soaking my soul with the immense grief that flowed from her eyes, uncontrolled and unbridled.

Vineeta walked towards me. I fired a million hatred darts from my stony eyes. “I am sorry,” she whispered and walked out of the room.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Three

I am sure I will need to take another birth to fully comprehend the pain that Smita underwent on that rainy July afternoon. I don’t clearly recall for how long we sat in that claustrophobic room trying in vain to comfort her. She didn’t speak much, disinfection but the tears didn’t stop either. Her pretty face was smudged with the kohl streaming along with the tears. It was a Herculean task making her move from the room to the bus stop. Stripped off her dignity and having lost her peer acceptance, information pills she eyed every stranger with dread and fear, for sale and wondered as to how many really knew about her condition.

She took the next few days off.

As for Vineeta, her apology sounded so sincere that I had no reason to disbelieve her. It was a couple of days later, while walking towards Patel Chest Institute, to catch my bus home that I saw two very familiar figures. My blood and feet froze in their tracks. Ashish Sehgal and Vineeta Chawla were walking hand in hand towards a sleek white Maruti 1000 parked some distance away.

That evening, Vasu and I sat perched on the balcony of his bachelor’s pad, a few kilometers away from the college. The sun was setting behind the gray curtain of clouds, which it had failed to disperse for the past few days. Nature’s hand painted streaks of violet and orange in violently random strokes across Delhi s flat skyline. The air was moist and humid, though it wasn’t raining any longer. We sat, with two Kingfishers between us. My beer capacity was still in its nascent stage. And with the first bottle down, I could feel myself swim in haziness.

With Vasu, the friendship had been good and deep and our natural love for beer had sealed it further, and opened up many reserves that would have normally left potted in the college and canteen meetings.

“What should I do?” I asked Vasu finally, after we had beat around the bush for some while, till the time there was no bush left to thrash.

“You want me to state what you seem to have decided already?” he counter questioned.

Perhaps, yes!

Not getting any audible reply from me, he took a deep breath and said, “Dinesh, accept the child and her!”

This was exactly what I wanted to hear. I was relieved. Still, for sake of convincement I asked, “But will that be fair?”

“That,” he reasoned, “would be perfect.”

“And Ashish?”

“Leave him,” he said nonchalantly.

“You can’t do anything to him, can you?”

I was silent. His point was convincing. It made sense. But still, within me, I wanted to be sure I had all other doors closed before I countered Smita. So I decided to have a word with Ashish, even though I knew nothing would come off it. No, let me put it this way, even though I desperately wished that nothing would come off it!

*****************************************

Despite it being a natural act, there is something unnaturally exciting about sex and in college it makes for a great topic to discuss; and I suspect during those years, it is more talked about than actually done. In the still prudish nineties, a pregnant girl in a Delhi college was a colossal scandal. It towered over bus conversations, canteen small-talks and class room discussions; and it dwarfed all other polite pleasantries. Students found a wonderful alternative to begin conversations, other than the ubiquitous weather, politics and films!

To my horror I realized this the hard way, while traveling on the U-Special bus. A bunch of students, who could qualify as extras in films to dance behind the hero while he chased the leading lady but were under the mistaken belief they were the hero themselves, were standing precariously near the exit. I stood sandwiched somewhere behind, between two burly third year students, who looked like having watched too many Sunil Shetty films.

“Pata hai Kirorimal College mein kya chal raha hai?” one voice said.

“Kya? It’s such a rookha-sookha college. No hot babes there,” his friend remarked.

“Yeah, but it has heat other ways. Ek ladki pregnant hai wahan pe!”

“Don’t tell me”

“Sachi?”

“Ekdum. Hundred percent sahi news hai.”

“Tu jaanta hai usse?”

“Na, but I think science mein hai.”

Small relief! They had got the class wrong by a far margin.

“Kya jaldi thi usse dene mein,” laughed the second voice.

“Ha ha, kyun nahi. She should have come to us. Protection bhi de dete.”

“Waise, ab pata laga le kaun hai. Ek baar ho gaya, baar baar se kya sharam ?”

“Ha ha, Sahi kah raha hai. But be careful, maine suna hai she is the daughter of a politician. Kahiin baap teri na maar le baad mein.”

That was another factual error. I don’t know why the Chinese are blamed for their whispers, but I am convinced that the Indians are no less. As I embarrassingly heard the conversation, I understood that facts were hugely distorted and since we all love spices, a large measure was added to it. Over the next two days, I came to know that the scandal in college was a very hot topic. Whenever I heard it, I wanted to scream that she was raped, and she was innocent and pure. But I guess, no one would have understood. Date rape meant the girl called for it! But then, I can’t really blame the boys, because had this happened in some far off college, to some unknown girl, I am sure I would have partook in such lewd conversations with the same degree of interest and enthusiasm. Boys will be boys, after all! And we aren’t really conditioned to understand a girl’s feelings.

***************************************

Vishal Kathuria was another close confidante in my class. He spoke less, listened more and was generally a person with a happy disposition with a mysterious Buddha-like smile ever on his lips settled permanently below a thick bush of moustache. He was tall, dark though not necessarily very handsome. Yet, his appeal lay in an earthiness that kept the girls wondering if he would make a suitable boyfriend material. He didn t come from a very rich background, which made him pretty grounded and more likeable. He was one of those kind souls who was friend to all, and didn’t crystallize himself to any one group or gang . He had his own dreams, though I don t think he was anywhere near fulfilling them, or making any efforts to reach there. For me, he was a trusted bank vault any number of secrets could be stored there, and only a handful specialized people could open him up. Thankfully, I was one such specialized person.

Vishal and I had met on the first day of college. Since we stayed on the same side of town, our bus route was common. We were both freshers ragged by rowdy seniors in the bus itself. Mercifully, it was only to raunchily sing the then super hit double-entendre laden number Choli ke peechhe kya hai . Vishal has a coarse voice which rivaled Ila Arun s hefty intonations of the original number. I don t think I was half as effective as the other singer, but I plugged in enough sexiness to ensure that the seniors were pretty amused and let us off soon. This friendly duet began our friendship.

That day, he came up to me, a bit flushed and excited. We were in front of the in-house theater, next to the science wing, overlooking the path that led to the canteen. “You know why Smita is off for the past few days?” Quite likely, Mr.Zen had got the news pretty late, and was quite animated to share it with someone. Sorry, he chose the wrong person. I had had enough of the conversation in the bus that morning. Before I could reply, he was brimming to give the information on his own. “You know she used to go on all those dates with…”

“…Ashish Sehgal, and that she is carrying his baby,” I interjected, angrily. “And that she has been thrown out of her house, which in reality is not true.”

He had the grace to turn white.

“Also that it is the second month, and that she is getting the damn thing aborted at Khanna’s clinic in Greater Kailash,” I added for good measure.

He blinked like a kid whose toy has just been snatched away, and who is summoning up all the energy and tears to give a loud bawl.

“So you know about it?” he said, dejected.

“Of course I know about it. The whole college knows about it. The whole university knows about it. So who told you all this? Vineeta?”

“Vineeta?” he blinked hard again, genuinely confused. “Why her?”

“Because now the fool is going around with Ashish!” I paused to catch his reaction. “To end up in Smita’s state,” I added bitterly, as an afterthought.

“Vineeta going around with Ashish?” asked Vishal, in disbelief. “you must be crazy! She hates him!”

“Yeah, pretty weird hatred that makes her hold his hand lovingly,” I said sarcastically.

“Abbe, tujhe galti lagi hogi.”

“Oh come on Vishal. I was just a few meters away. My eyesight is not so bad that I wouldn’t recognize Vineeta and Ashish together!”

He wasn’t convinced, which made me very curious. Knowing that he would probably have more dope from the ‘other camp’ , “I pressed on, But tujhe aisa kyun lag raha that she hates Ashish?”

The direct questioning put Vishal off a bit. Flustered he said, “I just overheard her talk with Sunaina this morning. She was saying that he hesitated, that you are wrongly blaming her and saying that she had spread the news about Smita to everyone.”

“Which is a fact!” I interrupted emphatically.

“Arre yaar, poori baat toh sun le,” Vishal said irritably.

“Ok, ok carry on.”

“She was saying that she felt bad that you had felt that she was the one going and spreading this news. She was feeling pity for Smita.”

“Sab bakwaas hai!” I broke in again, boiling mad.

“Arre, phir beech mein bola? Let me at least complete na? Where was I? Yeah, that she was feeling bad about Smita and wanted to cut off Ashish’s balls for the cowardly act he has done.”

“Hypocrite!” I exclaimed.

“Uff, you wont let me complete will you?” he asked exasperated.

“Well, the fact is that she herself was questioning that who could have spread the rumors of Smita’s pregnancy in the class.”

“Woh usne khud ne, aur kis ne?” I burst in again, unable to control my rage.

“Woh aisa kyun karegi?” counter questioned Vishal.

“Because she doesn’t like Smita, and always wanted to downsize her. That’s why!”

“That’s what you think!”

“That’s what the whole world thinks!” I retorted.

“Nahi yaar, I am not convinced,” Vishal said, and he didn’t look convinced either. His lips were pursed, and thoughtfully he said, “Smita and Vineeta might have had differences but I don’t think either can do this to each other. I mean, chhote mote jhagde huein hai, that’s all. This enmity thing is bigger in your mind than in reality. Aise toh, Vasu aur Smita ke beech bhi locha hua tha, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t friends any longer. It’s just that two girls often seclude themselves after some silly cat-fight.” I was silent. After a grand dramatic pause, he concluded, “Your personal prejudice against Vineeta is the cause of your suspicion.”

This was the final blow; it hit where it hurt the most my conscience. I hated Vishal for putting words to a thought that I didn’t want to admit. I knew he was right. I looked out of the window. The rain had begun again. Everything was blanketed in a steady stream of the downpour. My mind was racing like a machine gone awry Smita, Ashish, the pregnancy, Vineeta all mixed together in the continual tip-tap that fell on the lawn.

“Hey Dinesh, Profesor Krishan Arora looking for you,” a classmate called up from behind. I turned and nodded acknowledgement. “He’s waiting in the tutorial room,” the class mate said and vanished.

“Chal Vishal. Let me see what he wants. Probably, something to do with the tutorial classes I had applied for. Milta hun, don’t go away.”

Vishal nodded. “I will see you in canteen”

The tutorial room was on the other side of the college, in the main wing. I passed groups of students carelessly whiling their time below the foyer, shaded from the rain; through the long corridor, that overlooked two small rectangular lawns beyond which the class rooms were lined, one after the other – Economics, English, BA Pass, and so on.

I reached the tutorial room, and politely knocked the door. “May I come in?” I asked – a sentence that always brought back uncomfortable from my early school years, when in my tiny child voice I had squeaked to my English teacher, “Can I go to the toilet?” to which she had replied, “Yes you can, but you may not.”

“Yes, come in,” came the reply from inside the room.

I entered the quiet room cautiously. Prof. Krishan Arora was one of the most loved lecturers- and also the most charming one. He was impossibly tall at 6’3″ , with a lean physique that ended in a very thoughtful face. The peppered beard added weight to his persona. And those eyes could pierce and probe at their own will. No doubt, he was an idol for all more so, for the girls who made sure that they never missed his romantic poetry class. For us boys, he was another rival to contend, plus we always found him a bit overbearing. Perhaps, he was after all, a ladies man!

The room was rectangular, with chairs arranged around its periphery on three sides. It wasn t a regular classroom. And hence the centre was left empty, with just one table, below the gigantic black-board. Prof. Arora sat on the chair, deeply engrossed in reading some book titled English for Science Students.

“Come come Dinesh,” he said, and pointed to the chair in front of the table.

I sat down on its edge, nervously. God knows where all my cockiness evaporated at the mere sight of Prof. Arora.

“Dinesh,” he started. “I have called you for a very important and sensitive matter, which I feel I should discuss with you. I hope you understand?”

I nodded, but in reality I didn’t. Before entering the room, I had sanguinely hoped that he would ask me to join his more vibrant tutorial group, so that I could get rid of the awful teacher that I was assigned to. But as I heard him, I realized that such a routine matter didn’t warrant a somber expression. Still, since he had fallen silent, I piped in, “I guess it is about my tutorial application?”

“Well, that we will see later on,” he smiled. “But at the moment,” he continued, stroking his peppered beard broodingly, “I want to talk about Smita.”

I nearly stumbled from my chair. Ok, this was a dream, and I would end any moment with my mother waking me up.But no, this wasn’t ending so soon, as I heard Prof. Arora’s next question, “Is she really pregnant?”

No, this is all a silly rumor, I felt like saying. But I did the mistake of looking up into his eyes. Like two sharp laser beams, they gorged into me, and with a dry mouth I mumbled an affirmative.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to assuage, “Relax, please,” he added. I would have but only if his eyes allowed me to do so. “I am the only one to know of it, at least I think so.”

You think wrongly, for all you know the whole world knows it. But nothing escaped my lips. Blankly, I sat there mute.

“Ashish Sehgal is my nephew – my sister’s son, I think you know that?” he went on. Another unexpected blow of course, I knew no such thing. How was I to know of Ashish’s relatives in the faculty? Smita hadn’t told me either. And I wondered if she herself was aware of this. “I don’t want his name unnecessarily dragged in this sordid matter. He paused, trying to gain some reaction from my vacant face. I am sad to see that he is getting unnecessarily dragged in this unwanted controversy.” At this, I raised a questioning eyebrow. “Aah, I see that you also seem to believe that he is the culprit.” My eyebrow drooped in disgust. Still, I kept quiet. “I have seen that you and Smita are good friends, so I thought I should first have a word with you. I want her to keep Ashish out of this.”

I nodded, trying desperately to find some meaningful words to say. At last, I said, “But he is the well, he is… I mean, he is the…”

“I don’t think so. He belongs to a very good family. His father is a reputed businessman. And often gives huge donations to the college trust.”

So, there it was family honor cake topped with the monetary cherry, all baked and ready to smother poor Smita’s chance of defense. But I wasn’t going to let this to happen. I took a deep breath, and collecting as much courage as I could, I said, “That’s ok sir. But Ashish is in the wrong. And he should own up to Smita at least. The poor girl is devastated. By the way, she is also from a very good family!” Perhaps, better than Ashish’s, I felt like adding, but discretion tied my tongue.

“I fully understand,” Prof. Arora said, in an even tone that belied any iota of understanding or sympathy. “I have no doubts. And I am sure she is in a bad shape. And that is the reason I didn’t want to talk to her directly, and called you for it. You are a mature boy and will definitely understand that some things are best swept beneath the carpet.”

“In any case, I don t think you have to fear Smita. She wouldn’t say anything. But the tongues are wagging already. Your fear lies somewhere else.”

Prof. Arora stared for a long time, and emphasizing each word, he said, “Since you are the closest to Smita, I want to make sure my fear doesn’t lie in you.” If ever any veiled threat comes up for any award ceremony, I would surely pass on this as an honorable contender.

“I love Smita,” I said, throwing off fear out of the window. I didn’t want to fear a man who was weak enough to give threats. “And I will marry her. Don’t you worry, sir. Ashish doesn’t know what he is losing on. And I don’t think Smita even cares about Ashish any longer! He can go to the nearest available hell.”

I left the room, dizzy, confused, shocked and hurt. My ears burnt in rage and uneasiness. My eyes smarted with sorrow for Smita. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening around me, or as to why I was suddenly the nucleus to a whirling atomic blizzard. I didn’t go to the canteen. I needed to sort my thoughts. I moved away, from the tutorial room, on the opposite side, towards a side exit leading towards the college hostel. A neatly landscaped lawn was to my right hand side, across which was the college boundary wall, with a small gate in-between. Trees lined the wall, and a group of students stood there enjoying the monsoon. I eyed them with envy; they didn’t have the worries that had besot me in the past few days. I stepped into the rain, and looked heavenward, seeking answers from the rain that fell from the gods above. The reply was a steady drum of the rains. I turned my gaze again towards the gate, from where a couple was entering, shielded by a common umbrella, bearing huge red polka dots on its shiny wet surface. Their umbrella tipped a little upward, and I caught their faces. Vineeta and Ashish- holding each other tightly beneath the small umbrella.

Only one question rang continuously in my ears – who do I believe? My eyes or Vishal’s ears?!

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Four

When I reached the canteen, this web Vishal was sitting with Shilpa and Sugandha, quite an unlikely pair to sit together. But with Vineeta now firmly ensconced in Ashish’s arms and Saina probably busy with one of her umpteenth beauty parlor appointments, I guess Sugandha had to latch on to some other life force to survive her measly existence.

Shilpa Saxena’s breezy beauty made her a natural choice to play the leading lady in many dramas. Fortunately, she had talent as well. Last year, I had seen her play Desdemona in Shakespeare’s Othello during the Annual Dramatics Society Festival. She did the part with such consummate finesse that it came as no surprise when she won an award for it. A few months later, she made a brief appearance as Queen Helen of Troy in Christopher Marlowe’s morality play Faustus, and with her peaches-and-cream complexion, she looked so ravishingly beautiful that the line ‘a face that launched a thousand ships’ seemed to be written especially for her.

Since she spent more time at the theater than the class, our interaction had always been minimal. But whatever there had been, it was always mutually satisfying especially, her knowledge of literature was deep-rooted. Our debates on the nuances of Shakespeare, or the sub-text in John Donne, would go well beyond the normal text-book discussions. When she spoke emphatically to prove her point, the feral dance of her animated eyes was extremely appealing.

The canteen in our college was a badly lit grim rectangular room, hastily white washed, with tables and chairs carelessly strewn. On one end was the huge stone counter, behind which was the kitchen. More than the canteen, it was the partially covered foyer in front of it, and the lawn that extended beside it, that were the favorite of the students.

Vishal, Sugandha and Shilpa sat just outside the canteen’s entrance, below the foyer, on the farther corner. I dragged an empty chair and sat with them.

“Mil aaya Arora se? Kya kaha?” asked Vishal.

I smiled wanly, and said, “Kuchh nahi, routine yaar,” hastily, to avoid any further queries from him. I couldn’t have told the real reason for Arora’s calling me, here. For a split second, Vishal looked at me curiously, but didn’t press further.

“So what’s new Shilpa?” I turned to her, to change the topic.

“Bas, naye play kii rehearsals chal rahin hai,” and she gave a good five minutes monologue on the layers available beneath the supposedly simple surface of Becket’s Waiting For Godot a play which I didn’t care much about. “You be there to watch it. We are hosting it first at the Hindu College Fest.”

“Sure, I’ll be there, wouldn’t dare to miss your play!” I assured, more interested in seeing her performance, than the play per se.

Sugandha had been silent all this while. I turned to her. “Aap kuchh nahi bolengii, madam?”

She gave a stupid smile, which showed her small square fox-like teeth, and replied, “Ab do mahanubhav baithe baat kar rahe ho toh mai kya kahuun. Ek topper, ek super actor!” I could sense a trace of sarcasm there. But I let it go.

We lived in the same colony, and took the same bus home. Still, our conversation during those daily journeys had been so antiseptically clean that Dettol could have easily sponsored it.

“So why is the trio disbanded today? Where are Vineeta and Saina? You not with them today?” I gave back my own brand of sarcasm.

Again that idiotic smile. “I am not tied to them.” Aah! Point one to me! This time there was a definite hint of irritation. “Saina had a parlor appointment and Vineeta has gone home early,” she offered.

I raised a questioning eyebrow. “Sure?”

The stupid smile chilled on her flat visage. “Yeah, kyun?” Round two to me!

I gave a sweet look and said,”Aise hi yaar, don’t get hyper. Of course you would know better!”

Sugandha recovered soon, “Ha ha, yeah yeah. Waise, Smita nahi aayi kuchh dinon se?” Uh oh ! All points to her. She had touched a raw nerve.

“Yeah, what’s this I hear about Smita?” Shilpa butted in. “I mean, is this really true?”

Even before I could answer, I saw Sugandha’s huge oily head bouncing wildly in affirmation. My discomfort would have been visible, and Sugandha was clearly having fun pouring a bucketful of salt on my raw wounds!

“Sad, no?” said Shilpa. Thank goodness, she sounded genuinely concerned. “You know what Dinesh? When I first heard of it, I was sure it couldn’t be Smita. She comes across as a sensible person, not someone who would get into such a mess.”

I pursed my lips. “Hmm,” and shrugged to denote an it happens kind of sentiment.

“I am sure it is terrible for her,” Shilpa went on. “I mean, if I were put in her situation, goodness knows what I would do. Probably, jump off the balcony or something. I really shudder to think of it. Dinesh, give me her number. I will call her up. I think at this point, she needs friends and acceptance the most.”

I gave her the number that was on top of my mind’s address book. She noted it carefully in her small telephone diary. As she wrote, I saw she had a very strong and controlled handwriting much like her own self. I was happy to see that there was someone who was more bothered about Smita as a person, than just about Smita as a scandal in college. I had begun to feel that everyone had forgotten that behind the juicy gossip was a living person who breathed and felt just like anyone of us.

We sat for some more time before parting ways. Shilpa went back to her rehearsals, Sugandha ended up in the library, a place where she was fit to be enshrined. Vishal and I walked to the bus stop. The rain had subsided, and our feet splashed on the puddles as we made way towards Patel Chest Institute.

I downloaded the entire conversation I had with Krishan Arora. As ever, Vishal offered no comment. For all I knew, I could have spoken into a recording machine with the playback button missing.

“Waise, Shilpa ne ek baat pate kii kahii,” he said, as we rounded a corner to reach the stop.

“Kya?”

“That Smita really needs love and care the most at this time. I wonder if she is getting it, even from you.”

“Meaning?”

“True friendship probably. Think about it. I think we have all been taken up by the enormity of the ‘scandal’,” he said, making a quotation mark sign with his hands, “that we seem to have forgotten that perhaps we should be just normal with her, like we were before, and not remind her of the problem round the clock.”

“Hmmm…”

Not getting a very voluble response from me, he continued after a pause. “She has lost her self esteem, her confidence and her peace of mind. This sudden glare of the entire class and college has made her feel very small worst of all, in her own eyes. She’s probably very insecure. Come on, she is not the first unwed mother, not the last, but the whole exercise of being interrogated even by you I guess has had a very bad effect. His emphasis on very sent a shiver down my spine. Self love is a precious thing to lose. It makes a person weak from within. All his defenses are destroyed; he remains like a wounded animal, watching and waiting in fear for the hunters to arrive. At that moment, one can cross the thin line dividing sanity from madness.”

I wasn’t sure where his monologue was leading. I wondered if he himself was. Strangely, I realized that despite being friends, we had never really talked about our past lives. Was he bringing all this out from his own experience? At that moment, I felt woefully sad to realize that we had remained only superficial friends, something that was probably amiss from my side, since being the more extrovert person I should have tried to bridge the gap.

“At this time, Dinesh, just be around her normally as you would had this not happened,” Vishal said. “And I stress normally. Please.”

I nodded.

*******************************************

Even though I thought I had understood, as soon as I met Smita, I realized to my utmost horror that I really didn’t know how to behave normally, especially when my illogical eyes went, on their own free will, towards her still flat tummy. This was going to be very tough for me.

I told her about college and the classes in the past few days, about the awful rains that I am sure she also knew about since her house had windows and about some trivial news items. But clearly, it was a sham, and I think she saw through it.

Before entering her apartment I was sure that I wouldn’t talk about my meeting with Mr. Arora, and certainly not about Vineeta and Ashish. But when an awkward silence befell between us, and out of the blue she said, “Ashish hasn’t called as yet,” I couldn’t help blurting out that “probably he is too busy with Vineeta to bother about you.”

Evidently, it was a very bad thing to say and as always I found that my foot had managed to lodge itself in my mouth. But her reaction was so numb that I feared she would faint and despite my friendship, I didn’t want to be alone with a fainted pregnant girl in her own house. Well, make that in anyone’s house, or better any place!

“But I could be wrong too, I tried to clean up the air, and told of what Vishal had overheard,” but since I was on my own not convinced, I don’t think I passed it on much convincingly.

Since the curtain of normalcy had already been ripped apart, I went on to narrate my meeting with Mr. Arora. This was the biggest mistake. She burst out like a volcano raised from its dormancy.

“And who are you to speak on my behalf?” she exclaimed, taking me completely off guard.

This was depressing. All that I was doing was to help her, and she was chiding me for no reason at all. I tried to explain that I had merely repeated to Mr. Arora what she had said at her own place some days back.

“Listen Dinesh. Just get one thing straight. No one can take Ashish’s place in my heart. He may have ditched me right now, but I have spent some wonderful moments with him, and have been close to his heart, and I am sure there is a valid reason for his not owning up!”

I was very pissed off at her reaction. “My! My! How you talk! You know that he is going around with Vineeta, you know that all your wonderful moments were nothing but carnal pleasure for him. You yourself said you hate him, and now you make me sound like some third rate villain.”

“Dinesh, if you think by creating enmity in my heart for Ashish, you will succeed in finding a place there, you are sadly mistaken!” she spoke sharply.

“That’s not what I’m doing ?”

“That’s what it looks to me. You are distorting facts, and interpreting them the way you want them to be. I never said I did not want to marry Ashish. I still love him. You could have used your meeting Mr. Arora to get that point across, and probably help me reach Ashish. But no, you chose to put your agenda ahead there.”

“What are you saying? I was only trying to protect you.”

“I am not yours to protect. You told all that to Mr. Arora to ruin my chances of marrying Ashish and then take pity on me and claim me!”

“You are not an object that I have to claim, Smita. I genuinely care for you!”

“Stop it, Ashish, pl…”

“I am Dinesh! Smita!!!”

“Yeah yeah, Dinesh, Ashish you all are the same. Leave now please, I have had enough of men, opportunists all of you…”

She closed her eyes, and was breathing heavily. I wasn’t sure what to do, but the next instant she cried, “Please. Just leave. I want to be alone…”

Despite her rudeness, I was a bit hesitant to leave her in this excited state. Yet, I knew better. It was no point in sticking around; also, my wounded ego was spurring me to run away from her house immediately.

On my journey homewards, the conversation with Smita played like a stuck reel in my mind. Suddenly, I felt very unsure about everything. A few months back I had attended a pravachan at the local Arya Samaj Mandir. It was on the Vedas. The speaker an eloquent person with a deep soothing voice had said that a person leaves the road of truth for two reasons: fear and greed. If Smita was right that I had left truth, what could be my reason? Fear? What did I fear? Probably losing Smita, whom I had started to love. Greed? Yes, probably I was greedy greedy to want her, to want her love which, I think I lost forever that day.

I also debated whether I should still talk to Ashish, now that Smita had disowned me. One part of me said that I should. Instead of going back to Mr Arora (and I shuddered at the thought), I should make Ashish realize his mistake, and hence retrieve whatever I could of Smita s battered trust and friendship. The other half said that I should distance myself, and wipe off my hands from this matter forever!

When I reached home, I hadn’t made any decision.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Five

The next day, information pills Vishal and I finished with classes and took the early U-special back. Smita was still absent, viagra order and I hadn t called her up either.Despite the early hour, the bus was overcrowded; we got into it with difficulty, stepping on someone’s shoe here and on another’s toe there. After a dozen apologies and a couple of abuses, we managed to reach a relatively safe corner and lodged ourselves till Pusa Road, from where the bus began to empty itself.

I looked around for familiar faces there were only a few that I recognized.

“Strange people have started commuting in this bus,” observed Vishal.

“Yeah, freshers probably,” I replied.

“Hey Dinesh, how are you man?” a voice called. I looked up at an obese guy wriggling his way towards us. I knew him distantly. He had met me several times earlier during the college fest. I recalled he was from St. Stephens, also doing English Hons. I wasn’t particularly impressed by him, and rued the fact that St. Stephens had chosen to admit him rather than myself.

“Arun, how are you?” I answered politely, when he was right next to us. I hated his chummy attitude, my hatred driven more by jealousy than any other tangible factor.

“Fine yaar. How’s you? College kaisa chal raha hai?”

“College toh wahiin khada hai, hum hi chal rahe hai,” I quipped.

He let out a low chuckle. “Waise, tumhara college is going great guns suna hai ek ladki pregnant ho gayii hai wahan pe,” he winked lewdly.

“Kitna bada ajooba hai na?” I stared at him coldly.”Pahli baar duniya mein kabhi koi ladki pregnant hui hai.”

Probably he didn’t get the sarcasm, because his overt good naturedness continued to flow, “Nahii yaar, it’s quite a scandal, considering that your college is so colorless. Had it been from Miranda House, no one would have batted an eyelid. After all, Miranda House ka MH stands more for Maternity Home,” he laughed, with another all-knowing wink. “Waise, tu jaanta hai kaun ladki hai, humein bhi milade na?”

I was aghast and nauseated. It was impossible for me to listen to this nonsense. Smita was not this kind of girl. If only they could see the purity and innocence in her!

“Nahin, I don’t know,” I hissed, and turning to Vishal I said, “Let’s get down here, I have to pick up a few things for dad,” and as I pushed towards the exit, I half turned and hastily said, “Bye Arun, see ya later…”

We started to move ahead towards the exit. Vishal trailed behind and mumbled something about the foolishness of getting down there since the bus service in the area was poor.

“I don’t care. I can’t hear this nonsense any longer,” I flung a quick reply to him and motioned the driver to stop at the signal for us to get down.

Irritably, I walked to a roadside restaurant, dumped my worn out black bag onto the next seat, and sat down heavily, dropping my head in my hands.

“Kya hua?” Vishal asked, “You never were like this before. Why have you become so touchy?”

“I don’t know,” I clicked my tongue part disgustingly, part resignedly. “But I just cannot bear to hear such remarks about Smita!”

“You love her?” asked Vishal.

“Bilkul. With my heart and soul,” I emphasized.

“And mind?”

“Huh?” I was taken aback. What sort of question was this? “Matlab?”

“Matlab yeh ke kabhi dimag se socha hai ke how you want to take it forward. Sirrf love kahne se toh nahi baat banegi na? Your parents, her parents, society all that have you thought over it all?”

I hadn’t. But I wasn’t admitting that, either. “My parents will be ok. I am their only son. They have always accepted my decision,” I reasoned, more to myself than to him though, even as I said it, I started to doubt it.

“Ok, that’s good. And her parents? Kya kahoge unnse? Ke mai aapki beti se shaadi karrna chahta hun, kyunki woh pregnant hai.”

“Oh, Vishal, come on now. Stop being dramatic. You know its not going to be this way!”

“Ok, but someone will have to tell her parents you or her. By the way, is she getting an abortion?”

“Yeah, she is, though you know I feel that I should marry her and allow the child to live on. Even she initially wanted that.” I was again making castles in thin air, trying to be a great champion of justice.

“Marriage or child?”

“What?”

“I mean what did she initially want to have the child or to marry you, or both?”

“The child,” I replied.

“Have you told her?”

“What?”

“That you want to marry her.”

“Yeah.”

“And her reaction?”

“Negative.”

“And you still want to marry her?” he asked, his eyes wide open and disbelief written boldly across his face.

I shook my head and repeated to him ad verbatim what happened at Smita’s place the last evening.

“And you really still want to marry her?” he repeated his question, like a stuck record. His practical outlook was irritating but I reckon it was absolutely correct.

“But I love her,” I stated obstinately.

“There, we are back to square one! Your love is immaterial and doesn’t matter in the entire scheme of things. She doesn’t love you.”

“She’ll love me,” I went on stubbornly. “She will also realize that it is best to marry a person who loves you than the one whom you love.”

“Bookish philosophy; impractical in real life,” he stated. “I suggest you wait for sometime. Allow her to abort this baby. Even if your utopic views do turn out to be true, ek cheez bataa honestly can you live your entire life with Ashish’s baby?”

I was about to say yes but stopped mid-way. All this while, I had only thought of the unborn child as Smita’s, forgetting that it was Ashish’s progeny too. Suppose he got Ashish’s looks? I dreaded the thought.

I conceded to his argument and we started for home, leaving behind an irate waiter grumbling about customers who leave without ordering anything. From the looks of the rundown restaurant, it seemed that we were not the only ones doing that.

Thankfully, Route No 755, which led to our neighborhood, was chugging along a rundown Blue Line bus, horribly derelict, and impossibly crowded.

“Did you have a chat with Ashish?” asked Vishal, as we got into the overcrowded bus.

I was able to say a “No” before we got into the struggle to waggle some space for ourselves. My thoughts were bit more clear today. I would talk to Ashish, although I had no hope for his ever accepting Smita, but it just might make her understand that I really meant well, and perhaps see the reason in accepting me in the end!

***************************************

Ashish Sehgal, the scion of Sehgal Group of Industries which included a famous tyre brand, one five star hotel and sundry other businesses, was six feet tall with a well toned body, evidently the result of several hours of work out in the gym. He had a slim waist, and wore a tight Lee Jeans, below a figure hugging white T-shirt with a small Nike logo on the right hand side of his broad chest. The T-shirt accentuated his six pack abs, and brazingly revealed well developed biceps. He had a thin, longish clean-shaven and fair face, with well proportioned celtic features, which to me didn’t seem anyhow attractive, but I guess one needed a girl’s eyes to view it. His hair was short and cropped, and I suspect already showing signs of a receding hairline. It was with some glee I noted that in a few years he might go bald.

It wasn’t too tough to find him. I had often seen him near the front gate in the mornings, eyeing lasciviously anything that came in skirt or Punjabi suit. That day too, he was there, with a bunch of cronies.

It wasn’t raining, though the weather was cloudy and dark, and it threatened to pour any moment. The ground was still wet from the previous night’s incessant downpour.

As ever, I had rehearsed the entire conversation, and this time I was determined not to make a fool of myself.

“Excuse me, Ashish,” I said, with a tone of extreme confidence, and took him out of his gang. In trying to sound controlled, my voice was probably a wee bit louder than usual, for his friends also eyed me suspiciously.

“Yeah?” he asked in a faux drawl, perhaps a consequence of his recent US trip.

“I don’t think you have recognized me. We met once earlier. I am Smita’s friend,” I began my rehearsed dialogue.

He eyed me blankly; his face, expressionless. In any case, I found his face holding a very stupid and dumb look. Thank heavens, he wasn’t in films, I thought. He would be another perfect non-actor beefcake, destined to flop after a few films.

“Smita who?” he asked, after a prolonged silence.

I was caught off-guard, and left speechless. Of all the possible reactions, I had never anticipated that he would come up with this!

Licking my lips in an obvious display of nervousness rearing its ugly head, I stammered out, “Smita in my class, second year English.” I tried to say it slowly, evenly and patiently, trying to suppress my anger and irritation, though my voice must have carried some modicum of disaffection.

He didn’t reply, but one of his friends who was watching us, sauntered over, and enquired,”Kya hua?”

“Dunno man!” replied Ashish. “He’s asking about some Smita in English Hons.”

I was sure the friend would have also recognized Smita s name. It was impossible that Ashish wouldn’t have boasted to them about his conquest .

“Arre, that hot chick from English,” laughed the friend. “Heard she is pregnant. Lots of hurry she was to do with it,” he added winking lewdly. And he gave a five to Ashish, their hands clapping in a vulgar show of camaraderie. But with this they had also fallen into their own trap, because in the entire college ‘the girl who got pregnant’ was just a vague entity with lots of speculation on her class and year.

“Not to do it,” I shot back in an acerbic tone. “But to be done with. Since your friends know Smita’s exact class and year and no one else in college seems to, I think there is no point in hiding it any further. I never knew Ashish that you would be such a bastard to forget the life you spoilt, ” I added, their apparent lack of concern acting as a catalyst in replacing my nervousness with anger.

In that split second I saw, he was taken aback at the direct accusation- but his reflex action was fast. He pushed me rudely and exclaimed, “Mind your tongue. Bastard kissko bola?”

I staggered backward, but only physically, because within me a fire had erupted. “You bastard for deserting Smita in this state As I stepped backward, I felt my foot hitting into a small puddle and water splashing around the ankles of my light blue jeans.

He lunged forward and held my collar in a tight grip, “Listen man, this is getting too far now!”

“That’s what. It’s gone too far now Ashish. Think about her!” I struggled to speak, my flaring eyes locked in a tight duel with his burning ones.

“Why? I don’t even know her!”

“You know her, she is no stranger!”

“Look, I am not falling in the trap of someone saying she is carrying my baby!”

“I never said it till now. But good you accept it!”

His hold relaxed from my collar. His friend had come forward too, but since all of it happened too soon, he was confused in his reaction. I noticed that a few others from his gang had seen him holding my collar, and sensing trouble they were moving towards us. I felt a drizzle begin.

“Ashish, please understand she needs you,” I pleaded, taking in quick heavy breath.

“Who needs me? I don’t know her,” he went on stubbornly.

“You know her very well,” I argued.

“I don’t. And if this girl is desperate to sleep with me, send her on, I am game. But listen, I ain’t fallin’ in your shitty trap. And why are you talking on her behalf? Are you her pimp?”

“Bastard!”

“Mind your…”

“C’ mon, leave him, Ashish,” his friend, who had been listening our rapid fire exchange, butt in. He eyed me disdainfully, and said, “I guess it’s his baby only…”

“Shut up and mind your own business,” I fired at him.

“Hey you, relax, and get lost, you don’t want to mess with us,” the friend shouted, and turned to Ashish, leading him away, “Chal, let’s move from here.” The others hadn’t intervened till now, but they were bundling around Ashish, asking him as to what had happened. They moved towards the canteen, and I heard Ashish telling his cronies that I was some mad man trying to implicate him falsely.

I felt weak and powerless. Nothing had gone the way I wanted to. Ashish’s flat denial shook me. How could I force his mind? How could I search a man s deliberately impoverished memory? How could I place some reason in his vacuous heart?

Never before had I felt such immense loathing for someone. My aversion towards Ashish built up steadily, as the rain increased its pace, and with each nonchalant swagger that Ashish took away from me. My blood boiled over and smothered any reason that was left there.

I ran up towards him, and pushed him roughly into the bush nearby; he and his friends were caught unawares, and he let out a stifled scream. I was in a half-mad, half-trance like state, and before anyone could react, I pulled him back, and punched his flat and hard abdomen with a force that was till then unknown to me. He doubled up in pain, but not allowing him any chance, I raised a knee and hit his groin, making him let out a loud painful cry.

His friends pounced on me from behind, but I let out a war-like roar, and pushed them hard with mighty force. My entire concentration and focus was on Ashish, and I saw him struggling to get up. But I couldn’t allow him to do that. Pulling him harshly by the collar, I gave another violent push, sending him reeling onto the tough tar road, splattering him onto a muddy puddle, and kicked him hard in the stomach again. His breath slipped and he doubled up in pain. Two of his friends jumped and held me, as another lunged towards his aid. One of the guys who held me gave a sharp kick on my legs, and I found them collapsing in pain. I took a sharp breath to steady myself, but a blow landed on my sides. The pain ran with a furious force to my brain, but it refused to acknowledge it, and lunged violently to shake them off. Their grip on my shoulders was strong, so I turned my energy towards them, and with both my elbows, I punctured their ribs. In the next instant, I swooped down on Ashish again, yanking him upward ruthlessly and I showered him with blows on his chest and stomach. His face was dazed and contorted, but before he could fall, I curled my hand in a tight fist, and landed him a powerful sack on his cheeks, which sent him staggering to the ground.

Suddenly, I saw around me a crowd had gathered. They didn’t intervene, but they were there for a good tamasha standing and watching with mute awe, desperately kicked to have another scandal in college.

Beyond this my memory fails me. I remember leaving the bruised Ashish on the ground, his friends helping him up. The rain was soaking through my shirt, and I felt an acute pain where I had been hit on the shin and sides. My steps were not coherent.

“Bahanchod,” a voice called. I stumbled and turned a bit to see some one call. Ashish’s friend. I recall that sneer.But without stopping, I took a step forward.

The next instant, something hard hit my head and all went blank.

To Be Continued

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Film Review

(Note-Spoilers ahead)

Despite some obvious flaws, buy information pills more about Reema Kagti’s debut venture about six couples is quite crisp and crackling and a giant leap forward from the tedious Salaam E Ishq, which essentially had a similar premise.

Six couples embark on their honeymoon in a bright purple Tata Starbus, and on the way we learn their little foibles, some idiosyncrasies and a few major surprises. The couples are a perpetually crying Gujarati girl (Dia Mirza), who walks out on her husband (Ranveer Sheory) as soon as she spies her former lover (Arjun Rampal); a young-at-heart elderly couple (Boman Irani and Shabana Azmi) who have entered into a hesitant second marriage well past their prime; a bourgouis Bengali couple (Raima Sen and Kay Kay Menon), who learn that it is not that bad to leave their societal shackles sometimes; a hearbroken girl (Sandhya Mridul) who jumps into a quick marriage with an NRI (Vikram Chhatwal) whom she met over the internet, only to discover that he is gay; a talkative Delhi Punju girl (Ameesha Patel) whose dreams are bigger than her realities, and her husband (Karran Kapoor) unravels an hitherto latent bisexual feelings; and, the two Parsis (Abhay Deol and Minnisha Lamba) sengued by their loneliness and Hailey’s comet!

Reema Kagti s biggest triumph lies in involving the audience in the journey. And despite some howlers (for example, Abhay and Minisha discover they are Superboy and Supergirl), she keeps the proceedings at a realistic plane and does not allow any overt gloss or glamour to creep in. It is the small interactions, the tiny dialogues, the everyday interactions which make the film hugely enjoyable. Another credit to her is in the cast selection, which is a perfect fit. Also, all the characters are brought together in one place making the film more cohesive than what Salaam E Ishq was! However, the sense of ‘un-structured-ness’ and non-symmetry in all the stories is trifle irritating.

From the couples Raima Sen and Kay Kay walk away with the best track as they dust off the soot of conventional Indian middle class living from their personalities, ending with Kay Kay dancing uninhibited to the film s best song Sajnaji vaari vaari jaayunji ! The scene where Sen does a paragliding ride and her saree comes off is particularly well-executed and presented; the saree becomes the metaphor for all that dos and donts which she has wrapped herself in, and the breaking free from it is a moment of surprise and joy for her. Both Sen and Menon pitch in a sparkling performance.

The next best couple is the cuties Minishha and Abhay, with their doggy-kitty act in the bedroom, and an extremely fluid dance in the bar. The only dampener is the discovery of being SuperBoy/SuperGirl come on Reema, what was this silly and kiddish thing doing in a film which is otherwise so realistic?!

Boman Irani and Shabana come a close third, though I suspect the director meant them to be the best one. At least, she presents them as the ideal couple. And because of that they end up bland and boring. The track revolving Boman’s daughter not accepting her new mother needed more fleshing out. And the solution (she accepts because she’s ditched by her lover) is too half-baked and very cliched. I was looking forward to some interesting dialogue-baazi!

The climax is a big dampener, and when the end-titles start rolling one is left a bit unsatisfied – this could be taken both as a negative (after all, there is no proper build up towards it or any reason for ending it just there) and a positive (one is enjoying the trip, and could have seen a few reels more!). I personally feel it is the former. In any case, there is no super-story to the six stories, but that s ok I guess, it is the new mantra of film making.

The film has a small-budget feel to it. And even though they are in Goa it doesn’t do much to further the state s tourism cause. The dialogues (Anurag Kashyap) are good.

Musically, Vishal-Shekhar are average and beyond Sajnaji vaari vaari and Pyaar ki ek kahaani suno, there isn t anything worthwhile. In fact, I preferred the old songs used to introduce some of the characters! A word of praise for the choreography of Sajnaji – it is loose, unstructured and open, much like a normal person would dance!

In the end I’d say I agree with Nikhat Kazmi’s review in Times of India, Reema Kagti shows promise, but needs to polish her storytelling technique.

Overall Good Timepass for a Sunday!

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode One

“I am pregnant.”

We were walking towards Patel Chest Institute, buy information pills from where we were to board our bus to return home. I froze in my tracks, contagion and gathered no import of her words, ampoule till she repeated them slowly and quietly this time. There have been many times in my life when I have been left grappling for words, but never has been the impact been as stunning as this; it took the wind out of my sails, and lungs and brain, and drowned me in a sea of sheer confusion.

“Err what how?” I stammered, struggling out desperately from my helplessness, only to be plunged into a bigger whirlpool of curiosity that had suddenly formed itself. “But who is the…”

She hesitated before replying. I stole a glance at her, trying to catch any tell-tale bulge, but it was probably still too early a stage to be visible.

“Ashish Sehgal,” she spoke, barely audible. Once again, she had to repeat the words for them to clearly make their passage through my aural cavities. I realized immediately that her reply would have had a similar impact even if she had mentioned Tom Cruise because I was still not sure how to react. And amidst the confusion, it also struck me that Ashish Sehgal wasn t anyone that I knew intimately or even remotely, for that matter. I mean I knew about him and her, and had met him once when she herself had introduced him as an ex-classmate and a good friend, but that s about it. Only now I came to understand how good the friend was. I was always wary of such rich, accented fellows wearing a ring in their right ears and riding a fancy bike, gifted by their super rich dads. These guys were always popular with college girls. But I had imagined Smita to be different.

“Are you sure you are… er… pregnant?” I made a very clumsy effort to break the silence that had swooped in between us. We were nearly at the bus stop. She stopped, sighed and gave me a sharp glance. I retracted. Of course, she was sure. No girl would like to talk about her pregnancy without being absolutely sure, and definitely not when she is still single and studying in second year college!

Still she was valiant enough to offer an answer. “Yes. The home pregnancy test is positive; the symptoms are all there”

The bus stop, in front of Patel Chest Institute, was a dilapidated shed probably neglected for centuries. It wasn’t our regular stop and we had to walk up till here, a kilometer away from our college, only when we had overstayed for an extra subsidiary class. With time the nomenclature for the stop had been shortened to simply Patel Chest which had sparked its own cheesy PJ: “if Patel was a lady, what would it be called?”

Stationary now, I viewed Smita more closely. She was beautiful, and the focal point of the attraction lay in those large expressive eyes, which she underlined with a bold line of kohl. A pert nose over bow-shaped mouth lent aristocracy to the fair face. And the lush flowing hair added a bounce to her personality. But as I stood watching her on that humid late July afternoon, I concluded that for me she was beautiful from within as well my best friend for the past two years. I did not like the idea of such a sweet girl getting into this messy trouble. I had always thought of her to be a strong girl, coming from a conservative family and one who kept boys, including me, at a respectable distance. To be honest, I admired her ability to ward off some nasty pile-ons from our class. But here she had walked into this, open-eyed and that too, with someone like Ashish!

“You hate him because you are jealous of him,” she had once said, when I had casually objected to her friendship with him.

“Jealous, me? Why?” I replied indignantly.

“Because I am going around with him,” she replied conspiratorially.

“You are kidding me,”

She had left without replying, giving a smile that would have made Mona Lisa’s cryptic one look clearer than a midsummer night’s sky.

Now, I tried to recall as to when this conversation of ours had taken place. It was near the first year exams, was all that I could retrieve from my fuzzy memory. So that made it some four months back. After this I recalled she had spoken about a few of her dates with Ashish. But it hadn t struck me anymore serious than her meetings with me. She was the one who always spoke about the emotional attachments and undying sincerity and purity of love it had not crossed my mind even once that she could get any of these from Ashish!

A few buses stopped and passed by but neither of us bothered to check.

“Have you told Ashish?” I asked, and immediately regretted having opened my mouth. It was yet another silly question, but dammit a man doesn’t get to know about his best friend’s pregnancy everyday and I suppose I had the right to act shaken.

She bit her lip, and her eyes opened wide open. I was prepared for a full blast rebuke this time. But what followed was something unusual. Her eyes were wet. And she was controlling her tears from falling.

“Smita,” I said softly, “Control yourself. Let’s go by an auto we’ll sit and discuss this at your place.”

She nodded absently.

Throughout the twenty five minute journey back we didn’t speak. As we crossed from Delhi University to Shakti Nagar to Shastri Nagar to her house at West Patel Nagar, my mind raced back to the days when we had initially met more than a year back, when both had joined Kirorimal College’s English Hons stream. Smita and I hit it off from the word go. There were many overlapping interests.

There was a small misunderstanding at that time. One bright student, in his zeal to play cupid, had sort of paired us off. The next morning when she was having her coffee, casually she had remarked, “too much jhaag” to which the bright chap had retorted, “well what did you expect, too much Dinesh in that?” When I reached college that day, I found her upset. But later we cleared the air and it settled that we shall always be friends, whatever the wagging tongues say; and soon they stopped when they saw no fire lit from the smoke spread by them.

From our class of twenty five students (which seemed to be made up of students picked up en masse from the telephone directory’s S and V listing), there were three clear beauty queens ones around whom the attention centered. Of them, Shilpa was too much into dramatics society to bother about lectures or her classmates. That left the kingdom shared between Smita and Vineeta Chawla. To many Vineeta took a clear lead she was from a background for which newspapers have created a special page, and her dress sense was clearly an echo from what she saw at those parties no doubt she was pretty, but L’Oreal and Max Factor had equal share in that enhancement.

It wasn’t official or ever stated, but there were obviously two groups formed due to them. Since I was the closest to Smita, automatically I came under her group, and consequently Vineeta’s biggest bete noir.

In the course of the year, I had befriended Smita’s parents, and during the exams was quite a regular guest at their place for joint study sessions. Her parents trust in her was explicit. They didn t mind my visiting her place when they weren t around. And that’s why I had suggested her place at this time, knowing fully well that her parents wouldn’t be home. We could talk easily.

The auto grinded over the hot asphalt and a pang grated my heart. What if on the day of that coffee incident our conversation had been different and had ended in us to use a common parlance going around ? I looked at her, feeling sorry for her, and for myself. Because I knew, that had the course of our friendship been different, I would have been a very happy man. And perhaps she would not have been in this awful predicament!

It was clear Ashish hadn’t been clean with her when she told him about the pregnancy. My anger against him was strong, and my mind framed a speech to speak against him when we reached her place.

I guided the auto rickshaw driver to her house, paid the fare and we ascended the small flight of stairs to her first floor flat.

“I love him, ” she said when we entered the house, without preamble, without any introduction. Again, she had punctured the wind off my sails, and I found myself drowning. “And I will always love him.”

I bore her with a steady gaze.

“Don’t say anything bad against him,please,” she half whispered, half pleaded.

I was aghast. That speech I had sort of prepared was washed away by the waves of tears welling up in her eyes. “You love him for disgracing you?” was all that I could manage.

“No. I love him for loving me,” she stated. There was something wrong that tone. There was a harshness to it.

Frustrated, I raised my arms and dropped myself on the beige velvet sofa, while she went inside to freshen up . The room was elegantly decorated, with an expensive cut-glass center table on which stood a fragile vase containing a single strand of rose, which her mother purchased fresh daily. On the floor, over the concrete marble, was an ethnically designed Kashmiri carpet, which covered nearly the entire room, leaving aside a small strip near the long French windows that overlooked a balcony.

She returned, relatively brighter, and sat opposite me.

This time I leapt at taking lead before she flummoxed me again. “You don’t love him any longer,” I told her. “And if you want to talk, be honest. First clear yourself up here,” I pointed to my temple, “and then we will think of clearing up here,” I placed my finger on my tummy.

She viewed me for an instant, but like always her mind was already made up, and she spoke. “Right. I don’t love him any longer. I stopped meeting him some two months back.”

I gasped. “Two months?” That would make it immediately after the exams.

“Yes. Two months. It didn’t seem long. I was sure I would bring him around. He was just a bit elusive, and then came the holidays and he was away to the US with his parents, so in any case we couldn’t have met, and now this,” she broke off, sniffing. “You know how it happened?”

I didn’t. Frankly, I wasn’t here to listen to her love making account, either. But still, there is a male curiosity in this regard which always takes a keen interest in knowing what’s happening in someone else’s bedroom. I stayed silent.

“It happened the day of our last exam. We had gone to Chanakya, remember?”

I did.

“Well, after that he said he wanted me to meet his mother, so he took me to his home. His mother wasn’t there. I don’t think she was ever supposed to be there. Anyways, we were alone. We talked and talked about our future, our marriage. And we came very close. When I tried to refuse,” she wet her lips nervously, “he didn ‘ agree. He said we were to marry. It s all fair. All Ok. I tried to reason, I tried to leave, but he didn’t let me.” She broke off again. Taking a deep breath, she said, I was nearly forced upon he was I was I mean I don t know if I relented or not but it just happened”

I saw her breath pass from a steady evenness to spasmodic sobbing. I allowed her to flush herself. Such incidents are bad when they happen, worse when said aloud but worst when thought of.

The human mind conjectures up stupid images. In front of me, she was sitting and sobbing, and my mind was trying to replay that scene where she was struggling to ward off Ashish. Date rape cases were not uncommon. But that it would happen to someone so close was something I wasn’t ever prepared for.

She sniffed again, and I broke from that vile imagery to the one in front of me. Her body was shaking, and tears had rolled down her fair cheeks, leaving a light trail of smudged kohl. Immediately I was overcome with immense love for her. I wanted to jump and hold her.

She wiped the tears with the back of her hand, and spoke, “From my childhood I have had a fulfilled life. Being the only daughter was easy I had to state it and my wish was always fulfilled. But I wasn t spoilt. I was put in a hostel for a few years so that I could value independence and discipline. My mother never failed to remind of a girl’s greatest gift from God her honor. My parents gave me immense freedom, yet I was always under their command . Maybe it wasn’t command. It was a friendship. Leaving my status of Ashish’s relationship, I have never hid a secret from them. Even about Ashish I told them he is a very good friend which I hope they will understand, since they themselves have had a love marriage.

“My principles, my values and all that I have been proud of, have been shattered. As modern as we may be, my parents won t accept that I am an unwed mother. I feel dirty.”She paused and wet her lips.

“For him,” she continued, “the relationship was just a timepass one. That’s what it sounded when I told him about this. For him, it’s over. But how do I explain this to my self, how do I tell this to my soul? Before I react to my body, I have to cure my soul and cleanse my conscience!”

That brittleness was returning. I feared it. “Smita, first up stop blaming yourself, please!”

She didn’t reply.

“Certainly love is not a sin,” I took a line of reasoning from her own book. “Why do you want to punish yourself for no fault of yours? Whats happened has happened. Neither you nor Ashish nor I can change it now. But what happens next is entirely in your hands. Think about that! Explain that to your soul and it will be cured. The process will be slow and painful but you will overcome.”

“I cannot, I will not. I guess this unhappiness is part and parcel of my life now.”

“It doesn’t have to be if…” I replied.

The hardness had solidified; she stared at me unblinking answering my unasked question. “I will not kill the child!”

“What?!”

“I will kill the father!”

I nearly fell from the sofa.

“I have a plan. You will have to help me.”

“Hold it hold it, Smita. For heaven’s sake, talk sense! You can’t go about murdering people!!” The pain and shock of the situation had made the normally sensible Smita inconsistent and incoherent girl.

“Then what else can I do?” She looked at me with the helplessness of a person who had examined all the options to get out of the predicament but couldn’t accept any of them.

“Abort the baby, and move on in life. There I will help you so that no one…”

“And leave that bastard to spoil lives,” she interrupted, sharply.

“You cannot take law into your hands.” I grimaced at my own sentence. It was a pathetic translation of a phrase used countless times in cheap Bollywood films.

“I don’t care. Are you or are you not helping?”

That was cornering of a typical woman-kind, but I wasn’t really keen on getting blood on my hands, and certainly wouldn’t ever allow Smita to get embroiled in further trouble. I refused any answer, and changed track again. “You know Smita, killing him actually means that you will be killing a part of yourself and the baby.”

“All the more better,” she threw back the words at me.

“But his death is no solution!”

“His death is the only solution for me.”

I was nearly tempted to ask which goddamn third rate bollywood film she had seen last night, but seeing her expression the words froze on my lips. Instead, I spoke from logic again. “If you really want to save the world from the likes of Ashish, get to the root of the problem flirtation, blind aping of western culture etc kill that and not the person, Smita!”

“He is the personification of sin. I shall kill him!” Her record was stuck, and I just didn t know how to proceed, and that I had to do before she again flung a ‘helping me or not with a caged yes or no’ question and honestly, I was always bad in these objective type of tests.

“Don’t forget Smita, you were a part of this sin, however small it may be!” I forwarded reasoning. I knew it wasn’t really small but at that point, seeing her vulnerable frame of mind, I wasn’t very keen on rubbing in the fact that she had been equally responsible.

My reasoning stuck its mark.She hesitated in her reply, and I carried on, “Were you really so low in will power?”

“I am not!”

“Then why didn t you stop him that very night? Why didn t you kill him then? Why now?”

“Because I loved him then.”

“Or his body probably,” I went on relentlessly. I saw that it hurt her ego, and it deflated the false indignation that she had built around herself. This would help her get back to the ground, and that ‘s what I wanted at that moment. “Come on, what do you have to say to that?”

She eyed me like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. “No, no,” she shook her head violently. “It wasn’t that. I mean, love starts physically but it went beyond.”

“Maybe for you, but certainly not for him.”

“Fine. But I was innocent. How could I read his mind?”

“Now don’t give me that. You weren’t exactly babe in the woods. You were plain simple foolish. I am sure apart from you anyone could read his mind.”

“Who did?”

“For starters, I did. Didn’t I warn you even about it?”

“Yeah but I thought…”

“…Thought that I was jealous? Yeah I was bloody well jealous. But that still doesn t take away the core fact that you didn’t heed to my advice. And that was because…”

“…because I thought you …”

“…because I cared for you!” I completed her sentence, and in a valiant sweep quite unbecoming my real self I fished out my inner feelings. “Because I found you sweet, Because I found you innocent, because I found a best friend in you, because I love you yes, that’s why I warned you..and… and…” Once the steam of speaking out is over, such tirades always end in a whimper which hangs between individuals in an awkward smoke trail. And so I just broke off. A lump hurt my throat, and I could feel the rushing beats within my ribs. I had finally said what I wanted to say to her, but the impact seemed to be lost. There was no expected sudden widening of eyes like I had expected. She just looked at me with a stupid pitiable expression. Perhaps, she had just taken my confession as a friend’s consolation.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Two

I searched her tear-stained face for any sign of emotion that could link to my confession. But she had a far-away look in her eyes that stared at the red rose between us though I am sure she was not really seeing it.

“What an irony, misbirth ” her whisper cut through the tense silence. “The one I thought loved me always told me that my friend was jealous of him but in reality it was the opposite. The man I cared for was jealous of the man who cared for me.”

Looking back, remedy I have to admit her sentence hardly made sense to me at that time. I brushed it off with a quick wave and said, physiotherapist “Leave all this. Now just follow what I have to say.”

She looked up questioningly.

“Get an abortion. And start afresh with a new outlook to life, love and God. You are repentant, God will forgive you. Just simply get this thing out of the way. I know where you can get easy abortion done.” Well, I didn’t. But then I thought a year back I hadn’t seen Delhi University either. Somehow I had managed to cut through the tedious admission process. Finding a safe clinic couldn’t be tougher than that!

“But abortion is killing.”

Her jumbled morals startled me. Hadn’t she been ready a minute back to share a foolproof plan to murder a man? “Smita, I left bio in class tenth, but whatever I remember from it is that this thing in your tummy is just yet a group of cells there is as much life in it as there would be in an inflamed appendix. You wouldn’t keep that? So why keep this! Plus, think logically. You can’t possible give birth to it, can you?”

The point struck home. She gave a wan smile. And for once since I had entered her house that day I sat back relaxed, though at the back of my mind I was already searching for the Yellow Pages in my house to find a good, safe clinic to take her to.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“For inviting and not serving lunch? You better be sorry for that!” I laughed, and she joined me with that tinkle which I adored.

“I am really sorry for that. I’ll just set the table.” She got up to leave the room. Before she exited, she turned back, sighed and said, “I wish Ashish was as considerate as you.”

**********************************************

Vineeta Chawla wore her jeans below the navel, something shiny glittering around that – “Swarovski,” she informed huskily to anyone who asked, or even to those who didn’t. Her white top had a late start and an early finish. It was a new ensemble, and obviously she was proud enough to have it noticed by everyone. “Isn’t it awesome, isn t it wonderful?” Her closest coterie Sugandha and Saina were there, cooing, oohing and aahing about it. I wouldn’t have bothered about Saina, she was a nitwit and all she had to do was dye her hair blonde! It was Sugandha’s chamchagiri of Vineeta which perplexed me. She seemed intelligent, and I knew her family since they lived in the same area as I. Her father was a simple government officer and her mother an LIC agent. They wouldn’t ever approve of Vineeta’s society. Perhaps Sugandha was living a vicarious life through VIneeta with that odd behanji look, and thick spectacles to boot, Sugandha could audition for a sister’s role in any C-grade potboiler and win it hands down.

Normally, I wouldn’t have really expected Vineeta and her gang to be in the class at that hour, but then if she had something on her mind she would obviously be here to get a bigger audience.

“Hi, Dinesh, long time no see,” Vineeta waved at me.

Really, I didn’t miss her. But now she mentioned it I realized she hadn’t joined in after the summer breaks.

“Yeah, where have you been?” I said and immediately bit my tongue. Dammit, that was a clear trap which I had walked into.

“You don’t know?” I didn’t, but she would surely tell. “We were on a world tour oooh, it was so fun. Have you seen the Swiss Alps?” I hadn’t, except in Yash Chopra films. “You should see them.” Yeah, please sponsor me bitch! “They are the most beautiful sight ever. You will forget your Kasaulis and Manalis here it’s awesome, it’s wonderful!” Get a dictionary girl, and learn some more adjectives.

I smiled, and didn’t venture an answer, and as she went on I knew why she had bothered to enter the class in the first place.

I looked around at Vasu and Vishal standing near the window and laughing at my discomfort. The classroom, the last one in that corridor, was empty. Smita hadn’t arrived as yet. We took the same bus, as her home was on the same route as mine. But today she was missing. I had to go to the canteen where the public phone booth was, to call her.

By now, Vineeta had moved on to her US leg of the trip quite literally. “You know that’s where I bought these jeans. See, the legs fit so beautifully. These Indian companies are simply hopeless, I tell you.”

Sugandha and Saima let out another dutiful ooh . My politeness cup had brimmeth over, and I was about to scream, when the staff room peon barged in. Bless the man.

“Mr. Gupta is on leave, so no class today.”

We let out a collective cheer. “That’s wonderful, that’s awesome,” said Vineeta, and I was ready to bang my head with the wall, but was again interrupted by her. “By the way, Dinesh I heard you topped last year’s final exam?”

That I had, and as modestly and nonchalantly as I could, I nodded.

“Ooooh, that’s wonderful, that’s awesome,” smiled Vineeta.

**************************************************

In my opinion there are very few things tougher than walking into a chemist shop and asking for a condom, with the staff there giving an all-knowing look it s sad that such a useful product doesn’t have an equally ostensible alternative usage. I am sure if it did, it would have aided in controlling our population to a great extent. Anyways, I found something more difficult than buying condoms and that was finding a gynecologist. For reasons of ease, I chose to meet a lady doctor after all, ladies are supposed to be more gentle and understanding. Perhaps, a bit high on the morality side, but I was ready to bear that.

So, with a handy Yellow Pages Directory, I short listed a few prospective ones. To say I was nervous is a gross understatement. Despite knowing that I was only on the phone, and could disconnect it any moment, I found a thick layer of perspiration on my forehead. The first call was a disaster. The receptionist wanted more details than I was ready to offer. And horridly, the line was not clear; she made me repeat everything.

“Can you just put me across to the doctor please!” I finally pleaded with her, and was almost in tears of relief when I heard her transferring the line. I was just about regaining my confidence when a stern voice burst in, Dr. Mukherjee here, “How can I help you?”

I was so terrified that I bleated, “Doctor, do you get pregnant?”

Even as the words leapt out of my lips, I could feel the phone burn against my ears and I dropped the receiver in embarrassment.

I decided to personally visit the next one. I felt a dialogue face to face would be easier, and more convincing. I chose a lady doctor by the name of Dr. Anjali Mehra, just because the name sounded soft and that she had her clinic in the southern side of the city, a criteria I was careful about farther the clinic, the better it was for Smita.

The clinic was a small rectangular room, with the receptionist’s corner on the far left side. A green curtain flew over an opening which led to the doctor’s cabin. An ungainly girl, enormous in size stood behind the desk. Her voice boomed in the small room. I have always felt that the receptionists and secretaries often act more snootily than their masters. This one was no different as she issued orders to the peon, and swept aside a demure patient to a corner seat. To my horror, she turned out to be a compounder as well and gave off a stern lecture on eating medicines on time as she handed it over to the woman who had just exited the doctor’s cabin.

The demure patient in the corner was next. The ogre bade her inside and looked at me. Once again, nervousness gripped me. Avoiding her gaze, I picked up the tattered ancient issue of Femina lying on the center table and flipped its pages. All this while, my mind was whirring. Concentrate, Dinesh. Concentrate on what you have to say. For good effect last night, I had prepared my opening lines to the doctor: “Doctor, A friend is pregnant and I would like to take your help in the abortion,” I rehearsed the lines repeatedly.

Yet, despite the mental rehearsal I was caught off guard when the huge monster blared out, “Go in, your turn mister.”

I entered a sparse room with a table, chair and an examining bed on the left side. The doctor, a smart middle-aged lady, wearing gargantuan black plastic spectacles, looked at me a trifle surprised to see a man alone, I guess.

“Yes, how can I help you?” she asked.

I felt my face redden and the blood gushing against my temple. A bead of perspiration ran down my sideburns onto the burning cheeks, and despite my best intentions, I blurted out, “I am pregnant and want your abortion!”

**********************************************

The rains in Delhi follow a strange cat-and-mouse game with the Met Department. When it says the monsoons are right around the corner, they will refuse to pour themselves. And just when the Met Department makes a solemn announcement about a drought situation, they will gleefully empty their hearts out. That early nineties summer was no different story. Had I been working in Met. Deptt. I would have died of a complex!

It was a wet Monday late July morning and like the past four days, it was raining heavily. Even though we were in the same bus, Smita and I couldn’t talk as a thick bunch of travelers separated us. On alighting, we exchanged pleasantries and I informed that I had finally managed to seek an appointment with a lady doctor.

“It’s becoming so difficult to hide it from mummy,” Smita said quietly. “I feel guilty all the time!”

As admitted earlier I am extremely bad when it comes to offering solace and comfort. Often I open my mouth, only to find my foot firmly placed in it. Hence, I kept quiet and murmured something to the effect that “sab theek ho jaayega” – a line straight off the last released Bollywood potboiler!

We entered the classroom, and immediately I wanted to rush out of it.

Our faces must have been awfully grim to elicit those enquiring looks from everyone. The silence was so thick that even a blunt knife could have cut a neat slice through it. Smita set her bag down and smiled wanly at all. Her pale face made a few clamor around her fussing about the supposed ‘fever’ that she had. I hate to admit this, but I felt superior in that one freak moment. Here was I, who had the full inside information quite literally too on her ailment. And there were those poor souls giving free advice on various medicines available to ward off the proliferating viruses that come along with the rains.

“It’s awesome, it’s wonderful,” I caught Vineeta cooing, “Smita, you should try that. My mother took it and the fever vanished in a day.” I wasn’t really sure which elixir she was talking about, but definitely was confident that only Vineeta could describe a medicine as awesome and wonderful .

Since not much love flowed between Vineeta and Smita, I saw the latter with a plastic smile trying her best to be polite.

Vasu’s eye caught mine and he gestured me to meet outside the room. I was curious. I liked Vasu – short, fair and cleanshaven, he came across as decent and well behaved. He was a faithful ally in marking my proxies whenever I was in the mood to bunk. And also, and more importantly, we were kiddishly bound together by our common hatred against Vineeta!

Once outside, I enquired of his secret talk.

“What’s wrong with Smita,” his voice pounced on me, and I recoiled like a snake stepped on its tail.

“What’s wrong with her?” I snapped back. “Just fever, why?”

“Cut out the crap buddy,” he said irritably. “You know it pretty well. I know it. And you will be shocked to know, majority of the class knows it!” His voice increased like a rising crescendo at the end of a well orchestrated symphony though the only applause he got was a deafening silence.

“Err… I don’t get you, Vasu,” I finally found my tongue after several heavy seconds.

“She’s pregnant, no? And that…” he stopped mid-way.

“And what?” I asked, with a force on the last word.

“And that either you or Ashish is the father!”

I slapped him across the cheek. I think it was the false accusation, which made me do that. But on hindsight, I reckon it was more the regret that I wasn t the father that made me imprint a solid mark on Vasu’s fair cheeks.

He staggered before regaining control. I admit I was amazed at his reticence. On my part, had someone slapped me, I would have either slapped back, or perhaps walked away. But he only complained, “Hell, what’s wrong with you?”

His small face held the most lost-puppy look, and I hugged him, patting his head like one would do to a hapless dog that has been ridiculed. “I am sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to do that but this business is getting so out of hand that I lost control.”

He pulled apart, and rubbing his cheek eyed me nervously. “It’s ok. You have heavy hand.” And you have tough cheeks! My hand was still ringing with the slap that I had implanted on his face.

“Sorry,” I repeated.

“Ok. ok. But how will you stop this from spreading?” he asked. The mind, as I often say, is a curious museum of multifarious images filed randomly within the folds of innumerable gray cells. And like the google search of today, it can cough up some outlandish image at any trigger. As Vasu spoke, the only thing that came to my brain was the film about a forest fire that I had seen on Doordarshan a few days back, spreading and engulfing any tree that came its way. Sadly, I also realized that fire-fighting is not exactly my forte.

“That bitch Vineeta is already too happy to tell it to anyone who comes her way,” Vasu continued. “According to her, Smita deserved it!”

The fire was not just in the images now. It was burning within me, the wild flames gushing alongwith my blood in the charred veins. I ran inside the classroom, banging the door open. Everyone fell silent and looked at me. My memory fails me now, so I don’t recall what exactly I said. But in that terrible moment of frustration, and seeing Vineeta engaged in a supposedly sweet talk with Smita, I think I bluntly told her to call off the bluff.

She understood, because she looked at Smita guiltily, though no speech came out of her goddamn awesome and wonderful mouth!

Looking at Smita I said, “They all know about it.” My sore voice grated against the coarse silence.

She looked up at me- terror, vulnerability and shame mixed in those limpid pools of her wine-like eyes, ready to brim over any instant, the pupils rapidly moving to seek solace from their pain, her tender mouth ajar in disbelief, the color drained out from her rosy cheeks, and the body shivering like a lone leaf against a monstrous storm. She dropped her head, and I leaned forward to hold her. When her body touched mine, it was shaking uncontrollably, and I felt the warmth of her tears seeping through my thin cotton shirt, and soaking my soul with the immense grief that flowed from her eyes, uncontrolled and unbridled.

Vineeta walked towards me. I fired a million hatred darts from my stony eyes. “I am sorry,” she whispered and walked out of the room.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Three

I am sure I will need to take another birth to fully comprehend the pain that Smita underwent on that rainy July afternoon. I don’t clearly recall for how long we sat in that claustrophobic room trying in vain to comfort her. She didn’t speak much, disinfection but the tears didn’t stop either. Her pretty face was smudged with the kohl streaming along with the tears. It was a Herculean task making her move from the room to the bus stop. Stripped off her dignity and having lost her peer acceptance, information pills she eyed every stranger with dread and fear, for sale and wondered as to how many really knew about her condition.

She took the next few days off.

As for Vineeta, her apology sounded so sincere that I had no reason to disbelieve her. It was a couple of days later, while walking towards Patel Chest Institute, to catch my bus home that I saw two very familiar figures. My blood and feet froze in their tracks. Ashish Sehgal and Vineeta Chawla were walking hand in hand towards a sleek white Maruti 1000 parked some distance away.

That evening, Vasu and I sat perched on the balcony of his bachelor’s pad, a few kilometers away from the college. The sun was setting behind the gray curtain of clouds, which it had failed to disperse for the past few days. Nature’s hand painted streaks of violet and orange in violently random strokes across Delhi s flat skyline. The air was moist and humid, though it wasn’t raining any longer. We sat, with two Kingfishers between us. My beer capacity was still in its nascent stage. And with the first bottle down, I could feel myself swim in haziness.

With Vasu, the friendship had been good and deep and our natural love for beer had sealed it further, and opened up many reserves that would have normally left potted in the college and canteen meetings.

“What should I do?” I asked Vasu finally, after we had beat around the bush for some while, till the time there was no bush left to thrash.

“You want me to state what you seem to have decided already?” he counter questioned.

Perhaps, yes!

Not getting any audible reply from me, he took a deep breath and said, “Dinesh, accept the child and her!”

This was exactly what I wanted to hear. I was relieved. Still, for sake of convincement I asked, “But will that be fair?”

“That,” he reasoned, “would be perfect.”

“And Ashish?”

“Leave him,” he said nonchalantly.

“You can’t do anything to him, can you?”

I was silent. His point was convincing. It made sense. But still, within me, I wanted to be sure I had all other doors closed before I countered Smita. So I decided to have a word with Ashish, even though I knew nothing would come off it. No, let me put it this way, even though I desperately wished that nothing would come off it!

*****************************************

Despite it being a natural act, there is something unnaturally exciting about sex and in college it makes for a great topic to discuss; and I suspect during those years, it is more talked about than actually done. In the still prudish nineties, a pregnant girl in a Delhi college was a colossal scandal. It towered over bus conversations, canteen small-talks and class room discussions; and it dwarfed all other polite pleasantries. Students found a wonderful alternative to begin conversations, other than the ubiquitous weather, politics and films!

To my horror I realized this the hard way, while traveling on the U-Special bus. A bunch of students, who could qualify as extras in films to dance behind the hero while he chased the leading lady but were under the mistaken belief they were the hero themselves, were standing precariously near the exit. I stood sandwiched somewhere behind, between two burly third year students, who looked like having watched too many Sunil Shetty films.

“Pata hai Kirorimal College mein kya chal raha hai?” one voice said.

“Kya? It’s such a rookha-sookha college. No hot babes there,” his friend remarked.

“Yeah, but it has heat other ways. Ek ladki pregnant hai wahan pe!”

“Don’t tell me”

“Sachi?”

“Ekdum. Hundred percent sahi news hai.”

“Tu jaanta hai usse?”

“Na, but I think science mein hai.”

Small relief! They had got the class wrong by a far margin.

“Kya jaldi thi usse dene mein,” laughed the second voice.

“Ha ha, kyun nahi. She should have come to us. Protection bhi de dete.”

“Waise, ab pata laga le kaun hai. Ek baar ho gaya, baar baar se kya sharam ?”

“Ha ha, Sahi kah raha hai. But be careful, maine suna hai she is the daughter of a politician. Kahiin baap teri na maar le baad mein.”

That was another factual error. I don’t know why the Chinese are blamed for their whispers, but I am convinced that the Indians are no less. As I embarrassingly heard the conversation, I understood that facts were hugely distorted and since we all love spices, a large measure was added to it. Over the next two days, I came to know that the scandal in college was a very hot topic. Whenever I heard it, I wanted to scream that she was raped, and she was innocent and pure. But I guess, no one would have understood. Date rape meant the girl called for it! But then, I can’t really blame the boys, because had this happened in some far off college, to some unknown girl, I am sure I would have partook in such lewd conversations with the same degree of interest and enthusiasm. Boys will be boys, after all! And we aren’t really conditioned to understand a girl’s feelings.

***************************************

Vishal Kathuria was another close confidante in my class. He spoke less, listened more and was generally a person with a happy disposition with a mysterious Buddha-like smile ever on his lips settled permanently below a thick bush of moustache. He was tall, dark though not necessarily very handsome. Yet, his appeal lay in an earthiness that kept the girls wondering if he would make a suitable boyfriend material. He didn t come from a very rich background, which made him pretty grounded and more likeable. He was one of those kind souls who was friend to all, and didn’t crystallize himself to any one group or gang . He had his own dreams, though I don t think he was anywhere near fulfilling them, or making any efforts to reach there. For me, he was a trusted bank vault any number of secrets could be stored there, and only a handful specialized people could open him up. Thankfully, I was one such specialized person.

Vishal and I had met on the first day of college. Since we stayed on the same side of town, our bus route was common. We were both freshers ragged by rowdy seniors in the bus itself. Mercifully, it was only to raunchily sing the then super hit double-entendre laden number Choli ke peechhe kya hai . Vishal has a coarse voice which rivaled Ila Arun s hefty intonations of the original number. I don t think I was half as effective as the other singer, but I plugged in enough sexiness to ensure that the seniors were pretty amused and let us off soon. This friendly duet began our friendship.

That day, he came up to me, a bit flushed and excited. We were in front of the in-house theater, next to the science wing, overlooking the path that led to the canteen. “You know why Smita is off for the past few days?” Quite likely, Mr.Zen had got the news pretty late, and was quite animated to share it with someone. Sorry, he chose the wrong person. I had had enough of the conversation in the bus that morning. Before I could reply, he was brimming to give the information on his own. “You know she used to go on all those dates with…”

“…Ashish Sehgal, and that she is carrying his baby,” I interjected, angrily. “And that she has been thrown out of her house, which in reality is not true.”

He had the grace to turn white.

“Also that it is the second month, and that she is getting the damn thing aborted at Khanna’s clinic in Greater Kailash,” I added for good measure.

He blinked like a kid whose toy has just been snatched away, and who is summoning up all the energy and tears to give a loud bawl.

“So you know about it?” he said, dejected.

“Of course I know about it. The whole college knows about it. The whole university knows about it. So who told you all this? Vineeta?”

“Vineeta?” he blinked hard again, genuinely confused. “Why her?”

“Because now the fool is going around with Ashish!” I paused to catch his reaction. “To end up in Smita’s state,” I added bitterly, as an afterthought.

“Vineeta going around with Ashish?” asked Vishal, in disbelief. “you must be crazy! She hates him!”

“Yeah, pretty weird hatred that makes her hold his hand lovingly,” I said sarcastically.

“Abbe, tujhe galti lagi hogi.”

“Oh come on Vishal. I was just a few meters away. My eyesight is not so bad that I wouldn’t recognize Vineeta and Ashish together!”

He wasn’t convinced, which made me very curious. Knowing that he would probably have more dope from the ‘other camp’ , “I pressed on, But tujhe aisa kyun lag raha that she hates Ashish?”

The direct questioning put Vishal off a bit. Flustered he said, “I just overheard her talk with Sunaina this morning. She was saying that he hesitated, that you are wrongly blaming her and saying that she had spread the news about Smita to everyone.”

“Which is a fact!” I interrupted emphatically.

“Arre yaar, poori baat toh sun le,” Vishal said irritably.

“Ok, ok carry on.”

“She was saying that she felt bad that you had felt that she was the one going and spreading this news. She was feeling pity for Smita.”

“Sab bakwaas hai!” I broke in again, boiling mad.

“Arre, phir beech mein bola? Let me at least complete na? Where was I? Yeah, that she was feeling bad about Smita and wanted to cut off Ashish’s balls for the cowardly act he has done.”

“Hypocrite!” I exclaimed.

“Uff, you wont let me complete will you?” he asked exasperated.

“Well, the fact is that she herself was questioning that who could have spread the rumors of Smita’s pregnancy in the class.”

“Woh usne khud ne, aur kis ne?” I burst in again, unable to control my rage.

“Woh aisa kyun karegi?” counter questioned Vishal.

“Because she doesn’t like Smita, and always wanted to downsize her. That’s why!”

“That’s what you think!”

“That’s what the whole world thinks!” I retorted.

“Nahi yaar, I am not convinced,” Vishal said, and he didn’t look convinced either. His lips were pursed, and thoughtfully he said, “Smita and Vineeta might have had differences but I don’t think either can do this to each other. I mean, chhote mote jhagde huein hai, that’s all. This enmity thing is bigger in your mind than in reality. Aise toh, Vasu aur Smita ke beech bhi locha hua tha, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t friends any longer. It’s just that two girls often seclude themselves after some silly cat-fight.” I was silent. After a grand dramatic pause, he concluded, “Your personal prejudice against Vineeta is the cause of your suspicion.”

This was the final blow; it hit where it hurt the most my conscience. I hated Vishal for putting words to a thought that I didn’t want to admit. I knew he was right. I looked out of the window. The rain had begun again. Everything was blanketed in a steady stream of the downpour. My mind was racing like a machine gone awry Smita, Ashish, the pregnancy, Vineeta all mixed together in the continual tip-tap that fell on the lawn.

“Hey Dinesh, Profesor Krishan Arora looking for you,” a classmate called up from behind. I turned and nodded acknowledgement. “He’s waiting in the tutorial room,” the class mate said and vanished.

“Chal Vishal. Let me see what he wants. Probably, something to do with the tutorial classes I had applied for. Milta hun, don’t go away.”

Vishal nodded. “I will see you in canteen”

The tutorial room was on the other side of the college, in the main wing. I passed groups of students carelessly whiling their time below the foyer, shaded from the rain; through the long corridor, that overlooked two small rectangular lawns beyond which the class rooms were lined, one after the other – Economics, English, BA Pass, and so on.

I reached the tutorial room, and politely knocked the door. “May I come in?” I asked – a sentence that always brought back uncomfortable from my early school years, when in my tiny child voice I had squeaked to my English teacher, “Can I go to the toilet?” to which she had replied, “Yes you can, but you may not.”

“Yes, come in,” came the reply from inside the room.

I entered the quiet room cautiously. Prof. Krishan Arora was one of the most loved lecturers- and also the most charming one. He was impossibly tall at 6’3″ , with a lean physique that ended in a very thoughtful face. The peppered beard added weight to his persona. And those eyes could pierce and probe at their own will. No doubt, he was an idol for all more so, for the girls who made sure that they never missed his romantic poetry class. For us boys, he was another rival to contend, plus we always found him a bit overbearing. Perhaps, he was after all, a ladies man!

The room was rectangular, with chairs arranged around its periphery on three sides. It wasn t a regular classroom. And hence the centre was left empty, with just one table, below the gigantic black-board. Prof. Arora sat on the chair, deeply engrossed in reading some book titled English for Science Students.

“Come come Dinesh,” he said, and pointed to the chair in front of the table.

I sat down on its edge, nervously. God knows where all my cockiness evaporated at the mere sight of Prof. Arora.

“Dinesh,” he started. “I have called you for a very important and sensitive matter, which I feel I should discuss with you. I hope you understand?”

I nodded, but in reality I didn’t. Before entering the room, I had sanguinely hoped that he would ask me to join his more vibrant tutorial group, so that I could get rid of the awful teacher that I was assigned to. But as I heard him, I realized that such a routine matter didn’t warrant a somber expression. Still, since he had fallen silent, I piped in, “I guess it is about my tutorial application?”

“Well, that we will see later on,” he smiled. “But at the moment,” he continued, stroking his peppered beard broodingly, “I want to talk about Smita.”

I nearly stumbled from my chair. Ok, this was a dream, and I would end any moment with my mother waking me up.But no, this wasn’t ending so soon, as I heard Prof. Arora’s next question, “Is she really pregnant?”

No, this is all a silly rumor, I felt like saying. But I did the mistake of looking up into his eyes. Like two sharp laser beams, they gorged into me, and with a dry mouth I mumbled an affirmative.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to assuage, “Relax, please,” he added. I would have but only if his eyes allowed me to do so. “I am the only one to know of it, at least I think so.”

You think wrongly, for all you know the whole world knows it. But nothing escaped my lips. Blankly, I sat there mute.

“Ashish Sehgal is my nephew – my sister’s son, I think you know that?” he went on. Another unexpected blow of course, I knew no such thing. How was I to know of Ashish’s relatives in the faculty? Smita hadn’t told me either. And I wondered if she herself was aware of this. “I don’t want his name unnecessarily dragged in this sordid matter. He paused, trying to gain some reaction from my vacant face. I am sad to see that he is getting unnecessarily dragged in this unwanted controversy.” At this, I raised a questioning eyebrow. “Aah, I see that you also seem to believe that he is the culprit.” My eyebrow drooped in disgust. Still, I kept quiet. “I have seen that you and Smita are good friends, so I thought I should first have a word with you. I want her to keep Ashish out of this.”

I nodded, trying desperately to find some meaningful words to say. At last, I said, “But he is the well, he is… I mean, he is the…”

“I don’t think so. He belongs to a very good family. His father is a reputed businessman. And often gives huge donations to the college trust.”

So, there it was family honor cake topped with the monetary cherry, all baked and ready to smother poor Smita’s chance of defense. But I wasn’t going to let this to happen. I took a deep breath, and collecting as much courage as I could, I said, “That’s ok sir. But Ashish is in the wrong. And he should own up to Smita at least. The poor girl is devastated. By the way, she is also from a very good family!” Perhaps, better than Ashish’s, I felt like adding, but discretion tied my tongue.

“I fully understand,” Prof. Arora said, in an even tone that belied any iota of understanding or sympathy. “I have no doubts. And I am sure she is in a bad shape. And that is the reason I didn’t want to talk to her directly, and called you for it. You are a mature boy and will definitely understand that some things are best swept beneath the carpet.”

“In any case, I don t think you have to fear Smita. She wouldn’t say anything. But the tongues are wagging already. Your fear lies somewhere else.”

Prof. Arora stared for a long time, and emphasizing each word, he said, “Since you are the closest to Smita, I want to make sure my fear doesn’t lie in you.” If ever any veiled threat comes up for any award ceremony, I would surely pass on this as an honorable contender.

“I love Smita,” I said, throwing off fear out of the window. I didn’t want to fear a man who was weak enough to give threats. “And I will marry her. Don’t you worry, sir. Ashish doesn’t know what he is losing on. And I don’t think Smita even cares about Ashish any longer! He can go to the nearest available hell.”

I left the room, dizzy, confused, shocked and hurt. My ears burnt in rage and uneasiness. My eyes smarted with sorrow for Smita. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening around me, or as to why I was suddenly the nucleus to a whirling atomic blizzard. I didn’t go to the canteen. I needed to sort my thoughts. I moved away, from the tutorial room, on the opposite side, towards a side exit leading towards the college hostel. A neatly landscaped lawn was to my right hand side, across which was the college boundary wall, with a small gate in-between. Trees lined the wall, and a group of students stood there enjoying the monsoon. I eyed them with envy; they didn’t have the worries that had besot me in the past few days. I stepped into the rain, and looked heavenward, seeking answers from the rain that fell from the gods above. The reply was a steady drum of the rains. I turned my gaze again towards the gate, from where a couple was entering, shielded by a common umbrella, bearing huge red polka dots on its shiny wet surface. Their umbrella tipped a little upward, and I caught their faces. Vineeta and Ashish- holding each other tightly beneath the small umbrella.

Only one question rang continuously in my ears – who do I believe? My eyes or Vishal’s ears?!

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Four

When I reached the canteen, this web Vishal was sitting with Shilpa and Sugandha, quite an unlikely pair to sit together. But with Vineeta now firmly ensconced in Ashish’s arms and Saina probably busy with one of her umpteenth beauty parlor appointments, I guess Sugandha had to latch on to some other life force to survive her measly existence.

Shilpa Saxena’s breezy beauty made her a natural choice to play the leading lady in many dramas. Fortunately, she had talent as well. Last year, I had seen her play Desdemona in Shakespeare’s Othello during the Annual Dramatics Society Festival. She did the part with such consummate finesse that it came as no surprise when she won an award for it. A few months later, she made a brief appearance as Queen Helen of Troy in Christopher Marlowe’s morality play Faustus, and with her peaches-and-cream complexion, she looked so ravishingly beautiful that the line ‘a face that launched a thousand ships’ seemed to be written especially for her.

Since she spent more time at the theater than the class, our interaction had always been minimal. But whatever there had been, it was always mutually satisfying especially, her knowledge of literature was deep-rooted. Our debates on the nuances of Shakespeare, or the sub-text in John Donne, would go well beyond the normal text-book discussions. When she spoke emphatically to prove her point, the feral dance of her animated eyes was extremely appealing.

The canteen in our college was a badly lit grim rectangular room, hastily white washed, with tables and chairs carelessly strewn. On one end was the huge stone counter, behind which was the kitchen. More than the canteen, it was the partially covered foyer in front of it, and the lawn that extended beside it, that were the favorite of the students.

Vishal, Sugandha and Shilpa sat just outside the canteen’s entrance, below the foyer, on the farther corner. I dragged an empty chair and sat with them.

“Mil aaya Arora se? Kya kaha?” asked Vishal.

I smiled wanly, and said, “Kuchh nahi, routine yaar,” hastily, to avoid any further queries from him. I couldn’t have told the real reason for Arora’s calling me, here. For a split second, Vishal looked at me curiously, but didn’t press further.

“So what’s new Shilpa?” I turned to her, to change the topic.

“Bas, naye play kii rehearsals chal rahin hai,” and she gave a good five minutes monologue on the layers available beneath the supposedly simple surface of Becket’s Waiting For Godot a play which I didn’t care much about. “You be there to watch it. We are hosting it first at the Hindu College Fest.”

“Sure, I’ll be there, wouldn’t dare to miss your play!” I assured, more interested in seeing her performance, than the play per se.

Sugandha had been silent all this while. I turned to her. “Aap kuchh nahi bolengii, madam?”

She gave a stupid smile, which showed her small square fox-like teeth, and replied, “Ab do mahanubhav baithe baat kar rahe ho toh mai kya kahuun. Ek topper, ek super actor!” I could sense a trace of sarcasm there. But I let it go.

We lived in the same colony, and took the same bus home. Still, our conversation during those daily journeys had been so antiseptically clean that Dettol could have easily sponsored it.

“So why is the trio disbanded today? Where are Vineeta and Saina? You not with them today?” I gave back my own brand of sarcasm.

Again that idiotic smile. “I am not tied to them.” Aah! Point one to me! This time there was a definite hint of irritation. “Saina had a parlor appointment and Vineeta has gone home early,” she offered.

I raised a questioning eyebrow. “Sure?”

The stupid smile chilled on her flat visage. “Yeah, kyun?” Round two to me!

I gave a sweet look and said,”Aise hi yaar, don’t get hyper. Of course you would know better!”

Sugandha recovered soon, “Ha ha, yeah yeah. Waise, Smita nahi aayi kuchh dinon se?” Uh oh ! All points to her. She had touched a raw nerve.

“Yeah, what’s this I hear about Smita?” Shilpa butted in. “I mean, is this really true?”

Even before I could answer, I saw Sugandha’s huge oily head bouncing wildly in affirmation. My discomfort would have been visible, and Sugandha was clearly having fun pouring a bucketful of salt on my raw wounds!

“Sad, no?” said Shilpa. Thank goodness, she sounded genuinely concerned. “You know what Dinesh? When I first heard of it, I was sure it couldn’t be Smita. She comes across as a sensible person, not someone who would get into such a mess.”

I pursed my lips. “Hmm,” and shrugged to denote an it happens kind of sentiment.

“I am sure it is terrible for her,” Shilpa went on. “I mean, if I were put in her situation, goodness knows what I would do. Probably, jump off the balcony or something. I really shudder to think of it. Dinesh, give me her number. I will call her up. I think at this point, she needs friends and acceptance the most.”

I gave her the number that was on top of my mind’s address book. She noted it carefully in her small telephone diary. As she wrote, I saw she had a very strong and controlled handwriting much like her own self. I was happy to see that there was someone who was more bothered about Smita as a person, than just about Smita as a scandal in college. I had begun to feel that everyone had forgotten that behind the juicy gossip was a living person who breathed and felt just like anyone of us.

We sat for some more time before parting ways. Shilpa went back to her rehearsals, Sugandha ended up in the library, a place where she was fit to be enshrined. Vishal and I walked to the bus stop. The rain had subsided, and our feet splashed on the puddles as we made way towards Patel Chest Institute.

I downloaded the entire conversation I had with Krishan Arora. As ever, Vishal offered no comment. For all I knew, I could have spoken into a recording machine with the playback button missing.

“Waise, Shilpa ne ek baat pate kii kahii,” he said, as we rounded a corner to reach the stop.

“Kya?”

“That Smita really needs love and care the most at this time. I wonder if she is getting it, even from you.”

“Meaning?”

“True friendship probably. Think about it. I think we have all been taken up by the enormity of the ‘scandal’,” he said, making a quotation mark sign with his hands, “that we seem to have forgotten that perhaps we should be just normal with her, like we were before, and not remind her of the problem round the clock.”

“Hmmm…”

Not getting a very voluble response from me, he continued after a pause. “She has lost her self esteem, her confidence and her peace of mind. This sudden glare of the entire class and college has made her feel very small worst of all, in her own eyes. She’s probably very insecure. Come on, she is not the first unwed mother, not the last, but the whole exercise of being interrogated even by you I guess has had a very bad effect. His emphasis on very sent a shiver down my spine. Self love is a precious thing to lose. It makes a person weak from within. All his defenses are destroyed; he remains like a wounded animal, watching and waiting in fear for the hunters to arrive. At that moment, one can cross the thin line dividing sanity from madness.”

I wasn’t sure where his monologue was leading. I wondered if he himself was. Strangely, I realized that despite being friends, we had never really talked about our past lives. Was he bringing all this out from his own experience? At that moment, I felt woefully sad to realize that we had remained only superficial friends, something that was probably amiss from my side, since being the more extrovert person I should have tried to bridge the gap.

“At this time, Dinesh, just be around her normally as you would had this not happened,” Vishal said. “And I stress normally. Please.”

I nodded.

*******************************************

Even though I thought I had understood, as soon as I met Smita, I realized to my utmost horror that I really didn’t know how to behave normally, especially when my illogical eyes went, on their own free will, towards her still flat tummy. This was going to be very tough for me.

I told her about college and the classes in the past few days, about the awful rains that I am sure she also knew about since her house had windows and about some trivial news items. But clearly, it was a sham, and I think she saw through it.

Before entering her apartment I was sure that I wouldn’t talk about my meeting with Mr. Arora, and certainly not about Vineeta and Ashish. But when an awkward silence befell between us, and out of the blue she said, “Ashish hasn’t called as yet,” I couldn’t help blurting out that “probably he is too busy with Vineeta to bother about you.”

Evidently, it was a very bad thing to say and as always I found that my foot had managed to lodge itself in my mouth. But her reaction was so numb that I feared she would faint and despite my friendship, I didn’t want to be alone with a fainted pregnant girl in her own house. Well, make that in anyone’s house, or better any place!

“But I could be wrong too, I tried to clean up the air, and told of what Vishal had overheard,” but since I was on my own not convinced, I don’t think I passed it on much convincingly.

Since the curtain of normalcy had already been ripped apart, I went on to narrate my meeting with Mr. Arora. This was the biggest mistake. She burst out like a volcano raised from its dormancy.

“And who are you to speak on my behalf?” she exclaimed, taking me completely off guard.

This was depressing. All that I was doing was to help her, and she was chiding me for no reason at all. I tried to explain that I had merely repeated to Mr. Arora what she had said at her own place some days back.

“Listen Dinesh. Just get one thing straight. No one can take Ashish’s place in my heart. He may have ditched me right now, but I have spent some wonderful moments with him, and have been close to his heart, and I am sure there is a valid reason for his not owning up!”

I was very pissed off at her reaction. “My! My! How you talk! You know that he is going around with Vineeta, you know that all your wonderful moments were nothing but carnal pleasure for him. You yourself said you hate him, and now you make me sound like some third rate villain.”

“Dinesh, if you think by creating enmity in my heart for Ashish, you will succeed in finding a place there, you are sadly mistaken!” she spoke sharply.

“That’s not what I’m doing ?”

“That’s what it looks to me. You are distorting facts, and interpreting them the way you want them to be. I never said I did not want to marry Ashish. I still love him. You could have used your meeting Mr. Arora to get that point across, and probably help me reach Ashish. But no, you chose to put your agenda ahead there.”

“What are you saying? I was only trying to protect you.”

“I am not yours to protect. You told all that to Mr. Arora to ruin my chances of marrying Ashish and then take pity on me and claim me!”

“You are not an object that I have to claim, Smita. I genuinely care for you!”

“Stop it, Ashish, pl…”

“I am Dinesh! Smita!!!”

“Yeah yeah, Dinesh, Ashish you all are the same. Leave now please, I have had enough of men, opportunists all of you…”

She closed her eyes, and was breathing heavily. I wasn’t sure what to do, but the next instant she cried, “Please. Just leave. I want to be alone…”

Despite her rudeness, I was a bit hesitant to leave her in this excited state. Yet, I knew better. It was no point in sticking around; also, my wounded ego was spurring me to run away from her house immediately.

On my journey homewards, the conversation with Smita played like a stuck reel in my mind. Suddenly, I felt very unsure about everything. A few months back I had attended a pravachan at the local Arya Samaj Mandir. It was on the Vedas. The speaker an eloquent person with a deep soothing voice had said that a person leaves the road of truth for two reasons: fear and greed. If Smita was right that I had left truth, what could be my reason? Fear? What did I fear? Probably losing Smita, whom I had started to love. Greed? Yes, probably I was greedy greedy to want her, to want her love which, I think I lost forever that day.

I also debated whether I should still talk to Ashish, now that Smita had disowned me. One part of me said that I should. Instead of going back to Mr Arora (and I shuddered at the thought), I should make Ashish realize his mistake, and hence retrieve whatever I could of Smita s battered trust and friendship. The other half said that I should distance myself, and wipe off my hands from this matter forever!

When I reached home, I hadn’t made any decision.

To Be Continued

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A Story By Deepak Jeswal
Episode Five

The next day, information pills Vishal and I finished with classes and took the early U-special back. Smita was still absent, viagra order and I hadn t called her up either.Despite the early hour, the bus was overcrowded; we got into it with difficulty, stepping on someone’s shoe here and on another’s toe there. After a dozen apologies and a couple of abuses, we managed to reach a relatively safe corner and lodged ourselves till Pusa Road, from where the bus began to empty itself.

I looked around for familiar faces there were only a few that I recognized.

“Strange people have started commuting in this bus,” observed Vishal.

“Yeah, freshers probably,” I replied.

“Hey Dinesh, how are you man?” a voice called. I looked up at an obese guy wriggling his way towards us. I knew him distantly. He had met me several times earlier during the college fest. I recalled he was from St. Stephens, also doing English Hons. I wasn’t particularly impressed by him, and rued the fact that St. Stephens had chosen to admit him rather than myself.

“Arun, how are you?” I answered politely, when he was right next to us. I hated his chummy attitude, my hatred driven more by jealousy than any other tangible factor.

“Fine yaar. How’s you? College kaisa chal raha hai?”

“College toh wahiin khada hai, hum hi chal rahe hai,” I quipped.

He let out a low chuckle. “Waise, tumhara college is going great guns suna hai ek ladki pregnant ho gayii hai wahan pe,” he winked lewdly.

“Kitna bada ajooba hai na?” I stared at him coldly.”Pahli baar duniya mein kabhi koi ladki pregnant hui hai.”

Probably he didn’t get the sarcasm, because his overt good naturedness continued to flow, “Nahii yaar, it’s quite a scandal, considering that your college is so colorless. Had it been from Miranda House, no one would have batted an eyelid. After all, Miranda House ka MH stands more for Maternity Home,” he laughed, with another all-knowing wink. “Waise, tu jaanta hai kaun ladki hai, humein bhi milade na?”

I was aghast and nauseated. It was impossible for me to listen to this nonsense. Smita was not this kind of girl. If only they could see the purity and innocence in her!

“Nahin, I don’t know,” I hissed, and turning to Vishal I said, “Let’s get down here, I have to pick up a few things for dad,” and as I pushed towards the exit, I half turned and hastily said, “Bye Arun, see ya later…”

We started to move ahead towards the exit. Vishal trailed behind and mumbled something about the foolishness of getting down there since the bus service in the area was poor.

“I don’t care. I can’t hear this nonsense any longer,” I flung a quick reply to him and motioned the driver to stop at the signal for us to get down.

Irritably, I walked to a roadside restaurant, dumped my worn out black bag onto the next seat, and sat down heavily, dropping my head in my hands.

“Kya hua?” Vishal asked, “You never were like this before. Why have you become so touchy?”

“I don’t know,” I clicked my tongue part disgustingly, part resignedly. “But I just cannot bear to hear such remarks about Smita!”

“You love her?” asked Vishal.

“Bilkul. With my heart and soul,” I emphasized.

“And mind?”

“Huh?” I was taken aback. What sort of question was this? “Matlab?”

“Matlab yeh ke kabhi dimag se socha hai ke how you want to take it forward. Sirrf love kahne se toh nahi baat banegi na? Your parents, her parents, society all that have you thought over it all?”

I hadn’t. But I wasn’t admitting that, either. “My parents will be ok. I am their only son. They have always accepted my decision,” I reasoned, more to myself than to him though, even as I said it, I started to doubt it.

“Ok, that’s good. And her parents? Kya kahoge unnse? Ke mai aapki beti se shaadi karrna chahta hun, kyunki woh pregnant hai.”

“Oh, Vishal, come on now. Stop being dramatic. You know its not going to be this way!”

“Ok, but someone will have to tell her parents you or her. By the way, is she getting an abortion?”

“Yeah, she is, though you know I feel that I should marry her and allow the child to live on. Even she initially wanted that.” I was again making castles in thin air, trying to be a great champion of justice.

“Marriage or child?”

“What?”

“I mean what did she initially want to have the child or to marry you, or both?”

“The child,” I replied.

“Have you told her?”

“What?”

“That you want to marry her.”

“Yeah.”

“And her reaction?”

“Negative.”

“And you still want to marry her?” he asked, his eyes wide open and disbelief written boldly across his face.

I shook my head and repeated to him ad verbatim what happened at Smita’s place the last evening.

“And you really still want to marry her?” he repeated his question, like a stuck record. His practical outlook was irritating but I reckon it was absolutely correct.

“But I love her,” I stated obstinately.

“There, we are back to square one! Your love is immaterial and doesn’t matter in the entire scheme of things. She doesn’t love you.”

“She’ll love me,” I went on stubbornly. “She will also realize that it is best to marry a person who loves you than the one whom you love.”

“Bookish philosophy; impractical in real life,” he stated. “I suggest you wait for sometime. Allow her to abort this baby. Even if your utopic views do turn out to be true, ek cheez bataa honestly can you live your entire life with Ashish’s baby?”

I was about to say yes but stopped mid-way. All this while, I had only thought of the unborn child as Smita’s, forgetting that it was Ashish’s progeny too. Suppose he got Ashish’s looks? I dreaded the thought.

I conceded to his argument and we started for home, leaving behind an irate waiter grumbling about customers who leave without ordering anything. From the looks of the rundown restaurant, it seemed that we were not the only ones doing that.

Thankfully, Route No 755, which led to our neighborhood, was chugging along a rundown Blue Line bus, horribly derelict, and impossibly crowded.

“Did you have a chat with Ashish?” asked Vishal, as we got into the overcrowded bus.

I was able to say a “No” before we got into the struggle to waggle some space for ourselves. My thoughts were bit more clear today. I would talk to Ashish, although I had no hope for his ever accepting Smita, but it just might make her understand that I really meant well, and perhaps see the reason in accepting me in the end!

***************************************

Ashish Sehgal, the scion of Sehgal Group of Industries which included a famous tyre brand, one five star hotel and sundry other businesses, was six feet tall with a well toned body, evidently the result of several hours of work out in the gym. He had a slim waist, and wore a tight Lee Jeans, below a figure hugging white T-shirt with a small Nike logo on the right hand side of his broad chest. The T-shirt accentuated his six pack abs, and brazingly revealed well developed biceps. He had a thin, longish clean-shaven and fair face, with well proportioned celtic features, which to me didn’t seem anyhow attractive, but I guess one needed a girl’s eyes to view it. His hair was short and cropped, and I suspect already showing signs of a receding hairline. It was with some glee I noted that in a few years he might go bald.

It wasn’t too tough to find him. I had often seen him near the front gate in the mornings, eyeing lasciviously anything that came in skirt or Punjabi suit. That day too, he was there, with a bunch of cronies.

It wasn’t raining, though the weather was cloudy and dark, and it threatened to pour any moment. The ground was still wet from the previous night’s incessant downpour.

As ever, I had rehearsed the entire conversation, and this time I was determined not to make a fool of myself.

“Excuse me, Ashish,” I said, with a tone of extreme confidence, and took him out of his gang. In trying to sound controlled, my voice was probably a wee bit louder than usual, for his friends also eyed me suspiciously.

“Yeah?” he asked in a faux drawl, perhaps a consequence of his recent US trip.

“I don’t think you have recognized me. We met once earlier. I am Smita’s friend,” I began my rehearsed dialogue.

He eyed me blankly; his face, expressionless. In any case, I found his face holding a very stupid and dumb look. Thank heavens, he wasn’t in films, I thought. He would be another perfect non-actor beefcake, destined to flop after a few films.

“Smita who?” he asked, after a prolonged silence.

I was caught off-guard, and left speechless. Of all the possible reactions, I had never anticipated that he would come up with this!

Licking my lips in an obvious display of nervousness rearing its ugly head, I stammered out, “Smita in my class, second year English.” I tried to say it slowly, evenly and patiently, trying to suppress my anger and irritation, though my voice must have carried some modicum of disaffection.

He didn’t reply, but one of his friends who was watching us, sauntered over, and enquired,”Kya hua?”

“Dunno man!” replied Ashish. “He’s asking about some Smita in English Hons.”

I was sure the friend would have also recognized Smita s name. It was impossible that Ashish wouldn’t have boasted to them about his conquest .

“Arre, that hot chick from English,” laughed the friend. “Heard she is pregnant. Lots of hurry she was to do with it,” he added winking lewdly. And he gave a five to Ashish, their hands clapping in a vulgar show of camaraderie. But with this they had also fallen into their own trap, because in the entire college ‘the girl who got pregnant’ was just a vague entity with lots of speculation on her class and year.

“Not to do it,” I shot back in an acerbic tone. “But to be done with. Since your friends know Smita’s exact class and year and no one else in college seems to, I think there is no point in hiding it any further. I never knew Ashish that you would be such a bastard to forget the life you spoilt, ” I added, their apparent lack of concern acting as a catalyst in replacing my nervousness with anger.

In that split second I saw, he was taken aback at the direct accusation- but his reflex action was fast. He pushed me rudely and exclaimed, “Mind your tongue. Bastard kissko bola?”

I staggered backward, but only physically, because within me a fire had erupted. “You bastard for deserting Smita in this state As I stepped backward, I felt my foot hitting into a small puddle and water splashing around the ankles of my light blue jeans.

He lunged forward and held my collar in a tight grip, “Listen man, this is getting too far now!”

“That’s what. It’s gone too far now Ashish. Think about her!” I struggled to speak, my flaring eyes locked in a tight duel with his burning ones.

“Why? I don’t even know her!”

“You know her, she is no stranger!”

“Look, I am not falling in the trap of someone saying she is carrying my baby!”

“I never said it till now. But good you accept it!”

His hold relaxed from my collar. His friend had come forward too, but since all of it happened too soon, he was confused in his reaction. I noticed that a few others from his gang had seen him holding my collar, and sensing trouble they were moving towards us. I felt a drizzle begin.

“Ashish, please understand she needs you,” I pleaded, taking in quick heavy breath.

“Who needs me? I don’t know her,” he went on stubbornly.

“You know her very well,” I argued.

“I don’t. And if this girl is desperate to sleep with me, send her on, I am game. But listen, I ain’t fallin’ in your shitty trap. And why are you talking on her behalf? Are you her pimp?”

“Bastard!”

“Mind your…”

“C’ mon, leave him, Ashish,” his friend, who had been listening our rapid fire exchange, butt in. He eyed me disdainfully, and said, “I guess it’s his baby only…”

“Shut up and mind your own business,” I fired at him.

“Hey you, relax, and get lost, you don’t want to mess with us,” the friend shouted, and turned to Ashish, leading him away, “Chal, let’s move from here.” The others hadn’t intervened till now, but they were bundling around Ashish, asking him as to what had happened. They moved towards the canteen, and I heard Ashish telling his cronies that I was some mad man trying to implicate him falsely.

I felt weak and powerless. Nothing had gone the way I wanted to. Ashish’s flat denial shook me. How could I force his mind? How could I search a man s deliberately impoverished memory? How could I place some reason in his vacuous heart?

Never before had I felt such immense loathing for someone. My aversion towards Ashish built up steadily, as the rain increased its pace, and with each nonchalant swagger that Ashish took away from me. My blood boiled over and smothered any reason that was left there.

I ran up towards him, and pushed him roughly into the bush nearby; he and his friends were caught unawares, and he let out a stifled scream. I was in a half-mad, half-trance like state, and before anyone could react, I pulled him back, and punched his flat and hard abdomen with a force that was till then unknown to me. He doubled up in pain, but not allowing him any chance, I raised a knee and hit his groin, making him let out a loud painful cry.

His friends pounced on me from behind, but I let out a war-like roar, and pushed them hard with mighty force. My entire concentration and focus was on Ashish, and I saw him struggling to get up. But I couldn’t allow him to do that. Pulling him harshly by the collar, I gave another violent push, sending him reeling onto the tough tar road, splattering him onto a muddy puddle, and kicked him hard in the stomach again. His breath slipped and he doubled up in pain. Two of his friends jumped and held me, as another lunged towards his aid. One of the guys who held me gave a sharp kick on my legs, and I found them collapsing in pain. I took a sharp breath to steady myself, but a blow landed on my sides. The pain ran with a furious force to my brain, but it refused to acknowledge it, and lunged violently to shake them off. Their grip on my shoulders was strong, so I turned my energy towards them, and with both my elbows, I punctured their ribs. In the next instant, I swooped down on Ashish again, yanking him upward ruthlessly and I showered him with blows on his chest and stomach. His face was dazed and contorted, but before he could fall, I curled my hand in a tight fist, and landed him a powerful sack on his cheeks, which sent him staggering to the ground.

Suddenly, I saw around me a crowd had gathered. They didn’t intervene, but they were there for a good tamasha standing and watching with mute awe, desperately kicked to have another scandal in college.

Beyond this my memory fails me. I remember leaving the bruised Ashish on the ground, his friends helping him up. The rain was soaking through my shirt, and I felt an acute pain where I had been hit on the shin and sides. My steps were not coherent.

“Bahanchod,” a voice called. I stumbled and turned a bit to see some one call. Ashish’s friend. I recall that sneer.But without stopping, I took a step forward.

The next instant, something hard hit my head and all went blank.

To Be Continued

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Priyangini Mehta’s name is not unfamiliar to the readers of this blog. We have some common readers. Plus, physician she has edited all my recent stories. Her work on my stories has been so brilliant that today I feel extremely uncomfortable in putting up a new one without getting her final approval. She has also been the sole guest writer on this space – she wrote the review of Omkara (at the time when she was off blogs).

For those who have read her posts would know that she has an innate story telling capacity. Her four-part Suitor Sagas is a masterpiece in narration. So it was just a matter of time (and some push) that she would pen a story. I recall several comments on her previous blog where many readers had urged her to write fiction.

Finally now, that wait is over!

Yes, Priyangini has just completed her first short story The Spirit of Mumbai. And it will hit her blog on Monday evening. Being a true-blue Mumbaikar it was evident that her first work would revolve around the city. In The Spirit of Mumbai, she presents a slice of life of a working married girl against the back-drop of the blasts that rocked the city last year.

I promise it’s going to be a delicious treat to all readers!

The best part – the treat doesn’t end here. TSOM is part of a trilogy based on Mumbai life, and we will get to read two more from this series in the coming months.

In reality TSOM is not exactly her debut as a fiction writer. Some months back she had written a bulk of a rib-tickling romantic tale but somehow couldn’t complete it. I was lucky enough to read that story as well. I hope the response to TSOM encourages her to finish that one too!

Her blog is titled Life As It Goes. And with this story, I am sure it will be ‘life as it rocks!’

As a warm up to her story, I would suggest readers to read her brilliantly recounted Suitor Sagas (on her older space) and the recently concluded two part series Pensieve Peek Part One here and Part Two here.

On Monday 12th March 2007 at 5:00 p.m.(IST) be sure to click here to catch the wonderful story!

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A few days back I paid a visit to the local Planet M store at Sadar Bazar. I visited it after several months and as ever, ed diagnosis I returned disgustingly disappointed with their lopsided collections, angina especially in the older music section. There were plentiful albums on RD Burman, a handful on Madan Mohan, a few on SD Burman and even a couple of polite ones on Naushad and – surprise surprise, Chitragupta- but there wasn’t a single piece on Shankar-Jaikishan- the tunesmiths who unarguably ruled the charts in the golden fifties and sixties!

A similar story was seen at the newly opened Music World store (at Pacific Mall) last week, where I had even dared to ask the salesman about this unjust anomaly but had received only a blank quizzical look from him as if I had asked some impossibly tough Newton’s theory!

It’s not that the smaller Agra editions of these stores are cutting out Shankar-Jaikishan. The problem is repeated at their bigger versions in Delhi also. And the root of this lies in the sheer negligence on HMV’s part (the music company which controls the rights of 80-90% movies from that era).

Take Lata Mangeshkar, for example. Till date I have seen only one album featuring the diva with the composers. Quite strange! From Barsaat till about the mid-sixties, when the rift between the two widened, Lata Mangeshkar was the leading singer in nearly all their films, so much so that there are some movies like Poonam and Aurat where she is the only singer, no male solos, not even any duets! Even beyond the mid-sixties, despite their differences, Latadi continued to be permanently placed in their recording room, with some significant releases like Raat Aur Din, Prince, Laat Saaheb and Teesri Kasam coming out in the late sixties. Post-Jaikishan’s untimely demise, when Shankar continued to compose solo (though keeping the joint brand name as a mark of respect towards his late partner), they patched up big time and gave us Sanyasi, Do Jhoot, Chorni and Paapi Pet Ka Sawaal Hai.

For such a long-lasting and dazzling association, some of which encompasses some magnificently brilliant melodies, one single album is a grossly small representation!

Also, HMV should realize that they cannot keep on playing one song from a film like a warped stuck record. For example, Dil Apna Aur Preet Parayii has two beautiful solos Andaaz mera mastaana and Sheesha-e-dil itna na uchhalo, both equally good, if not better than Ajeeb daastaan hai! Similarly, one has to delve into Chhoti Bahan to notice that the album is not restricted to that one song played once a year or about Jaaoon kahan bata e dil (both realy nice songs). There is the porcelain fragile Baaghon baharon mein ithlaata gaata aaya koii as well, which for some unknown reason is criminally neglected. Why can’t HMV feature this in some collection of Latadi, possibly in the myriad ‘Love’ or ‘Romance’ series that the company releases with quite an alarming regularity, but with all the same solos that have been oft repeated? In Yahudi the focus always centres on Yeh mera deewanapan hai, but who will carve out the rhythm wonder Dil mein pyaar ka toofan (a tune used by Yash Chopra as Neeche paan kii dukan in a tipsy scene in Silsila) or the pain-lashed Aansoo kii aag leke teri yaad aayi? Why the latter number wasn’t included in the ‘Dard’ series of Lata Mangeshkar is anyone’s million dollar guess? Similarly, the tender Lo aayii milan kii raat suhaani aaj from Aashiq is never found in any album, and from Aah, the love-lorn ditty Sunte the naam hum jinka bahaar se is always short-changed!

I can go on and on about this!

Even if I momentarily set aside my obsession for Lata Mangeshkar, there is huge bulk of work by Asha Bhonsle for the enterprising duo some of which are, if I may be allowed to be a little blasphemous, by far superior to her numbers for either SDB or OPN. In fact, many of my personal favorite numbers of Ashaji from that era invariably emanate from Shankar Jaikishan’s rich repertoire. For example, amongst her cabaret songs, it’s the unsung beauty of Parwano ki raah mein (Haryali Aur Raasta) that excites me the most (the wanton and lush interludes are only rivaled by Helen’s energetic dance to the song). Or, take for example, the lusty intonations of Mujhe pyaas badi pyaas lagi hai or the rustic come-hither calls of Dekhoji raat ko julam ho gaya both largely unknown songs, but nevertheless mindblowingly mesmerizing. And then there was the steamy, sensuous and sensational Dilruba dil pe tu yeh sitam kiye jaa (Rajkumar), with some lip-smacking rigorous and vigorous drum beats. Moving aside from the hot numbers, they also gave her the innocence of Nanhe munhe bachhe teri muhhi mein kya hai and the romance of Raat ke humsafar thak ke ghar ko chale! In the latter years, Asha Bhonsle worked for many big projects of Shankar-Jaikishan – the title song of Hare Kaanch Kii Choodiyan is a precious example from this age. And then there are the bumper hits Parde mein rahne do parda na uthaayo (Shikar) or the sizzling Ang lag ja baalma (Mera Naam Joker). I have yet to come across an album depicting this momentous association.

The male singers don’t fare any better. It is a common knowledge that Rafisaab teamed up with Shankar Jaikishan to create colossal ditties for Shammi Kapoor, Dharmendra and Rajendra Kumar starrers. Yet, again, for this vast collection there is just one cassette that I have seen. Even there, the focus is just on the hit songs, leaving behind some genuinely interesting numbers. For example, Rafisaab’s heart wrenching rendition of Kahan jaa raha hai (Seema) is almost impossible to find.

Mukesh and Manna Dey are other two singers who featured copiously in Shankar Jaikishan songs yet exclusive albums featuring the artistes with the composers are conspicuous by their absence. For example, Mukesh’s Mast nazar dekh idhar (Ek Dil Sau Afsaane) is a fabulous number that has been unfairly buried in the debris of time; the rhythm, the beats and the interlude in this song would put any modern musician to shame! The same ignonimous fate stuck other scintillating numbers e.g. the sarcastically poignant Ae pyaase dil bezubaan (Begunaah), the tragic Yeh zindagi (Sapnon Ka Saudagar) and the shining-as-gold Yaad aayi aadhi raat ko kal raat kii tauba (Kanhaiya).

Every singer who worked under Shankar Jaikishan, be it Mukesh, Manna Dey, Rafisaab or even Suman Kalyanpur and Subir Sen, has found that single (usually more) number that they could cling on to for a lifetime. It would have been impossible for a shrilly Sharda to survive had she not found a mentor in them (I am deliberately not going into any debatable issues about their personal lives here!) In fact, if I could bear Sharda, it is solely because she sang under Shankar- Jaikishan’s (more the former’s) exquisite orchestra – take for example the ultimately wide-angled, luxuriant and breathtakingly enormous title song of Around The World or, on the other spectrum, the dew-drop fresh and delicate love-duet Jaane chaman shola badan (Gumnaam).

If we leave the collections for a while, the movie albums of Shankar-Jaikishan are fast dwindling. In the early nineties, HMV had done the favor of re-releasing some of them I had managed to get hold of Poonam/Shikast, Main Nashe Mein Hoon/Kanhaiya, Saanjh Aur Savera/Ek Dil Sau Afsaane and a few more. But try finding them now! It s like searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack. And even if you get the cassettes, the CD’s wouldn’t be there. But shouldn’t HMV also realize that there would be a mass of interested people like me who would like to own the entire albums of such superb musicals like Raj Hath, Nagina, Patrani or Aurat. The songs of these films are easily exchanged in the gray space of the web world but the rightful revenue to the company, and the resultant royalty to the artistes’ heirs, is irretrievably lost!

There have been a few (IIRC, only two) Golden Collection Series on Shankar Jaikishan and strangely there is no Legends Series edition released on the duo. Why so?

In the Golden Collection-Shankar Jaikishan series, my grouse about including the more common-placed numbers remains. For example, once again there was Ajeeb daastaan hai, or Raja kii aayegi baaraat or Kisiki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar. I accept these are all numbers worth their weight in gold. But for the series, they could easily have come up with more editions, including many of the unknown ditties that have been mentioned up above in this write-up. Or some other ones that I can immediately (and off-hand) think of – for example, the fusion fiesta of Sajan sang kaahe naina lagaaye (Mai Nashe Mein Hoon) or the philosophical twinge of Duniya isi ka naam hai (Duniya) or the masti of Patli kamar hai tirchhi nazar hai (Barsaat) or the choral beauty of Naacho gaao nacho (sans any lead singer)(Amrapali) or the haunting notes of Do din ke liye mehmaan yahaan (Baadal) or the deceptively vivacious but inherently tragic Mai har raat jaagi tumhaari qasam tum bahut yaad aaye (Gaban) {what a splendidly sensational song with a complex tune that sucks you into its many folds} or the orchestral sizzler Teen kanastar peet peet kar (Love Marriage) or the naughty Dil se dil takraaye (Love Marriage, again) or the reckless abandon of Thandi thandi hawa mein (Prince) or the optistic Baat baat mein rootho na (Seema) or the impish Aaj na jaane paagal manwa kaahe ko ghabraaye (Begunah) – the list is simply endless!

HMV’s neglect of Shankar Jaikishan is sad, disgusting and horrible; especially considering the fact that they were the pioneers of Hindi film music, imparting it with the grammar that has been the foundation for subsequent generations. Shankar Jaikishan gave a fresh sound to the music, and their interlude music is par excellence – often, I have loved their songs for the flawless orchestra they built into their songs. And all Shankar Jaikishan tunes are extremely easy on the lips, so much so that listening to them one can feel the effortlessness in them. They gave a definite structure and symmetry to the songs.

Sadly, it is not only HMV’s collection where Shankar Jaikishan are getting a raw deal. Even on the internet it is hard to find good articles on the duo. On Orkut, a popular youngster site, the members in Shankar Jaikishan club are a mere 338 (compare this to Panchamda’s 7505 members in one of the clubs, it is way too less, but this is still understandable, but even for that music-chor Pritam one finds 395 members, you would know why I am fuming!) On Mouthshut.com, another fairly popular site where common readers post their views and reviews, there is simply no listing on Shankar Jaikishan under the Bollywood Movie Personalities (you can find even a non-star Shayan Munshi and Tushar Kapoor, but no SJ!!!)

With HMV holding a treasure trove of music rights, the company has a formidable responsibility in educating the young generation about the values of the undoubtedly Golden Era of Hindi Film Music the fifties and the sixties. They have to go beyond just making quick bucks in releasing shoddily done up remixes (when they have the originals with them!). Till a few years up to his death, RD Burman was a lost entity, but the collective force of media, Ashaji and the music industry revived his memory a big way posthumously. Similar effort needs to be done for Shankar Jaikishan as well. The Golden Era of Music has to be informed and told to all. And in that, they have to rightfully return the crown to the shahanshahs of that time – Shankar Jaikishan!

Related Readings – Shankar Jaikishan Expressions: Mukesh’s Sad Songs
Lataji Sings for Shankar Jaikishan – A List of My Favorite Songs
Shankar Jaikishan Expressions-2: Non-Lata Mangeshkar Duet

Technorati : Asha Bhonsle, Lata Mangeshkar, Mohd. Rafi, Mukesh, Shankar Jaikishan

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Bring out the enforcements. Call the protectors. Burn effigies. Damage properties. Take out to the street. How dare the public go about earning their roti, visit this nurse kapda aur Mercedez¹ when our thousand year old yet vulnerable like a kid culture is again under attack? Foreign hand or rather foreign mouth has again swooped over our petite modesty to kiss and ravage, and lo and behold, that too publicly. It’s a different matter that Shilpa Shetty hardly looks like a wronged woman, and certainly not when a several-million-pound win is not at stake.

For the second time in just a few months Shilpa Shetty has managed to represent Indian culture and aesthetics and this time it’s not all Goody goody! Oh yes, she giggled through it all, which is actually the cause of ire. She should have protested. And, then she should have seen how Big Brothers in far flung cities rallied around her. Tsk, tsk, Shilpa you simply forgot the rules of the same game which you yourself created. My suggestion: call an impromptu press conference, and yes, don’t forget to carry that glycerine bottle with you; in any case, you rarely use it these days since films are really not coming your way.

All our high-flung notions about India shining and poised were cruelly ripped when Richard Gere pulled Shilpa in a tight hug and showered her with copious kisses; suddenly, uncomfortable memories of the eighties erupted where Padmini Kolhapure had pecked on Prince Charles cheeks or when Shabana Azmi kissed Nelson Mendela and the entire nation felt outraged. That was the repressive eighties, this is the progressive millennium, yet the reactions are no better, and the progress barely mentionable. If anything, due to the excessive media coverage, the consequence is more telling and troubling.

The entire report on the issue gave a feeling of deja vu. The protests came from the same centers like Bhopal, Indore or Varanasi. The same kind of hyperbole forwarded about values, culture and tradition . The same kind of nuisance created. (I dread to think of normal people stuck in the traffic jams in the sweltering North Indian heat when the hooligans went about their mission in saving Bharatiya izzat²!)

Strange! Our culture is brutally hurt when Shilpa Shetty gets the kiss-shower publicly, yet it continues to survive and smile when hundreds of girls are showered with shame and ignominy in the open air brothel at Bharatpur, pushed into prostitution by their own families! Strange! Our culture is virulently verbal when lovers move in the park hand in hand, yet it gets a vitamin boost behind closed door where we have single-mindedly gone about in the mission of increasing the population to impossible levels. Perhaps the closed doors are to be blamed. Or maybe the flowers touch each other too much³, because after all we are Indians, we do not do sex, our birds and bees are responsible for the burgeoning population, that s why we are all a stinging and humming nation sans any humanity! Strange! Our traditions jolt into a frantic frenzy in teaching sex education to kids, yet it slips into a numbed silence when the AIDS figures rise faster than the appendage that transmits the disease. Strange! We react so boldly on some film or cricket star who can take their own good care, yet not a drop of tear is spent on the defenseless widows languishing in near oblivion in Vrindavan and Varanasi!

The hollow drum of Bharatiya parampara⁴ has been beaten enough. Today it doesn’t emanate any sweet music but sounds irritatingly cacophonous. Can we please allow it to rest? Along with this stupid non-issue about Richard Gere-Shilpa Shetty!

Glossary

1. Roti kapda aur makaan, literally meaning bread, cloth and housing, is a typical Indian phrase used to depict the three important pillars on which man survives.
2. Bharatiya izzat – Indian honor
3. For years Indian films shied from showing a kiss or love-making scene, using two flowers touching each other as a bizarre symbolism
4. Bharatiya parampara – Indian tradition

Related Reading – A Post on Mika-Rakhi Sawant Kiss Controversy
Additional Reading (Non Related) – Blog Carnival on ‘Observations of Life’– Some very interesting posts, and yes, my post ‘Sycophants in office’ is also featured.

Technorati : Culture, India, Indian, Kiss, Richard Gere, Shilpa Shetty, Tradition
Del.icio.us : Culture, India, Indian, Kiss, Richard Gere, Shilpa Shetty, Tradition

Bring out the enforcements. Call the protectors. Burn effigies. Damage properties. Take out to the street. How dare the public go about earning their roti, visit this nurse kapda aur Mercedez¹ when our thousand year old yet vulnerable like a kid culture is again under attack? Foreign hand or rather foreign mouth has again swooped over our petite modesty to kiss and ravage, and lo and behold, that too publicly. It’s a different matter that Shilpa Shetty hardly looks like a wronged woman, and certainly not when a several-million-pound win is not at stake.

For the second time in just a few months Shilpa Shetty has managed to represent Indian culture and aesthetics and this time it’s not all Goody goody! Oh yes, she giggled through it all, which is actually the cause of ire. She should have protested. And, then she should have seen how Big Brothers in far flung cities rallied around her. Tsk, tsk, Shilpa you simply forgot the rules of the same game which you yourself created. My suggestion: call an impromptu press conference, and yes, don’t forget to carry that glycerine bottle with you; in any case, you rarely use it these days since films are really not coming your way.

All our high-flung notions about India shining and poised were cruelly ripped when Richard Gere pulled Shilpa in a tight hug and showered her with copious kisses; suddenly, uncomfortable memories of the eighties erupted where Padmini Kolhapure had pecked on Prince Charles cheeks or when Shabana Azmi kissed Nelson Mendela and the entire nation felt outraged. That was the repressive eighties, this is the progressive millennium, yet the reactions are no better, and the progress barely mentionable. If anything, due to the excessive media coverage, the consequence is more telling and troubling.

The entire report on the issue gave a feeling of deja vu. The protests came from the same centers like Bhopal, Indore or Varanasi. The same kind of hyperbole forwarded about values, culture and tradition . The same kind of nuisance created. (I dread to think of normal people stuck in the traffic jams in the sweltering North Indian heat when the hooligans went about their mission in saving Bharatiya izzat²!)

Strange! Our culture is brutally hurt when Shilpa Shetty gets the kiss-shower publicly, yet it continues to survive and smile when hundreds of girls are showered with shame and ignominy in the open air brothel at Bharatpur, pushed into prostitution by their own families! Strange! Our culture is virulently verbal when lovers move in the park hand in hand, yet it gets a vitamin boost behind closed door where we have single-mindedly gone about in the mission of increasing the population to impossible levels. Perhaps the closed doors are to be blamed. Or maybe the flowers touch each other too much³, because after all we are Indians, we do not do sex, our birds and bees are responsible for the burgeoning population, that s why we are all a stinging and humming nation sans any humanity! Strange! Our traditions jolt into a frantic frenzy in teaching sex education to kids, yet it slips into a numbed silence when the AIDS figures rise faster than the appendage that transmits the disease. Strange! We react so boldly on some film or cricket star who can take their own good care, yet not a drop of tear is spent on the defenseless widows languishing in near oblivion in Vrindavan and Varanasi!

The hollow drum of Bharatiya parampara⁴ has been beaten enough. Today it doesn’t emanate any sweet music but sounds irritatingly cacophonous. Can we please allow it to rest? Along with this stupid non-issue about Richard Gere-Shilpa Shetty!

Glossary

1. Roti kapda aur makaan, literally meaning bread, cloth and housing, is a typical Indian phrase used to depict the three important pillars on which man survives.
2. Bharatiya izzat – Indian honor
3. For years Indian films shied from showing a kiss or love-making scene, using two flowers touching each other as a bizarre symbolism
4. Bharatiya parampara – Indian tradition

Related Reading – A Post on Mika-Rakhi Sawant Kiss Controversy
Additional Reading (Non Related) – Blog Carnival on ‘Observations of Life’– Some very interesting posts, and yes, my post ‘Sycophants in office’ is also featured.

Technorati : Culture, India, Indian, Kiss, Richard Gere, Shilpa Shetty, Tradition
Del.icio.us : Culture, India, Indian, Kiss, Richard Gere, Shilpa Shetty, Tradition

Film Review

At long legs… oops, check long last Ram Gopal Verma’s supposedly controversial film gets released. The film has been long in legs… aargh, I mean long in news, mostly for all wrong reasons.

The story goes thus: a family man Vijay (Amitabh Bachhan uses his erstwhile screen name after ages) lives in a picturesque house with his homely wife Amruta (Revathi) and his young daughter (Shradha Arya). On one holiday the daughter brings home her friend, a reckless young girl Jiah (Jiah Khan), who has long long legs, and who comes from a broken family. The long legs moves about in the house, and though initially Vijay finds it disconcerting, gradually he starts thawing towards them. So, he takes her on long legs… oops, long drives to show her the tea estate. They have long legs… err, long conversations about life and love and marriage. In not so long legs… aargh, I mean not-so-long-time they get attracted to each other, so much so in the long legs… oho, I mean in the long run Vijay confesses about his attraction to his wife.

In the long legs… ok ok ok, I give up and that’s where the entire problem lies! Verma was so obsessed in showing the long legs of Jiah in every conceivable shot, from every conceivable angle, roaming in the tiniest conceivable shorts that he totally forgot that there has to be a story and screenplay in a film as well! By the time the film finishes, it looks as if we have seen a brilliant advertisement on legs, but a pathetic film on emotions.

The one line story was over the moment Amitabh Bachchan starts to narrate it. And stretching it over the next two hours was, well, stretching it unnecessarily! The filler moments are dull, boring and unimaginative. Vermasaab, I know you hate Barjatya’s movies, but I seriously suggest you buy a DVD of Hum Aapke Hain Koun and learn how Sooraj Barjatya padded his non-story with some brilliant moments that make the film worth viewing every time it is shown on any channel s umpteenth re-run!

Worse, the film doesn’t even tackle the issue sensitively or at length (except for showing the legs…uh, there I go again!) An old man-young girl romance required a lot of working on, rather than just showing off Jiah’s body and her bathing in the garden! Even though it seems the film didn’t want to portray it as lust, that’s exactly what it comes across. It’s understandable from Jiah’s point of view that she would fall for the first intelligent father figure she comes across (after all, her own father had left her when young, and she feels that void in her life). But Vijay’s emotional churning needed much more justification. Since the entire film is set in just a few days, the lust factor seems all the more relevant.

The direction is kiddish, as if an amateur director has made his first film. And had it not carried the names of Verma, AB and Revathi, it would have ended as one of those seedy morning show films! Strange that a director who is so vocal about realism chooses to dress up Jiah in teeny weeny shorts when his hero is covered in thick jackets!

The dialogues are listless. And, though the cinematography shows enough shots of a lush green Munnar (Kerala) still I couldn’t fathom why the entire look was overall gloomy and dull! The background score is the only exciting factor, which uplifts some lethargic scenes.

Performances are all good, but then both Revathi and Amitabh Bachchan are seasoned actors. Debutante Jiah Khan has – sigh, I can’t help mention it once again – long and beautiful legs, and is quite attractive. But to survive in the industry, she would require much more, and certainly these days Verma’s protege tag is hardly going to help!

In short, a wasted effort!

Overall – All legs, no soul!

Technorati : Amitabh Bachchan, Jiah Khan, Nishabd, Ram Gopal Verma
Del.icio.us : Amitabh Bachchan, Jiah Khan, Nishabd, Ram Gopal Verma

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Bring out the enforcements. Call the protectors. Burn effigies. Damage properties. Take out to the street. How dare the public go about earning their roti, visit this nurse kapda aur Mercedez¹ when our thousand year old yet vulnerable like a kid culture is again under attack? Foreign hand or rather foreign mouth has again swooped over our petite modesty to kiss and ravage, and lo and behold, that too publicly. It’s a different matter that Shilpa Shetty hardly looks like a wronged woman, and certainly not when a several-million-pound win is not at stake.

For the second time in just a few months Shilpa Shetty has managed to represent Indian culture and aesthetics and this time it’s not all Goody goody! Oh yes, she giggled through it all, which is actually the cause of ire. She should have protested. And, then she should have seen how Big Brothers in far flung cities rallied around her. Tsk, tsk, Shilpa you simply forgot the rules of the same game which you yourself created. My suggestion: call an impromptu press conference, and yes, don’t forget to carry that glycerine bottle with you; in any case, you rarely use it these days since films are really not coming your way.

All our high-flung notions about India shining and poised were cruelly ripped when Richard Gere pulled Shilpa in a tight hug and showered her with copious kisses; suddenly, uncomfortable memories of the eighties erupted where Padmini Kolhapure had pecked on Prince Charles cheeks or when Shabana Azmi kissed Nelson Mendela and the entire nation felt outraged. That was the repressive eighties, this is the progressive millennium, yet the reactions are no better, and the progress barely mentionable. If anything, due to the excessive media coverage, the consequence is more telling and troubling.

The entire report on the issue gave a feeling of deja vu. The protests came from the same centers like Bhopal, Indore or Varanasi. The same kind of hyperbole forwarded about values, culture and tradition . The same kind of nuisance created. (I dread to think of normal people stuck in the traffic jams in the sweltering North Indian heat when the hooligans went about their mission in saving Bharatiya izzat²!)

Strange! Our culture is brutally hurt when Shilpa Shetty gets the kiss-shower publicly, yet it continues to survive and smile when hundreds of girls are showered with shame and ignominy in the open air brothel at Bharatpur, pushed into prostitution by their own families! Strange! Our culture is virulently verbal when lovers move in the park hand in hand, yet it gets a vitamin boost behind closed door where we have single-mindedly gone about in the mission of increasing the population to impossible levels. Perhaps the closed doors are to be blamed. Or maybe the flowers touch each other too much³, because after all we are Indians, we do not do sex, our birds and bees are responsible for the burgeoning population, that s why we are all a stinging and humming nation sans any humanity! Strange! Our traditions jolt into a frantic frenzy in teaching sex education to kids, yet it slips into a numbed silence when the AIDS figures rise faster than the appendage that transmits the disease. Strange! We react so boldly on some film or cricket star who can take their own good care, yet not a drop of tear is spent on the defenseless widows languishing in near oblivion in Vrindavan and Varanasi!

The hollow drum of Bharatiya parampara⁴ has been beaten enough. Today it doesn’t emanate any sweet music but sounds irritatingly cacophonous. Can we please allow it to rest? Along with this stupid non-issue about Richard Gere-Shilpa Shetty!

Glossary

1. Roti kapda aur makaan, literally meaning bread, cloth and housing, is a typical Indian phrase used to depict the three important pillars on which man survives.
2. Bharatiya izzat – Indian honor
3. For years Indian films shied from showing a kiss or love-making scene, using two flowers touching each other as a bizarre symbolism
4. Bharatiya parampara – Indian tradition

Related Reading – A Post on Mika-Rakhi Sawant Kiss Controversy
Additional Reading (Non Related) – Blog Carnival on ‘Observations of Life’– Some very interesting posts, and yes, my post ‘Sycophants in office’ is also featured.

Technorati : Culture, India, Indian, Kiss, Richard Gere, Shilpa Shetty, Tradition
Del.icio.us : Culture, India, Indian, Kiss, Richard Gere, Shilpa Shetty, Tradition

Film Review

At long legs… oops, check long last Ram Gopal Verma’s supposedly controversial film gets released. The film has been long in legs… aargh, I mean long in news, mostly for all wrong reasons.

The story goes thus: a family man Vijay (Amitabh Bachhan uses his erstwhile screen name after ages) lives in a picturesque house with his homely wife Amruta (Revathi) and his young daughter (Shradha Arya). On one holiday the daughter brings home her friend, a reckless young girl Jiah (Jiah Khan), who has long long legs, and who comes from a broken family. The long legs moves about in the house, and though initially Vijay finds it disconcerting, gradually he starts thawing towards them. So, he takes her on long legs… oops, long drives to show her the tea estate. They have long legs… err, long conversations about life and love and marriage. In not so long legs… aargh, I mean not-so-long-time they get attracted to each other, so much so in the long legs… oho, I mean in the long run Vijay confesses about his attraction to his wife.

In the long legs… ok ok ok, I give up and that’s where the entire problem lies! Verma was so obsessed in showing the long legs of Jiah in every conceivable shot, from every conceivable angle, roaming in the tiniest conceivable shorts that he totally forgot that there has to be a story and screenplay in a film as well! By the time the film finishes, it looks as if we have seen a brilliant advertisement on legs, but a pathetic film on emotions.

The one line story was over the moment Amitabh Bachchan starts to narrate it. And stretching it over the next two hours was, well, stretching it unnecessarily! The filler moments are dull, boring and unimaginative. Vermasaab, I know you hate Barjatya’s movies, but I seriously suggest you buy a DVD of Hum Aapke Hain Koun and learn how Sooraj Barjatya padded his non-story with some brilliant moments that make the film worth viewing every time it is shown on any channel s umpteenth re-run!

Worse, the film doesn’t even tackle the issue sensitively or at length (except for showing the legs…uh, there I go again!) An old man-young girl romance required a lot of working on, rather than just showing off Jiah’s body and her bathing in the garden! Even though it seems the film didn’t want to portray it as lust, that’s exactly what it comes across. It’s understandable from Jiah’s point of view that she would fall for the first intelligent father figure she comes across (after all, her own father had left her when young, and she feels that void in her life). But Vijay’s emotional churning needed much more justification. Since the entire film is set in just a few days, the lust factor seems all the more relevant.

The direction is kiddish, as if an amateur director has made his first film. And had it not carried the names of Verma, AB and Revathi, it would have ended as one of those seedy morning show films! Strange that a director who is so vocal about realism chooses to dress up Jiah in teeny weeny shorts when his hero is covered in thick jackets!

The dialogues are listless. And, though the cinematography shows enough shots of a lush green Munnar (Kerala) still I couldn’t fathom why the entire look was overall gloomy and dull! The background score is the only exciting factor, which uplifts some lethargic scenes.

Performances are all good, but then both Revathi and Amitabh Bachchan are seasoned actors. Debutante Jiah Khan has – sigh, I can’t help mention it once again – long and beautiful legs, and is quite attractive. But to survive in the industry, she would require much more, and certainly these days Verma’s protege tag is hardly going to help!

In short, a wasted effort!

Overall – All legs, no soul!

Technorati : Amitabh Bachchan, Jiah Khan, Nishabd, Ram Gopal Verma
Del.icio.us : Amitabh Bachchan, Jiah Khan, Nishabd, Ram Gopal Verma

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The weather took a sudden u-turn on Sunday and unexpected showers hit the entire North India. The lightening showed more presence than Agra’s electricity board. And the cacophonous thunder kept people awake alongwith the mosquitoes.

On Monday, page in the midst of a function, pfizer while our Vice President delivered an essentially dull business presentation, plague the proceedings were suddenly livened up with reverberating background sounds, drowning the VP’s voice. It was a hailstorm. Hail, the size of overgrown potatoes, lashed Agra – and destroyed the potato crop!

A passer-by took refuge in the hall where we were having the function, hit by the furious hail. An aquaintance’s car’s window cracked under the weight (I scurried to the window to see if my own battered Santro could bear the onslaught – mercifully, it did!).

That night as well, the rain gods poured their hearts out, after every short interval. And while the rain gods worked overtime, the electricity proceeded on a long leave. Climbing five floors, after a few drinks, at 2 in the night, in pitch blackness, with just a dim light of the mobile phone that would go off every few seconds, and a load of laptop on my shoulders, is a feat that I wouldn’t really like to repeat very soon!

Due to the rain, the temperatures went down, and up came the sweaters. They say it’s due to ‘global warming’ – but strangely it left me shivering!

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This entry was posted on Friday, March 16th, 2007 at 9:39 am and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.