BREAKING NEWS

The recent damage to Ustad Amjad Ali Khan’s sarod while flying Air India wide the article http://tinyurl.com/ye2ysbl was deeply regretted by Civil Aviation Minister among other dignitaries.
Arnab Goswami hosting a special discussion on Paedophilias wrapped up the show in haste without lending a complete voice to the learned speakers because of the sad tale of a broken sarod. My heart sank as I heard about the dutiful sarod that served its master for thirty four years. It was time for the age old warrior to rest in peace. If Ustad really loved the instrument then he should have let it go without a whisper of complaint. Isn’t art and creativity an act of total liberation from trappings of trivial matters?
Such are the ways of the elite in this country. A dark spot on their effervescent dentures is a topic for national debate. Where does the common man go, travelling in packed buses, robbed and stolen in every sense, everyday, all ears to the blowing wind?
A top artist or a sportsman could find a place in the ‘who’s who?’ book of the President making him/her totally insured. Today innocent people lose their lives everyday which is unheard and unnoticed. They lead a nondescript lives on the scruples of honesty and hard work only to be slain for no good reason.
Ustad had flown the airline for so many years and never found a reason for complaint. It’s surprising if not totally ludicrous that a broken article while transit could elicit apologies from the highest of officials including the Chairman of Air India.
Probably the Ustad has heard the tale about the sage and his magnificent horse of the purple moor. It was his life in gallops of song, chastely white and treated with utmost care. He could trade his life for the horse and still be indebted to this perfectly sculpted beauty. One fine day this thug comes along and steals his horse. Does the sage file complaints to the angel in heaven for stolen property? No, he just smiles and takes a promise from the rogue not to spread the word that the horse had been stolen. He let it go with no regret. Perhaps it was meant to be that way.
Today we have monotonic standards in the field of performing arts, be it musical instruments, painting, sculpture,etc. For tabla we have Ustad Zakir Hussain, for the flute there is Ustad Hari Prasad Chaurasia, for painting M.F.Hussain and of course our very own Ustad Amjad Ali Khan with his prodigious sons. We don’t hear other names besides them, not in abundance anyway. In India people don’t take to the performing arts readily. The reason is probably not finding enough promise in a future with the performing art. They take to professions not their own in the awnings of a meagre existence. Yes, they do find devilish content at the outset but the fever slowly dies down fighting job hassles and finding so many hours of sleep. And then there is poorer section of the society that simply can’t afford the art and its medium of expression. Life beckons on the other side far from the flights of imagination. The obvious question in our minds would be that does India have the talent in its teeming population. We sure do but the sad story is that we don’t hear from those pearls scattered in a mundane milieu. Don’t we swear by our hearts after listening to greats like Kishore Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar. Yes there are voices even better but hardly come to the fore.
Ustad Amjad Ali Khan is no doubt a genius at what he does. His intrinsic ability with the instrument has seen him scale new heights of performance and creativity. On those shoulders rests the future of sarod in this country. Just like other arts I have not heard of another name besides his very own when it comes to sarod. It’s time to rise above a level of a material minion and be selfless in keeping his art above all. It’s time he did his bit to promote this magical instrument among young talent of this country. Maybe he already is. Why don’t we see more of them instead of the broken sarod on national television?

HOMEWARDS

The title ‘How Bihar can rise as a developed state’ (rediff article http://tinyurl.com/ykqcxuy on January 4, 2010) evoked memories of a land left behind years ago. I remember the old rusty road I walked on for good fifteen years, yet it still opened up a new space in me. Patna, on the womb of the Ganges had slowly settled at the back of my palms. Patna, a land that hasn’t moved and the clocks turned cold ever since the greats stepped on its bare hands. A city slowed down for the masses so that each poor soul has his share of bread and flourish in its expanse. There aren’t many nine to five jobs in the city shorn of the hustle and bustle of the Monday madness. Unlike big cities where every moment on the street is a parade of imported cars, this city is quaint with school children interspersed with the poor masses. The sensible long abandoned this land during heyday of Lalooraj where nothing except small businesses was functional. A visit to the Post Office would take more time than expected even for posting a letter because Chota babu had suddenly fallen ill or the unscheduled tea party of official brethren was taking some time to round off. The sojourn at the Post Office that began early morning would inevitably end in time for a late afternoon nap. Government failed in every sphere as the rich amassed more wealth by unfair means. Yet it played a major role in the daily life of its people.

Since time immemorial Bihar has been a place for students, educators and learners. Even for a dearth of infrastructure it offers the best of education in the country. Our school didn’t have a building of its own and we occupied rented houses for our classes. In today’s milieu where the world moves with the English Language, Bihar has the best of Missionary schools with English as the medium of instruction. They have left an indelible mark in my psyche and made me the person I am today.
Today we suffer due to lack of investments in our land. Many of the rich natural resources have fallen in erstwhile Bihar to a state called Jharkhand. I remember taking long trips to the industrial area on my bicycle where hardly any industry flourished. A school boy then, I met a young man, Pompi, twenty six years old whose father had a factory in the same industrial area. They were shutting down their factory and going home to Rajasthan. When I asked Pompi the reason for this action he quietly answered:
“You won’t like to know, it’s too complicated”
All I could guess was that there probably had been a breakdown in the machinery due to lack of infrastructure pointing in all possible ways to the government. Another such house, my father’s close friend had several industries around Bihar but all of them failed as they went bankrupt. Now an old and sick man, he sits silently avoiding shareholders and waiting for the Final call.
Below the incorrigible layer of bureaucracy lies a Bihar that I have known. Its rich stillness is another world to ponder. It is like taking a sabbatical from work or studies. There is time to learn and absorb rather than being ruled by the clock. For seven years I watched the river Ganges flow at Gandhi Ghat next to our college. Potla Baba (the man with a small muslin bag slung over his shoulders) would sit under a neem tree by the river and chant sacred hymns of longing and devotion.
“Babu this is our mother that constantly flows to cover our sins. She has a strong current of anger and anybody who tries to play with her would be dissolved and finished. She causes havoc every year crossing her boundaries causing floods. It is her way of searching for her true sons. She finally settles to a narrow stream dumping fertile soil to its banks and providing enough food to last the year for its teeming children. Bow down and touch her, be true and honest for the Mother knows you.” Buddha may have found the void he was looking for at Bodhgaya under the holy tree.
We await a time when Bihar would be called an industrial city. A time when all the riches of the world would pour down this forsaken land. Somewhere in the future (maybe) when people would consider settling here rather than immigrating to the US. If it can happen to every nook and cranny of the US then why not Bihar. The deplorable Government policies and ways have forced a major chunk of the workforce desert this land forever. All my friends left for bigger cities while I was at college in Patna.
We all wish to see a resurgent Bihar and so will be one day. On that day I shall be heading home. Pray
I pray for thee,
My homeland,
In silent whispers of falling leaves,
When thou come and we meet,
I await thee,
Come sweet Lord,
The time is ripe.
Amen.

COLD FEET

It came too soon like a voodoo curse. Full time and part time revellers were doing their thing on 31st December night creating commotion for indoor patrons. Loud speakers were noisy late night as we slowly crept into the New Year. Till such time I was teasing the weather by putting on a light sweater and no overhead gear, rambling around the town in gay abandon. If December had sunshine all day, then its dear cousin January was bound to be warmer. Being a newcomer to the city I ignored what permanent settlers had to say about the changes in weather. I was still missing Christmas time I spent at home far away.

And then came disaster. It was like the clouds from heaven had descended to make everyone miserable. It was cold to say the least and visibility about nothing. I thought that I rather stay indoors than face the winter until late in the afternoon. Later that day I gathered the courage in full gear with venerated awe to walk by for a cup of hot tea. The streets looked deserted with some fast cars addressing the roadways. It has been like a sudden onslaught over the last few days like someone is daring us for battle. For most of us winter is a pleasurable season; a time to try some of long forgotten savoury soups or endless cups of warm tea huddled around an electric heater. Yet there are people just like us who can ill afford warm clothing for winter or far worse are forced to camp outdoors. Prices of all essential commodities have gone up and warm clothing is no exception. Such people take one hard look at themselves and their ambience and save it for their last dance. Their feet turn cold and blue stopping blood circulation to vital parts until it’s all over. Consider the fact – countries in the West like the US have winters as severe as no one can imagine compared to what we have over here, yet there are fewer deaths over there, if any, than our very own country. Flight delays are acceptable for us low-tech Indians though we have fully mocked a western lifestyle in all respects. Does Delhi IGI airport have the latest equipment allowing planes to take off and land in foggy cold conditions? Why not, we have one of the best equipped airports in the world. But when it comes to crunch times, there is always an excuse. Why not emulate the dedication and perseverance of those people we love so much than nitpicking their anomalies.
The fault is not in the weather but us. Let’s address such issues than chalking out the itineraries of the rich and famous. It’s time to move on.
The winter has just begun.

PRELUDE TO PARADISE

The name from the beginning evoked curiosity in a mind habituated to watching Sunday movies at Spice Cinemas. I tend to ignore the sudden qualms about buying a seat in the Gold Class, although having it as a last resort for Sunday adventure. After all what do you do if a film (desired) doesn’t play in the general hall on its opening? So “3 Idiots” sounded scrumptious right at the beginning before its release on Christmas Day. I presumed it would be on the lines of “Dumb and Dumber”, the 1994 flick starring Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels. Little did I know that the film was based on the novel “Five point Someone” by an eminent writer of our times, Chetan Bhagat. Unfortunately on Christmas Day I was out of town to a place where cinema halls are for animals and the like. No multiplexes rule the roost but that is yet another story which I intend to share in future offers. My brother was lucky enough to get tickets for the movie though he hardly watches movies. So after the movie I called him promptly and popped the question. “Oh my God, you must watch it” was his candid reply.
And I decided to watch the movie on the first day of the New Year and booked my tickets in the infamous Gold class, for reasons explained earlier. Also as a precursor I watched Aamir Khan promoting his movie by making an anonymous trip to Varanasi and other places that I might have missed for reasons most unclear to this day. We all know he is a brilliant actor/director/producer but sometimes certain actions of these stars don’t make any sense. I have always considered Aamir Khan to be an actor with a difference, a stand-out humane actor who’s movie are loved by one and all because they make lot of sense. Sorry! Aamir, masquerade in Varanasi, that doesn’t make any sense at all.
There I sat on the reclining chair with a bar tender standing hot and ready next to me with menu card on his finger tips. I make it a point, at movie theatres, to concentrate on the movie rather than fully grilled kebabs and softies. With no inkling of what the movie was all about, I expected something phenomenal. In today’s pop culture where do you get the time to read books and write letters when one is constantly running in and out of one’s desk at office?
Just like all films with Aamir Khan the beginning was quite humble and ordinary. Lovely. And then a sensible man reading a book on an airplane. He showed no idiocy of any sort.
I marked on my fingers, one gone two to go. Maybe the other two are blithering idiots. The second one was lying on his bed receiving a phone call as he sprang up and ran in his undies to catch up with his friend. Again not an idiot by any standard. Ah! Maybe the third one was a total idiot. At this point of time the film was running flashbacks to and fro. Well the third one turned out to be a revelation, a hero far from idiotic limits. Three sensible people fighting their way through life can never fall in the realm of ‘idiotic’ far from ‘Dumb and Dumber’.
By now I thought the title of the film should have been “Three Wise Men” instead of the given title. And an exceptional performance by Boman Irani dressed up as Albert Einstein though on a negative role (kind of). The entire movie pivots around his performance. Here’s the thought to ponder upon. And this is perhaps a strong message one can get from the film. There are so many murderers in this country of ours who go un- noticed and who never have to face the court or law or go to jail, far from any persecution of any kind. These are eminent professors be it of prized institutes like the IIT’s or psychiatrists or teachers of any kind. Instead of encouraging their students to higher standards they take out faults in them and damage them emotionally severely. In today’s milieu what does a student do if he is not good at mathematics or science; if a student likes music or songs or art and architecture? Well such people do make it to engineering schools but no one knows what happens to them after that. No one knows how many families have lost sons and daughters through suicides. Well in the movie it was really heart breaking to find a young man killing himself after not being allowed to graduate. I felt a tear with Aamir at the young man’s burial. How can the nation afford to lose even a single creative mind? It has been so rightly pointed out in the movie that today it’s a number game. One can do an American MBA and get settled there if and only if one has the numbers. Learning is fun no more and the more one crams the better the outcome. That in itself is the central theme of the movie and like always I wish cinemas could change the world. The only way out is to fight for what one likes to do and then maybe one can find ones way. But does that happen in real life. I guess not. Not all people are courageous enough or have the emotional backing to rebel and fight for their stand. The people who have survived have somehow hung on to life and all its colours.
The film is truly delightful with plenty to laugh about. Chatur Ramalingam brings uproarious laughter with his ‘Balatkar’ speech. The movie ends on a delightful note with Rancho(there are so many names floating about in the movie that I forget his other names, I was never good with names anyway; maybe I’ll watch the movie again.) flying a glider and meeting up with his sweetheart riding a scooter and other two idiots!
I guess I should stop calling them idiots but history has already been written!