A pagebreak in protest

I'm breaking the flow of my Diaries to show my disgust at whats happening in Myanmar. Peaceful demonstration by the Buddhist monks in favour of democracy is being curbed by the ruling military junta in a violent fashion. 3 monks have been killed, 100s put behind bars and now the military is storming the monastries.

Its shameful!

The Emerald Isle Diaries - 9

It’s my last evening at the Isle and this is the last post from the Isle. But this isn’t the last page from the diary. I have to write a few more pages on it and that will happen from India.

The good friend arrived much later than the expected time due to some technical snag with the aircraft. And, as usual, much has happened since then. Planned, unplanned and foiled plans. Let me tell you about a couple of them.

Friday evening brought in a major experience of the ‘Rock’ side of Sri Lanka. Chaga took us to meet some of her friends who are into ‘real rock’ music and the two of us were delighted way beyond our expectations. She had mentioned about it earlier and I had thought it will be a bunch of guys having some fun together. What we experienced was a bunch of highly professional and accomplished musicians inside a dark and great sounding studio, having some fun together.

The band is called ‘Sage Merlyn’ and it consists of 3 fat and happy brothers. One with his awesome throaty (Louis Armstrongish) vocals, another at the lead guitar with extremely some extremely taut guitaring and the third one at the keyboards. When we waked in, they had just started playing a solid rock rendition of ‘Sandman’ (America), which is originally on the softer side. As the evening unfurled, guys kept joining them on different instruments and it became one long trip for everyone who was present there, including us. The famous Sri Lankan Arrack in the red color case kept going down our throats as the atmosphere kept going high.

They sang their renditions of some great tracks but what bowled me over completely was how they turned a sentimental number like ‘Diamonds and Rust’ (Joan Baez) in a powerful rock number. I’ve never been to a better night-club in my life. A couple of hours later, I had joined them on vocals for a few numbers by Cat Stevans and the personal favorite ‘Dust in the Wind’ (Kansas).

The early morning trip to Sigiriya Fort and Minnariya Tank (a natural reservoir) forced us to leave the music and those three happy and high brothers.

The long awaited trip to Sigiriya / Minnariya Tank began at 7:45 am from the hotel lobby. Sigiriya is an ancient fortress built by an insecure King on the top of a mountain and Minnariya Tank is a natural reservoir famous for its elephants. Both these places are close to each other and the plan was to cover them both with one night’s stay at the guest house near the fortress.

The trip ended in the hotel lobby at 10 am of the same day and the stupidity of the driver assigned to us by the car-hire company was responsible for it. I don’t want to get into the frustrations of those 2 hours over here. I had to cancel the trip to get some peace of mind for the two of us.

Since then, it has largely been a shopping based weekend with a dip in the pool. Magical Laphroig, purchse of some good DVDs and India’s smashing victory over Australia has been the high points.

I haven’t given up on the plans climbing up the fort and going to the reservoir. It shall happen in my next trip to the island, which will be soon.

The photograph above is of the vocalist of Sage Merlyn.

The Emerald Isle Diaries - 8

My experience with the famous Ceylon tea began as a let down and I mentioned it in one of my earlier pages. Taj Samudra has Orange Pekoe in their menu but it’s absent from their kitchen. Chaga, my colleague came to my rescue with a pack of BOP (Broken Orange Pekoe) belonging to the famous Mlesna (pronounced Melesna) Tea Estate and more importantly a small metallic sieve. Now, I brew my own tea inside the comforts of my room and the mornings have become beautiful. Sipping on orange pekoe while staring aimlessly at the sea with ‘Pet Sounds’ as the background score is a great way to begin the day.

Sri Lankans consume a lot of sugar in their cuppa and it can become very frustrating at times, especially when you are used to half a teaspoon of sugar. After the first couple of days, the woman who is responsible for tea / coffee, in my office had to be asked to give sugar separately. Her name is Shakuntala and she is always ready with three questions, whenever she sees me. They are, Tea? Coffee? or Water? She lost everyone she had in the Tsunami of 2004 and she is always full of smile and service.

What we call as ‘black tea’ is referred to as ‘plain tea’ over here and it’s more popular than the one with milk. One can expect the quality of this tea to be usually good (if you can discount the amount of sugar in it) even in the cheapest looking joint.

The hill station of Nuwara Eliya, near Kandy is one of the major tea producing zones. History suggests that the production of tea in Ceylon began after a deadly fungus destroyed most of the coffee crop on the island. The coffee plantation owners realized that they needed to diversify. This was around 1860s.

Though its of fine quality, I’m yet to taste anything close to the Darjeeling variety of Orange Pekoe. But, Shakuntala’s smile and readiness to serve makes up for it.

I will be getting samples of the Ceylon Tea for some of you and then you can give me your opinions. For now, a good friend from India is expected any moment. Charmed by the Diaries, he is flying down to be here for the weekend.

The photograph above is of Chagas gift. The kettle belongs to the Hotel.

The Emerald Isle Diaries - 7

Arnold is the name of an excellent singer in Colombo. His rendition of ‘Wind beneath my wings’ at the popular Karaoke Bar called ‘Sopranos’ keeps ringing in my ears. But, Arnold is tired…tired and bored of Sri Lanka. He says that nothing ever happens in Sri Lanka….everybody just goes to the nightclubs on Wednesdays and Weekends like a ritual…that’s all that they do and will keep doing. With my 3 weeks of stay in the Isle, I can see some truth in his statement. That night, while leaving the Karaoke bar, I felt a little sad for Arnold. I still do.

The musical landscape of Sri Lanka has different types. Type one is what they call as ‘Baaila’ and has its origins in Portugul, hence it has similar melodies, rhythm and structure as the Goan music. Happy, dance-worthy and easy! This sort of music is equally popular at the up-market night-clubs as well as a street side shop in the upcountry.

Type two is the film songs from old Sri Lankan movies and interestingly, most of them are set on the tunes of old and popular Hindi film songs. If you are into old hindi film songs, you can hear the familiar melody of a ‘Teri Aankhon Ke Siva Duniya Mein’ or a ‘Koi Saaghar Dil Ko Behlaata Nahin’ to the unfamiliar Sinhalese lyrics. In fact, when I started humming the Hindi lyrics of the song playing at a local restaurant, my Sri Lankan colleagues got very fascinated.

Type three is what plays in the cool night-clubs of Colombo. Mostly English and can be a mix of retro as well as contemporary. Due to Thiyagi’s connections, I managed to witness a local band selection competition and I heard some talented guys. Of course they were playing the harder stuff.

Type four is of the Classical variety and is a mix of North Indian and Carnatic style of classical music. Frankly, I'm yet to hear anything from this genre anywhere in Sri Lanka, but I’m told that its there.

Type five would be the current songs from Bollywood. SRK, Aishwarya Rai, Hrithik Roshan are popular and young kids download this material on their mobile phones. These kids, usually aren’t the western night-clubs sorts.

The Japanese muse, Karaoke is big in Colombo and almost everybody who visits a Karaoke Bar is a decent singer. But, to my extreme discomfort they all invariably end up singing the great MUSH tracks. MLTR, Air Supply, Elton John etc are some of the frequently attempted artistes. AS one 'Neil Diamond' loving (to my happiness) Sri Lankan explained, ‘Sri Lankans are a mushy race.’

More on the famous Ceylon tea in the coming pages of the Diaries.

The photograph here is from the insides of Sopranos. The singers shown here are Menuka and Sasha. Good singers but once again, they sing MUSH!

The Emerald Isle Diaries - 6

It began with serendipity and ended with an empty town.

The road from Colombo to Galle (pronounced “Gaul”) is sea-laced and worth a few photographs. Chaga, my cool colleague and friend was my companion for this work-cum-pleasure trip. Work for her and pleasure, for me. As we began to approach the outskirts of the region, the signs of the terrible Tsunami of 2004 started showing in the ruins of skeletal houses. Galle was one of the worst hit regions.

The village where we had work was about 40 km away from Galle and reaching there was like serendipity. We had no idea that it will be tucked in one of the tea valleys of the southern Sri Lanka…the Watawala tea estate which produces the famous brand Zesta. The weather, with its light drizzle was giving perfect accompaniment to the place. After dropping Chaga at the place where she had to be along with the people from the research agency, I did a trip of the ‘Village Green’ and the tea estates. The charming number by 'The Kinks' was running in my system while the drizzle continued. My love for tea added to the pleasure.

The journey from Village Green to ‘many many years back in time’ took me an hour. The drizzle had stopped by then.

History suggests that Galle is the Biblical city of Tarshish from where King Solomon drew Ivory, Peacock and other valuables. The modern history of Galle started in 1505, when the first Portuguese ship was driven here by a storm. In the course of time the port city saw three different rules….Portuguese, Dutch and finally the British. It was the Dutch who constructed the present and 90 acre Fort of Galle in the year 1663, and this fort was my reason to visit Galle.

Once inside the fort, I was transposed into another world. The city inside is one of the world’s best-preserved colonial landscape with its understated, sleepy charm. Its low-rise streets are lined with old churches and Dutch colonial villas, many of which retain original street-facing verandahs, their white plaster now stripped by sea breezes and weathered to a peeling grey and yellow. Interestingly, the city was left unharmed by the Tsunami.

Amongst the many churches inside, stands the very atmospheric Dutch Reformed Church. Built in 1755, its one of the finest Christian architecture that I’ve seen. With its enormous canopy over the pulpit and the attractive, ancient organ, the place saw me spending an hour inside it. The floor is covered in ornately carved memorials to the city’s Dutch settlers in English as well as Dutch, illustrating the brief life expectancy of the island’s early colonists. Although I’m a non-believer, I found calmness inside the ancient structure. Perhaps, it’s my love for all things old.

The day ended with me witnessing a town becoming absolutely empty in less than 10 minutes…an experience which will remain with me for the rest of my life.

Powerful earthquakes had hit Indonesia, resulting in a Tsunami scare. Having a disastrous prior experience, the people of Galle started running for their dear lives. Seeing them, the scare crept in within me too. Language problems with the driver of my vehicle and inability to get in touch with Chaga (phone networks had stopped working) who was still at the Village Green, just added to the confusion. Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to ask the driver to put on the radio and the guys at the station were doing a good job. They were repeatedly announcing that it’s just an scare and there isn’t going to be Tsunami and my driver kept repeating 'NO TSUNAMI'. Guess it was more to calm himself than me.

Rest of the evening was about the drive back to Colombo and nestling inside the hot bath-tub. Chaga managed to come back with the people from research agency in their vehicle. Being part of a Tsunami scare in the Galle region of Sri Lanka isn't an everyday affair.

The first photograph is of the beautiful dutch church from inside and the second one is of a street in the fort city.

The Emerald Isle Diaries - 5

Largely immersed in work for the last few days, I’ve been neglecting the Diaries. So, woke up early today to make up for it. The morning ocean looks calm and easy, as if it has had a good night’s rest. BBC informs that Nawaz Sharif has been bundled off to Jeddah from Islamabad airport. That nation will always be in a state of chaos, I guess…pretty bad for the common citizens!

A week before coming to the Isle, I quit smoking…something which I’ve never attempted in the last 15 years of my smoking career. And, barring two occasions of temptations, I’ve been easily successful from staying away from the stick. One of them was the evening at Anuradhapura, mentioned in previous post. The next one happened at one of the restaurants of Taj Samudra.

I usually take my evening meals inside the comfort and convenience of my room, but this particular evening I decided to step out and check the eateries of the hotel. ‘Navaratna’, the popular Indian restaurant looked awfully crowded, driving me to the place next door, The Steak & Grill House. In a dramatic contrast, the place had nobody inside except a lady sitting on the pianoforte and softly playing ‘Lara’s theme’ while a couple of waiters watched her. The lady was playing quiet well. I had found my place!

In the course of the evening, she played a lot of my requests, and except for the extremely difficult ‘Moonlight Sonata’ they were all rendered very well, the best one being the peaceful ‘Air on the G String’ by Bach with its intertwining harmony and melody. Bordeux was great, as usual and the food perfectly went along with it. I text messaged to my friend in India,

“She has music in her fingers
While, I have a fork in mine.”

And suddenly, the evening felt incomplete without the white stick between my fingers. I asked the waiter for one and he replied that I will have to pick up a complete pack.

So, I remain a non-smoker. And you know what…it feels nice and healthy.

I left the pleasure-filled evening by thanking the lady who had made it so. I was humming the difficult sonata in my mind, trying to get it right.

With tomorrows dawn, I shall be headed towards the ancient port city of Galle in the southern part of the Isle. Its famous for its time-warped streets lined with historic Dutch villas. More on that in the next page of the Diaries.

The Emerald Isle Diaries - 4

In their day to day living, Sri Lankans follow the principles of Zen Buddhism. No matter what religion they have in their surnames and faith, they follow the art of Zen. Zen teaches you to be mindful and aware of your surroundings and that’s how the people of the Isle are.

They will always keep the door open for the next person, they will always ask you if you slept well, they will try to sense every expression on your face to assess what you want; they will listen to whatever you are saying and then they also listen to the unsaid. That is Zen!

The Sri Lankan hospitality is astounding, almost magical and motherly. Back home in the city of Mumbai this kind of experience is unheard of. The last time I felt like this was with my parents as a child and with certain good friends.

With frequent halts for conversations along with some extremely sweet Ceylon tea, we reached the UNESCO heritage city of Anuraadhapura by the evening. It’s a town full of Buddhist history and ruins from the 4th century BC. Legend has it that it was the fabled capital of the Asura King Ravana in the Ramayana.

Smirnoff, bought at the local Cargill superstore gave us company for the night at a local resort called Nuwarawera Rest House. Sitting next to a lit pool and a 'witchy looking' tree, we did full justice to the famous brand of Vodka and the evening. A black cat kept walking around our feet. We talked about various superstitions, clients, marriages, love and personal philosophies.

The next morning saw us turning into tourists. Sri Lanka's largest Stupa called the Jetavanaramaya belittled me with its size and grandeur. At a height of over 400 feet (120m), it is the tallest stupa in the world, largest brick building ever built, and 3rd largest structure in the ancient world, after the two largest of the Great Pyramids of Giza. Next stop was at the Mahabodhi tree, which is said to be the sapling from the original Bodhi tree from Bodh Gaya, a town in Bihar. Interestingly, Bodh Gaya happens to be the city of my origins too. Sadly, this important temple is very ill-maintained. Some more ruins from the BC era, around the city and we were on our way back to Colombo. A little halt at a charming, seaside village of fishermen was beautiful. Because of the paucity of time, we excluded the famous Sigiriya Fort and Elephant Sanctuary for another day.

By the time, I reached the hotel, I was extremely exhausted. A couple of drinks from the Red Label gifted by my friend Mr Shaffie proved to be of great help. It put me to a sweet and dreamless sleep.

Today was pretty critical and successful in the context of work.

And thats how the world's tallest Stupa, completely made of bricks, looks like. Notice that its top is broken. It was discovered in that state in early 1900s.

The Emerald Diaries - 3

The last drink of J&B stare at me from the green and yellow bottle, waiting to be sipped by my lucky lips. By the way, I used to like that song when I was a little baby. And interestingly, this last phrase happens to be the beginning of the song. This happened without design, like this trip to the Isle.

A lot has happened after that Sunday evening at the Odel. Let me try and give you a brief update on the last 5 days. It began with a road journey into the sea of greenery. We headed to the south of the island on the Galle Rd. with my polite and friendly colleagues to get the flavor of the rural provinces of the area. Amongst many other things, the two most striking aspects were their high standard of living and the enlightened behavior of women. Most of the houses had fine curtains and women, smilingly willing to talk to the strangers. Indian rural scenario, largely is very different. The high point of the day was a very scrumptious and authentic Sri Lankan meal cooked by a qualified pianist (and a music teacher). She stays in the so-called rural Sri Lanka and happens to be the wife of one of my colleagues. The evening snack for our 'gang of eight' was delicious Hoppers and Sri Lankan chutney at a roadside joint.

The next two days were full of work at Colombo…always beginning with a great breakfast at the hotel. Interestingly, the hotel hasn’t been able to provide me with the Golden Orange Pekoe yet. Considering that this is the land famous for its tea, it’s a lapse from Taj Samudra’s end. They've promised it and I shall tell you when I get to have a sip of it.

Yesterday took us to the hill-town of Kandy. Having stayed in the town for some eight years or so, Thiyagi (the colleague who sets the dance floors on fire), was our perfect guide. People continued to be polite and the hill-station air was cool on our skins. The cargo-shorts of ODEL debarred me from entering the holy temple of Dalada Maligawa, famous for Buddha’s tooth and the unfortunate ’98 bombing. A quick shopping of the traditional Sri Lankan sarong with Thiyagi’s help, saw me getting inside the temple. The place was peaceful and full of history. The long day ended with a warm meal at the lovingly built house of Thiyagi along with Buster, Spotty and Eddie and several nameless fishes. It included String Hoppers and Prawns, carefully prepared by her quiet and gentle mother.

Today was a long working day in Colombo. Tomorrow, its going to be the north-western province of Anuradhapura with the famous Nuwaara Eliya and Sigiriya Fort.

Bohmo Stuti for reading me, my Ambalayas! ('Many thanks' for reading me my 'mango friends'...which means, my 'sweetest friends')

And that's the photograph of the temple.It used to be the Sri Lankan Kings palace, once.

The Emerald Isle Diaries - 2

I was woken up from my Bordeux induced slumber’, by my friend’s (notice the transition from a ‘client’ to a ‘friend’) call. He wanted to know whether I was up to a little trip to ODEL. I was. Now, ODEL is this famous place whose fame precedes intentions of visiting the Isle.

It’s a shopping arcade for some of the finest clothes and accessories from all over the world at great prices. It’s housed in what looks like a huge cottage (with escalators), which is much easier and sweeter than the maddening modern day shopping malls. Both tourists and locals are in love with the place. You’ll also find a sweet coffee shop as you enter and an outlet of Sri Lanka’s famous ‘Elephant House Hot Dogs’. I came back to the hotel with one cargo shorts, two T-shirts and a feeling of ‘another day well spent’. Two small pegs of J&B with some Crab Bisque guided me to sleep.

Today was extremely busy with five meetings, a good lunch with my colleagues and an insightful discussion on the political situation of the country. Tomorrow promises to be a day full of newer experiences as my colleagues plan to take me to the interiors of the southern part of the Isle. As of now, it’s going to be a refill of J&B…Cheers!

And thats how ODEL looks from inside.

The Emerald Isle Diaries - 1

As I sit writing this piece inside the plush (and wi-fi enabled) hotel room facing the Indian Ocean on the famous Emerald Isle sipping on a Bordeaux, I say to myself, ‘This is good life’. And the fact that, this is just the beginning makes this ‘good life’ even better. I am in Sri Lanka for a month on work and the nature of this project requires me to travel across the island!

The first sight of the island, as the aircraft was lowering on the city of Colombo was enough to make me happy. It was as if we were landing on a sea of greenery with the palm and coconut trees serving as the waves. It was pleasantly different from the kind of sight I am used to while landing (think Bombay).

The next aspect which added to my happiness was the manner in which Sri Lankans speak. It began with a very well made Sri Lankan movie I saw before coming to the island and continues with every interaction with the folks out here. They don’t talk…they sing! In Sinhalese and in English and perhaps any other language they will speak. In fact, I never knew English can sound so melodious!

So, one and a half day old in the island and as a popular TV commercial puts it, ‘Im loving it.’ Yesterday was extremely eventful, with work in the first half of the day and roaming around the city to check out the famous shopping arcades of Colombo, in the second. The evening, had other things in store for me.

It brought three beautiful Sri Lankan ladies dressed up in very pretty Saris to my hotel to pick me up (thanks to one of them who is my colleague at the workplace). The objective was to show me the famous night-life of Colombo. And what a night-life we had! First to a karaoke bar called ‘The Sopranos’ where two of my three ladies gave a smashing performance, then to a huge nightclub called ‘H20/Sugar’’ followed by a loud and authentic disc called ‘D’s’ where the ‘one who did not sing’ at the Karaoke bar, gave a smashing performance on the dance floor (despite the Sari). Rest of the night was spent in getting a car out of the way, my colleague getting booked for holding an expiry Driving Licence and feeding ourselves with a nice chicken-cheese roll at a local joint.

Today, being a cloudy Sunday has been lazy and easy so far. Morning saw me having some good conversation at the breakfast table with my client. We are working closely on this project.

And, that is the view from my room.

Will keep filling this space with more from the Emerald Isle. Ayubowan!

2 pages from the last 15 days

Worldly pursuits kept me away from this space for the last fortnight but life happened while I was busy making 'strategic' plans. Allow me to share a couple of pages from the last 15 days.

Independence Eve in a taxi between Gurgaon and Delhi Airport

That’s how I spent that evening. Breaking my code of keeping this space free from bad experiences, I have to talk about this. Twice I have missed my flight from Delhi airport because of traffic madness between Gurgaon and Delhi airport. The latest happened on the eve of Independence…it took me 3 hours 30 minutes to reach a destination which shouldn’t take more than half an hour. Fabulous growth has happened in this satellite city of Delhi in a fabulously unplanned manner, leading up to road chaos, highly constipated traffic, road accidents, power cuts and a backache because of that 3 and half hour inside the taxi.

A 16-year-old stole my heart on a breezy Friday evening
She came dressed in an elegant black frock, sat on the pianoforte and played Beethoven’s ‘Pathetique’, a Sonata in C, in its totality with the finesse and élan of a mature musician. Later, she went on to play ‘Nocturne in E’ by Chopin, ‘Impromptu No.4’ by Schubert and a Polka by Berkeley with the same confidence and skill. Only when she got up to accept the warm accolades of the audience and a bouquet from National Center For The Performing Arts (NCPA), her shy girlishness got exhibited. Her name is Anushka Godinho and she started learning music at the age of 5.

This happened at a beautiful Western Classical concert we (me and my good friend) went for at the NCPA, Mumbai last Friday. This great institution provides a very useful platform to these budding artistes to display their talent. It helps nurture & support new talent and keeps the genre of Western Classical music alive…a great effort, I must say!

The other musicians of the evening were 2 young men. A 20-year-old Classical guitarist, Samuel Lewis from Bombay and 23-year-old, Murugesan on Recorder from Pondicherry. Samuel (who also plays the Organ) performed Bach, Tarrega, Albinez on the nylon strings with perhaps the passion and memory of the composers themselves. He ended the evening with a beautiful version of ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’.

Murugesan handled compositions of Debussy, Vivaldi & Purcell. Personally, I don’t like Recorder as an instrument so I shall reserve my comments on the same. Think I will do the same for Murugesan.

Hope this description of that lovely evening cancelled out the negative energy emanating from my first experience.

Later, that evening I enjoyed some scotch and conversation with a couple of old friends (including the good friend mentioned earlier).

Michelangelo Antonioni (1912 - 2007)

Another master movie-maker breathed his last on the evening of the same day, Bergman expired. Michelangelo Antonioni, the Italian auteur, expired on 30th July, 2007 at the age of 94. Whatever little I have seen by him has made me like his dreamy and elegant style. Martin Scorsese appropriately called him 'A Poet with the Camera'.

'Blowup' (1966), his first movie in English, is one of the most stylish depiction of an era and place in cinema history...London in the 60's bursting with rock music, smoke and nudity. The movie went on to inspire many later filmmakers, most notable of them (for us, Indians) is Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron. Bergman loved this one! (am referring to 'Blowup')

'Il Grido' (The Outcry) made in 1957 is the story of a man's inability to forget the woman he loves. Shot in black & white, with a brilliant soundtrack by Giovanni Fusco (Can somebody tell me how can i get hold of the soundtrack?) it sometimes tends to be very slow. But, heartaches are a slow killer. Bergman didn't like this one!

I shall try and pick up more of his works, specially the famous ones like La Notte (The Night) and L' Avventura (The Adventure). I love this photograph of him.

Ingmar Bergman (1918 - 2007)

‘Our friend Berman is dead!’, my cinephile colleague announced from the other end and my reaction was, ‘Oh…he must've been 90, no?. '89’, my friend corrected me.

Natural death of any great artiste doesn’t arouse sadness in me because of two reasons. Firstly, because the person’s time had come and secondly, the artiste will always be alive through his works. So, without getting sad, I said to myself, ‘This calls for a post’. But then I remembered that I’ve already written something on the moviemaker, which you can find over here. So, what else do I put up as a tribute to the great man who turned (and will continue to turn) so many moments of my life into pleasurable ones and in such intelligent ways.

Then, I bumped into this excerpt from an interview, where Mr Bergman gives his opinion on other film directors. He replies with his usual brutal honesty and I had material for my post.

On Orson Welles:

Bergman: For me he's just a hoax. It's empty. It's not interesting. It's dead. Citizen Kane, which I have a copy of - is all the critics' darling, always at the top of every poll taken, but I think it's a total bore. Above all, the performances are worthless. The amount of respect that movie's got is absolutely unbelievable.

On Michelangelo Antonioni:
Bergman: He's done two masterpieces, you don't have to bother with the rest. One is Blow-Up, which I've seen many times, and the other is La Notte, also a wonderful film, although that's mostly because of the young Jeanne Moreau. In my collection I have a copy of Il Grido, and damn what a boring movie it is. So devilishly sad, I mean. You know, Antonioni never really learned the trade. He concentrated on single images, never realising that film is a rhythmic flow of images, a movement. Sure, there are brilliant moments in his films. But I don't feel anything for L'Avventura, for example. Only indifference. I never understood why Antonioni was so incredibly applauded. And I thought his muse Monica Vitti was a terrible actress.

On Federico Fellini:

Bergman: We were supposed to collaborate once, and along with Kurosawa make one love story each for a movie produced by Dino de Laurentiis. I flew down to Rome with my script and spent a lot of time with Fellini while we waited for Kurosawa, who finally couldn't leave Japan because of his health, so the project went belly-up. Fellini was about to finish Satyricon. I spent a lot of time in the studio and saw him work. I loved him both as a director and as a person, and I still watch his movies, like La Strada and that childhood rememberance - what's that called again?
The interviewer admits that he has also seen the movie several times, but just now the title slips his mind. Bergman laughs delightedly.

Bergman: Great that you're also a bit senile! That pleases me.

Later the same day, several hours after the interview, the phone rings:It's Bergman. 'AMARCORD!', he shouts.

On Francois Truffaut:

Bergman: I liked Truffaut a lot, I've felt a lot of admiration for his way to address the audience, and his storytelling. La nuit américaine is adorable, and another film I like to see is L'enfant sauvage, with its fine humanism.

On Jean-Luc Godard:

Bergman: I've never gotten anything out of his movies. They have felt constructed, faux intellectual and completely dead. Cinematographically uninteresting and infinitely boring. Godard is a fucking bore. He's made his films for the critics. One of the movies, Masculin, féminin, was shot here in Sweden. It was mindnumbingly boring.

On Andrei Tarkovsky:

Late one evening in 1971, Bergman and his friend and director Kjell Grede by pure coincidence stumbled upon a copy of Andrej Rubljov in a screening room at Svensk Filmindustri. They saw it without any subtitles. He ranks it to be one of his most startling and unforgettable movie experiences ever.

On modern American cinema:

Bergman: Among today's directors I'm of course impressed by Steven Spielberg and Scorsese, and Coppola, even if he seems to have ceased making films, and Steven Soderbergh - they all have something to say, they're passionate, they have an idealistic attitude to the filmmaking process. Soderbergh's Traffic is amazing. Another couple of fine examples of the strength of American cinema are American Beauty and Magnolia.

‘Seventh Seal’, one of his masterpieces depicts Man’s battle with Death over a game of chess…a battle which Death always wins. But not in the case of an artiste like Mr Bergman...his work lives on.

Creeque Alley - The Other Song

We know them for ‘California Dreaming’ but I am going to talk about another great song by them called ‘Creeque Alley’. I am talking about one of the essential American band of the 60’s, sweetly called ‘The Mamas & the Papas’.

This song is an amusing description of how the Band was formed, with facts, names and incidents thrown in and set to a beautiful melody and cadence. Add to it the great vocals of Cass Elliot (also known as Mama Cass because of her size and association to the Band) and Dennis Doherty (Denny) with a lovely accompanying flute and you are happily in the Creeque Alley. The other members of the band were songwriter and guitarist John Phillips and Michelle Phillips (they later got married). The song was written in the year 1967, when the band was living the ‘great hippie dream’ on Virgin Islands, living off their American Express card (which gets a mention in the song) in a club located on the road named, ‘Creeque Alley’ which gives the song its name.

In my knowledge, no other band has chronicled their history and the life that they led in such a wonderful fashion. You will find a very good and complete analysis of all the lines of the track over here. The band was active between 1965 – 1968, making 5 albums and giving many hit singles. The name of the band happened from Cass’s response to a television talk show. You can use wikipedia to know the details of the story, if you are interested.

Enjoy your weekend! I am going to try and do the same in the difficult atmosphere of our country's capital.

Manhattan, Broadway and Vienna

A week ago, I added 14 new titles to my DVD collection and 3 have already been watched and loved.

Manhattan (1979, Woody Allen) :
The second edition of what is known as the 'New York Trilogy' by Woody Allen continues to explore the craziness of modern day relationships, with Manhattan skyline and Gershwin's beautiful score working as the background. The small transition that has happened from 'Annie Hall' to this one is just that the number of relationships studied has increased. Mr Allen's inimitable style remains the same and so does the humor. With precious lines like 'Gossip is the new Pornography' this classic can be taken as an academic study of the times. Also, it paved way for many modern day, popular TV sitcoms like Seinfeld and Friends. The black and white photograph here, has become one of the iconic shots in the history of movies.
Did you know that our very own Zubin Mehta conducted the Gershwin scores for the movie? I didn't. Now, with first 2 editions in my collection, will be looking out for 'Stardust Memories'.

Singin' in the Rain (1952, Stanley Donen and Gene Kelly):
Somehow, I missed out on this classic and when I watched it yesterday, I realised the truth behind its iconic status. Its one of the best movie from Hollywood on Hollywood, full of great songs, dance and some satire on the shallowness of showbiz.
It has a beautiful love song called 'You were meant for me' sung by Gene Kelly and later sung much more beautifully by Sting.

Amadeus (1984, Milos Forman):
I am still basking under the pleasure and impact of the movie which I finally managed to watch. My friends who have been asking me to go through the 'Amadeus' experience for a long time would be very happy. When I get out of this pleasure trip, I shall write something about it...Right now, I don't want to spoil the trip.

Forever Changes

Thats the name of a wonderful album of the 60s by a lesser known band, simply called 'Love'. I use the title to announce this change in the look of this blog. It has resulted from the feedback, I have been receiving from my readers. The last one appeared in my previous post by a 'Smiling Dolphin' and I decided that I cant go on troubling peoples eyes, specially those of a Smiling Dolphin.

Try listening to the album. If you find difficulties finding it, you can always come to me.

Holiday State of Mind and Machiavelli

In the last post I mentioned about how I am not in the ‘fiction state of mind’ these days. It follows from there that I haven’t read any work of fiction in a long time and I blame it on the lack of what I call as a ‘Holiday State of Mind’. (The Last novel for me was a very mediocre and hence, totally forgettable ‘Memoirs of My Melancholy Whore’ by the great Mr. Marquez. I wonder what happened to his greatness in this last work…perhaps it’s the age). Let me spend a small paragraph on this state of mind.

Till 2 years back I was living in this ‘Holiday State of Mind’, and this state was on from as long as I can remember things. Living life in a conversation with a friend, or in the piano solo of ‘In my Life’, or in the loneliness of Zimmy’s poetry, or in the existentialist pages of ‘The Fall’, or just in the plain delirium of the moment….it was a series of living right here, right now…never a tomorrow! In the process, I absorbed some good and evil. Some of the goodness gets reflected in this space (I hope) and we shall keep the 'Evil' for some other occasion. Under the present circumstances, things have changed a bit. Now, I need a real long holiday to read a work of fiction and its been a while, since I had one.

So, continuing this streak of reading ‘non-fictions’, I picked up the famous ‘The Prince’ by Niccolo Machiavelli to revisit. In my last visit, the book and its ideas were too revolting for my socialistic mindset (you can also call it ‘youth’) and hence I rejected it. In my latest visit, I just can’t stop appreciating its cold and clinical approach towards 'seizing and holding power', which is the single point agenda of this work. Its not that my mindset has changed drastically, but age arms you with the wisdom to appreciate and see the greatness of a differing philosophy.

When, in 1512, Machiavelli was removed from his post of a Diplomatic Negotiator in Florence, Italy; he resolved to set down a treatise on leadership that was practical, not idealist. His ‘Prince’ would be unencumbered by ordinary ethical and moral values; his ‘Prince’ would be man and beast, fox and lion. Let me present an excerpt from this work to elucidate the cold (and intelligent) amorality of it.

“Therefore, it is to be noted that in seizing a state one ought to consider all the injuries he will be obliged to inflict and then proceed to inflict them all at once so as to avoid a frequent repetition of such acts. Anyone who acts otherwise, either through timidity or bad judgment, will always have to keep a dagger ready in his hand, nor will he ever be able to trust his subjects since, because of continually renewed injuries, they will never be able to feel safe with him. Injuries must be committed all at once so that being savored less, they will arouse less resentment. Benefits, on the other hand, should be bestowed little by little so as to be more fully savored.”

Taken from Chapter 8, ‘Concerning Those Who Become Princes By Evil Means’

This piece takes me to the last sequence of the movie 'Godfather', wherein Michael consolidates his position as the new Godfather by an orchestrated and programmed annihilation all his enemy forces…all at one go!

On another note, why isn’t this text taught in the Business Schools to teach the techniques of leadership. Maybe it is a part of some Business course curriculum and I don’t know of it or perhaps it gets rejected because of the inherent amoral principles of it. Do let me know if you know of this ‘treatise’ being in the syllabus of Business administration…just for my curiosity!

Jazz Writer

I havent read anything by the Japanese author, Haruki Murakami, though some friends keep recommending his works to me. Since I am not into a 'fiction-reading' mindset these days, I haven't even bothered to pick up anything by him. But after reading a beautifully written essay by him, I am surely going to buy one his works for the times when I am in that 'fiction-reading' mindset. In this essay, he writes about how he has learnt everything about writing from music. Despite its length (my apologies to Mouse!), I am putting it on this space...enjoy!

Jazz Messenger By HARUKI MURAKAMI

I never had any intention of becoming a novelist — at least not until I turned 29. This is absolutely true.
I read a lot from the time I was a little kid, and I got so deeply into the worlds of the novels I was reading that it would be a lie if I said I never felt like writing anything. But I never believed I had the talent to write fiction. In my teens I loved writers like Dostoyevsky, Kafka and Balzac, but I never imagined I could write anything that would measure up to the works they left us. And so, at an early age, I simply gave up any hope of writing fiction. I would continue to read books as a hobby, I decided, and look elsewhere for a way to make a living.
The professional area I settled on was music. I worked hard, saved my money, borrowed a lot from friends and relatives, and shortly after leaving the university I opened a little jazz club in Tokyo. We served coffee in the daytime and drinks at night. We also served a few simple dishes. We had records playing constantly, and young musicians performing live jazz on weekends. I kept this up for seven years. Why? For one simple reason: It enabled me to listen to jazz from morning to night.
I had my first encounter with jazz in 1964 when I was 15. Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers performed in Kobe in January that year, and I got a ticket for a birthday present. This was the first time I really listened to jazz, and it bowled me over. I was thunderstruck. The band was just great: Wayne Shorter on tenor sax, Freddie Hubbard on trumpet, Curtis Fuller on trombone and Art Blakey in the lead with his solid, imaginative drumming. I think it was one of the strongest units in jazz history. I had never heard such amazing music, and I was hooked.
A year ago in Boston I had dinner with the Panamanian jazz pianist Danilo Pérez, and when I told him this story, he pulled out his cellphone and asked me, “Would you like to talk to Wayne, Haruki?” “Of course,” I said, practically at a loss for words. He called Wayne Shorter in Florida and handed me the phone. Basically what I said to him was that I had never heard such amazing music before or since. Life is so strange, you never know what’s going to happen. Here I was, 42 years later, writing novels, living in Boston and talking to Wayne Shorter on a cellphone. I never could have imagined it.
When I turned 29, all of a sudden out of nowhere I got this feeling that I wanted to write a novel — that I could do it. I couldn’t write anything that measured up to Dostoyevsky or Balzac, of course, but I told myself it didn’t matter. I didn’t have to become a literary giant. Still, I had no idea how to go about writing a novel or what to write about. I had absolutely no experience, after all, and no ready-made style at my disposal. I didn’t know anyone who could teach me how to do it, or even friends I could talk with about literature. My only thought at that point was how wonderful it would be if I could write like playing an instrument.
I had practiced the piano as a kid, and I could read enough music to pick out a simple melody, but I didn’t have the kind of technique it takes to become a professional musician. Inside my head, though, I did often feel as though something like my own music was swirling around in a rich, strong surge. I wondered if it might be possible for me to transfer that music into writing. That was how my style got started.
Whether in music or in fiction, the most basic thing is rhythm. Your style needs to have good, natural, steady rhythm, or people won’t keep reading your work. I learned the importance of rhythm from music — and mainly from jazz. Next comes melody — which, in literature, means the appropriate arrangement of the words to match the rhythm. If the way the words fit the rhythm is smooth and beautiful, you can’t ask for anything more. Next is harmony — the internal mental sounds that support the words. Then comes the part I like best: free improvisation. Through some special channel, the story comes welling out freely from inside. All I have to do is get into the flow. Finally comes what may be the most important thing: that high you experience upon completing a work — upon ending your “performance” and feeling you have succeeded in reaching a place that is new and meaningful. And if all goes well, you get to share that sense of elevation with your readers (your audience). That is a marvelous culmination that can be achieved in no other way.
Practically everything I know about writing, then, I learned from music. It may sound paradoxical to say so, but if I had not been so obsessed with music, I might not have become a novelist. Even now, almost 30 years later, I continue to learn a great deal about writing from good music. My style is as deeply influenced by Charlie Parker’s repeated freewheeling riffs, say, as by F. Scott Fitzgerald’s elegantly flowing prose. And I still take the quality of continual self-renewal in Miles Davis’s music as a literary model.
One of my all-time favorite jazz pianists is Thelonious Monk. Once, when someone asked him how he managed to get a certain special sound out of the piano, Monk pointed to the keyboard and said: “It can’t be any new note. When you look at the keyboard, all the notes are there already. But if you mean a note enough, it will sound different. You got to pick the notes you really mean!”
I often recall these words when I am writing, and I think to myself, “It’s true. There aren’t any new words. Our job is to give new meanings and special overtones to absolutely ordinary words.” I find the thought reassuring. It means that vast, unknown stretches still lie before us, fertile territories just waiting for us to cultivate them.

I am sure you would have appreciated the essay, the way i did. Mr Murakami has connected 2 of the best creations of the civilized world so beautifully.

Terrible travel schedules coming up for me, hence I will be sporadically present on this space for some time. Enjoy the rest of your weekend!

Beacause I've known you all my life

This post appears here because of two reasons. Firstly, it was a request from a reader and secondly, its good writing, deserving to be in this space. Written by David Abbott this is the copy of a Chivas Regal ad. Despite its sentimental overtones or the Britishness, it stands out as a great piece of advertising making the particular scotch highly desirable. Considering the times it came out, which must’ve been the early 70s, one can see how it has inspired later works in advertising.

Because I’ve known you all my life.
Because a red Rudge bicycle (the Britishness) once made me the happiest boy on the street.
Because you let me play cricket on the lawn.
Because you used to dance in the kitchen with a tea-towel round your waist.
Because your cheque book was always busy on my behalf.
Because our house was always full of books and laughter.
Because of countless Saturday mornings you gave up to watch a small boy play rugby.
Because you never expected too much of me or let me get away with too little.
Because of all the nights you sat working at your desk while I lay sleeping in my bed.
Because you never embarrassed me by talking about the birds and the bees.
Because I know there’s a faded newspaper clipping in your wallet abouyt my scholarship.
Because you always made me polish the heels of my shoes as brightly as the toes.
Because you’ve remembered my birthday 38 times out of 38.
Because you still hug me when we meet.
Because you still buy my mother flowers.
Because you are more than your fair share of grey hairs and I know who helped put them there.
Because you are a marvelous grandfather.
Because you made my wife feel one of the family.
Because you wanted to go to McDonalds the last time I bought you lunch.
Because you’ve always been there when I’ve needed you.
Because you let me make my own mistakes and never once said “I told you so.”
Because you still pretend you only need glasses for reading.
Because I don’t say thank you as often as I should.
Because it’s Father’s Day.
Because if you don’t deserve Chivas Regal, who does?

Mr Abbott himself had to say the following about the ad:

“This ad is about Chivas Regal but it’s also about me and my father. (I really did have a red Rudge bicycle). It’s a risky ad and, for some people, its sentimental but I know others who say that it vividly echoes there own experience. Incidentally, if you try to write a headline for this ad, you’ll discover why it doesn’t have one.”

I still remember reading the ad for the first time as a student of advertising (who was also a lover of whiskey) and thinking that this will be my brand of Scotch when I can earn enough to afford it. And then someday, perhaps gift it to my father, who is also a whiskey lover.

2 Meaningless Headlines of the Recent times

Atlantis with Sunita Williams (were there others in it?) finally had a safe landing. Of course, she is as 'pakka' an Indian as the 'Taj', which brings me to the other one...

Taj Mahal has to be in the Seven Wonders of the World....every Indian should campaign for it! Else, Taj will lose its standing and more importantly the beauty & charm that it has always been famous for.