Courtesy - Muse India: Issue 39, September/October 2011
Book Review
Harish Trivedi
Exit-stance
A Play
The Sharonom Media Group (2011)
895 Kentshire Drive, Dayton, Ohio 45459-2327
Pages 46+ :: Price $15.95
ISBN 978-0-578-07767-3
Drama of an old man refusing to die and hell-bent on living
Here lies OM.
OM.Com!
OM, calm at last and silenced forever!
Life has deserted OM; and Death, as always, has won!
His body was burnt not at the stakes
But at an electric crematorium. And
What remained was a heap of ashes
Salvaged from an ass-hole.
An ash hole for an asshole!
Finally dissolved with the five elements.
The above seriocomic poetic epitaph is scripted by OM – for himself, the only protagonist in the melodramatic one-Act monodrama - Exit-stance – who lives his final days in a nursing home for assisted living; and is torn between life and death, between traces of hedonism and shadowy spiritualism; and who suffers isolation and loneliness. And the character, who has none to turn to, presents us with a lot of gallows humour. In one moment, OM is curious about - and wants to see - his own death. So he says:
“No one has ever said what it’s like to be dead. I want to enjoy my death. I want to be fully aware of my final escape, the ultimate liberty!”
But in another moment, he is dead scared of death; and is insistent on living out. What for? Yes, he wants to enjoy the life the way he wants to. His libido is aroused when the nurses attend on and touch him. “… a mere thought of lust and sex keeps me alive!”
But soon he realises, albeit fleetingly, and despairs: “But what good is lust when youth has fled?” and taunts himself, “What a pathetic and perverse craving for human touch!” But is sexual urge an abomination or an abnormality for a man of his age? OM answers: “Lust and desires are normal feelings. And I think I am too just f…ing normal!” Mind you, this is not the only time OM chooses the four-letter word; he, in fact, suffers from oral diarrhoea of them. The doc tries to dissuade him from the compulsive addiction, but to no avail, for habits die hard, much less the instinctually obscene ones.
We’re treated to bouts of bawdy jokes, every now and then. He even makes fun of his name OM – the sacred Hindu syllable as well as an acronym of how he is called, Old Man. In a disgusting mood, he has this dig at his name: “I am not THAT OM! Instead of ‘OM tat sat’, I am OM tat shit…”
When it comes to the male doctors, he feels “like grabbing the crotch of a student doctor and squeezing his balls” whenever he is “upset and angry.” But the sight of a female nurse turns him on. “If this is a nursing home then why a big bosomed nurse hasn’t nursed me?” he longingly rues.
By now it’s evident that OM is certainly not in the class of a Tennyson’s Ulysses synonymous with a spirit of adventure and the concomitant heroic struggle or of a Hemingway’s Santiago, a symbol of stoic and silent struggle. OM, no doubt, has no nobler goals for the remainder of his life, yet he wages a struggle - a paranoid mental conflict; and also suffers an ethnic conflict and a cross-cultural dilemma, having his roots in India – though untraceable – but living in America. He pooh-poohs the various racial and sub-racial identities, and asks – why can’t all of us be just humans - for he finds himself to be neither an American nor an Indian? Despite his quarantined existence, “deaf and legally blind” status, a life of vacuum, “Isolation, desolation, frustration and anger,” and his body being “nothing but an ill-smelling heap of bones, skin and blood,” - he is hell-bent on surviving and continuing to live … to enjoy the good things of life!
And OM, by that very token of being an ordinary mortal like most of us, is a representative of a massive majority. So everyone can relate to and touch a chord with him. It’s how Harish Trivedi - the playwright – moulds the character of OM, in a postmodernist universal cast influenced as he is by Nobel laureate Samuel Beckett in whose birth centenary homage he wrote this play.
It needs guts and creativity of a high order to write a full length piece on the travails and derisive idiosyncrasies of a typical old man and the dreadful old age. The author has, evidently, succeeded in closely and deeply studying the geriatric psychology from various angles. He extracts the secrets from the darker recesses of the protagonist’s subconscious and makes him boldly and unhesitatingly vent his feelings.
No wonder, Harish Trivedi could bring it off what with his credentials. An Indian American – living in the US from mid 1960s – Harish has a doctorate in Theatre and Communication and is an associate of the Dramatists Guild of America. He is also a prolific journalist-poet-writer-translator – with his works appearing in English, Gujarati and Hindi. He is the founder Trustee & Chairman of the India Foundation in Dayton, Ohio; “his plays have a distinct Indian ethos” appealing to the “sense and sensibilities of viewers and readers… in the US,” says the author’s profile appended in the book.
Not everything OM chants can be dismissed as senile balderdash. Some of his observations stand out as a testimony to his wide reading, poetic taste, wit, experience, and keen observation of life. We also perceive that he is ‘bipolar’ – tossed between American materialism and Indian spiritualism, though he quips he is ‘multi-polar’ to the doctor’s diagnosis that he is bipolar. Tongue in cheek, OM remarks that the staff at the nursing home “changes frequently and fast – even more often than my bed sheets or towels.”
OM draws a nuanced distinction between freedom and liberation, while in an extreme mood of dejection. “I don’t need freedom; it is meaningless! I need liberation, liberation from my self.” All of us know that in our world - a topsy-turvy world full of hypocrisy - appearance need not be reality. See how OM puts it: “People are always pretending. Life itself is pretending – Pretending, masking, and hiding!”
Also notice how effectively OM portrays the monotony of the grind of a life lived cosmetically: “I used to go to a spa every day. Going around the jogging track, walking or running on the treadmill, lifting weights, riding a stationary bicycle… doing all that and still remaining in the same place.”
OM’s mind goes through a chiaroscuro of memories – of movies, music, books of literature, great personalities; as a result we’ve a quotation to suit his every mercurial mood. Being an American Indian, his mind sweeps across the Western world as well as India. Scriptures like the Rig Veda, the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, aphoristic literature like Bhartrihari Shataka, movies like Gigi (English) Jagate Raho, and Mera Naam Joker; diverse personalities like Mahatma Gandhi, Ezra Pound, Robert Frost, PB Shelley, Neil Armstrong, Mata Hari, Freud, Descartes, Maurice Chevalier, and Clarence Day are paraded before us.
All this hyperactivity of his mind erases the timelines for him so much so he feels that he exists “in a timeless zone!”
OM’s self-unsettling loneliness causes a mental drift in him. He imagines things; he sees a cat that isn’t there; and even plays with it, only to drive it away. He is ‘the Duke of Darkness’ and “a camera obscura, a dark chamber with a lens that has turned things upside down.” At the same time, his bizarre and disjointed thoughts sometimes glimmer with coherence and agreeable reason.
Mortally afraid of death, for all his iconoclastic philosophy, OM panics and collapses on seeing (in his hallucinations) a duster plane hovering over him. When he comes to, he flies into a flash of eschatological spirituality and reconciliation by invoking the Holy Grail, the Five Elements and the Shanti mantra; but even before the chant is over, he swoops down onto his wonted earthly bohemian reality where he belongs and declares “I do not need to find any holy or unholy grail… for me it is always going to be singing and dancing…,” unmindful of his irreversible physical limitations! So go on and celebrate the bacchanalian revelry!
Thus, “Important is the OM’s universality… He is a kind of everyman ranting about the injustices of life. His ethnic identity fixes the play in reality, but the specific Indian identification of OM transcends mere individual concerns…,” remarks Dr Robert Conrad, Professor Emeritus, Dept of Languages, University of Dayton, Ohio, and he proceeds to teleologize the character’s raison d’être: “OM maintains his dignity with irony and humor as he confronts his end. His disquieted suffering and his methods of coping provide a bitter hope to all who face the last stage of existence.”
The strength of this one-act & one-character play lies, perhaps, more in its performance than in its reading as a closet drama – unless the latter is taken up with necessary breaks, for otherwise the reader could feel some monotony however powerful the monologues are. The writer has incorporated elaborate stage directions; and set the play, aptly, in a late winter night. Following these directions and with assured technical effects, histrionics, and music regularly fading in and fading out - the punch and poignancy, the absurd and the black humour would briskly come into bold relief in performance. And yes, the play has a good track record: having been staged at Clayton and Cincinnati, Ohio; while the author rendered its staged reading at a theatre in Mumbai, sponsored by the government of Maharashtra.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Exit-stance - More than a play on words By Tevia Abrams
Harish Trivedi, transplanted from India and residing in Dayton, Ohio, sends an old curmudgeon on a theatrical journey in a nursing home; it is a journey at once harrowing, comedic and totally existential. I refer to the one-character play, ‘Exit-stance’, which Trivedi wrote in 2006 in homage to playwright Samuel Beckett’s birth centenary, and which was premiered in Ohio in 2007, with subsequent production the following year at the Cincinnati Fringe Festival. Curmudgeon of the piece is OM, or Old Man, who serves, among other purposes, as metaphor for the immigrant’s condition within American society.
As I came across a copy of the script only recently, I am unable to report on the original production; however, I was impressed in the reading by Trivedi’s manner of tracing OM’s voyage in monologue form through loneliness, isolation and despair, despite the proffered medical services, facilities and managed care within the confines of his nursing home. To make matters worse for OM, he is hobbled at the very outset of his journey by the fact that he is both deaf and legally blind.
The monologue form is enlivened through the use of audio and visual effects to heighten audience interest. So there are snippets of nostalgic American and Indian songs – some even from old Indian films, as, for example, ‘Zindagi Kwab Hai’ from the film ‘Jagate Raho’:
“Zindagii khvaab hai khvaab men jhuuth kyaa Aur bhalaa sach hai kyaa Sab sach hai Zindag I kvab hai”
In his tirades, interspersed with poetic asides, OM curses his entrapped situation; but in a calmer and more thoughtful moment, he can say, with resignation: “This is a warehouse for old people. No, this is a place for rich homeless people, people whom nobody wants, society’s rejects.”
At this point in the play, we learn that the old man is aware of the broader meaning of his existence: “So OM I am. OM is the first sound, the first Word – ‘Aadee Swara’ in Sanskrit, the first symbol of the entire universe.” But he quickly turns from it: “I am not THAT OM!” This is but one of many moments where we see OM struggling with intense desire to recapture some sense of personal worth and dignity.
Personal memory is important for OM, as he turns at times to comforting passages from the ‘Rig Veda’, where the ‘dawn’ is equated with hope. Given that he is now blind, OM cannot really share that hope.
All this might suggest the work a gloomy piece, but in fact the melancholy is balanced by moments of sardonic humor and by occasional sound bites of recorded poetry by Shelly and Robert Frost on beauty and dying. Other projections of sound, music, and occasional voices of cold institutional medical authorities help to broaden and enrich the landscape and cultural dimensions of the stage. And there is a tender moment with OM’s cat, whose mewing breaks a moment of dramatic silence.
As the play nears its close, OM offers a prayer that would appear to represent an utterance from his soul, his Atman. Is he ready to be reconciled to his fate?
“Remember, O Lord, remember OM; and remember my deeds . . . Peace! OM, shanti, shanti, shanti.”
But, no, the Old Man suddenly recoils from going the way of traditional acceptance of man’s fate. He’d rather take leave of the world in a jaunty manner, “singing and dancing . . . didn’t I say I had no regrets?” At this, the stage directions call for filling the theatre with Frank Sinatra’s bravado come-what-may song, ‘My Way’, which takes the play to its curtain.
I can only imagine how audiences might have responded to Trivedi’s sensitive mix of monologue with the varied Western and Indian audio materials. They must surely have been touched to the core by the OM’s struggles with hopes and fears about life, death, and the meaning of personal and social existence.
# # #
Tevia E. Abrams completed post-graduate studies on traditional Indian theatre with research focused on the Tamasha folk theatre form of Maharashtra, India.
Mr. Abrams, a Canadian, and now permanent US resident, was recruited by the United Nations Population Fund, and served variously at headquarters and in India. He is currently retired but remains committed to his playwriting activities.
As I came across a copy of the script only recently, I am unable to report on the original production; however, I was impressed in the reading by Trivedi’s manner of tracing OM’s voyage in monologue form through loneliness, isolation and despair, despite the proffered medical services, facilities and managed care within the confines of his nursing home. To make matters worse for OM, he is hobbled at the very outset of his journey by the fact that he is both deaf and legally blind.
The monologue form is enlivened through the use of audio and visual effects to heighten audience interest. So there are snippets of nostalgic American and Indian songs – some even from old Indian films, as, for example, ‘Zindagi Kwab Hai’ from the film ‘Jagate Raho’:
“Zindagii khvaab hai khvaab men jhuuth kyaa Aur bhalaa sach hai kyaa Sab sach hai Zindag I kvab hai”
In his tirades, interspersed with poetic asides, OM curses his entrapped situation; but in a calmer and more thoughtful moment, he can say, with resignation: “This is a warehouse for old people. No, this is a place for rich homeless people, people whom nobody wants, society’s rejects.”
At this point in the play, we learn that the old man is aware of the broader meaning of his existence: “So OM I am. OM is the first sound, the first Word – ‘Aadee Swara’ in Sanskrit, the first symbol of the entire universe.” But he quickly turns from it: “I am not THAT OM!” This is but one of many moments where we see OM struggling with intense desire to recapture some sense of personal worth and dignity.
Personal memory is important for OM, as he turns at times to comforting passages from the ‘Rig Veda’, where the ‘dawn’ is equated with hope. Given that he is now blind, OM cannot really share that hope.
All this might suggest the work a gloomy piece, but in fact the melancholy is balanced by moments of sardonic humor and by occasional sound bites of recorded poetry by Shelly and Robert Frost on beauty and dying. Other projections of sound, music, and occasional voices of cold institutional medical authorities help to broaden and enrich the landscape and cultural dimensions of the stage. And there is a tender moment with OM’s cat, whose mewing breaks a moment of dramatic silence.
As the play nears its close, OM offers a prayer that would appear to represent an utterance from his soul, his Atman. Is he ready to be reconciled to his fate?
“Remember, O Lord, remember OM; and remember my deeds . . . Peace! OM, shanti, shanti, shanti.”
But, no, the Old Man suddenly recoils from going the way of traditional acceptance of man’s fate. He’d rather take leave of the world in a jaunty manner, “singing and dancing . . . didn’t I say I had no regrets?” At this, the stage directions call for filling the theatre with Frank Sinatra’s bravado come-what-may song, ‘My Way’, which takes the play to its curtain.
I can only imagine how audiences might have responded to Trivedi’s sensitive mix of monologue with the varied Western and Indian audio materials. They must surely have been touched to the core by the OM’s struggles with hopes and fears about life, death, and the meaning of personal and social existence.
# # #
Tevia E. Abrams completed post-graduate studies on traditional Indian theatre with research focused on the Tamasha folk theatre form of Maharashtra, India.
Mr. Abrams, a Canadian, and now permanent US resident, was recruited by the United Nations Population Fund, and served variously at headquarters and in India. He is currently retired but remains committed to his playwriting activities.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Exit-stance - Publisher's Remarks
Publisher’s Remarks at the book launch event for Exit-stance, April 2, 2011 at Ajanta Indian Restaurant, Dayton, Ohio.
Good afternoon everybody and thank you Dr. Percy,
A few months back I decided to start this venture or adventure the Sharonom Media Group. And I am the owner and CEO.
You were probably expecting some big shot publisher from some big city, didn’t you?
But before I go into the details about what our Media Group is all about, I would like to say that Dr. Tom Percy, the long time Trustee and former President of the India Foundation and a very good friend has kindly agreed to formally launch our first publication. I will soon invite him to formally launch our first publication.
Exit-stance is the first publication of the Sharonom Meida Group and right now, while I am talking with you, the folks at the big time local Media Company is shaking in their pants.
According to my partner in this venture, The Sharonom Media Group will be involved in all sorts of media – films, stage shows, Broadway musicals, television, broadcasting, printing and publishing. We are going to have our presence in the cyber world too.
As our first project I signed up a relatively unknown writer from this town. I had to massage his big ego, entice him and kind of seduce him with all sorts of promises … and I am happy to say, it has worked – the publication of Exit-stance – a play written by Harish Trivedi.
For this special occasion, the Sharonom Media Group is offering a special discount. Regular price less the discount makes this book PRICE LESS.
The buyers of this very limited edition book will be provided with a certificate of ownership duly signed by the author himself.
The certificate would make the buyer the legal owner of the book that the buyer can hold and cherish in perpetuity and maybe read it again and again too …
So without much ado and with great pleasure and personal pride I would like to invite Dr. Tom Percy to launch the publication of Exit-stance.
Why I feel secure…
By Harish Trivedi,
© 2011
Your Editor says -
"For the first time, (as they say 'in my life' ) I feel secure like never before...."
* An insurance company is 'by my side',
* Another insurance company keeps telling me, 'State Farm is there...’ My problem is I do not know where 'there' is?
* A local TV channel keeps saying, 'On Your side', sometimes I get up in the middle of the night and instead of the lovely 'weather girl' (do they still use the term 'Weather Girl') I find my cat trying to get on the better part of my comforter,
* Since I wear the medical alert, I know if I
'fall and cannot get up'some one will come and help me get up. This is something I am tempted to try... I am, according to some religious leaders already 'a fallen soul’ I wonder if the ‘bracelet people’ would help me get up...
* I know everything, I happen happen to have the entire 'Idiot's guide to....' books,
* My cereal contains 'daily required amount of fiber' so I don't have to chew on rug to alleviate any fiber deficiency.
* My yogurt contains the antioxidants that are good for me,
* My coffee is 'caffeine free’...
* I get more than required amount of BS from the TV talk shows and the talking heads...
* I have learned to live with socio-psychological issues from Dr. Phil,
* I know whom to call if I ever develop any symptoms of Mesothelioma, (even though the TV commercials do not say if one can developed the symptoms by being exposed to such commercials over a number of years...)
* The Ohio law has made it simple, only two individual needs to sign a statement that says, 'He is dangerous to him and needs to be confined....’ I know the 'missej' and my niece are ready to use that legal provision any time they think I am dangerous to myself - that happens to be all the time...so I am waiting for guys with straight-jacket'....
And finally (that is how such things are written), so And finally -
One more time - 'Again, as they say, having so many friends, who needs enemies?'
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Exit-stance Ownership Certificate
Exit-stanceBook launch
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Ajanta Indian Restaurant
2 pm to 4. 30 pm
Exit-stance
Certificate of Ownership
I, (.....your name), take thee Exit-stance as my lawfully bought book at a discounted price.
I promise to protect, preserve and keep thee for life. I further promise not to loan my copy of Exit-stance to anyone or let anyone borrow thee from me.
Administrator of oath:
You now kiss your Twelve Dollars good bye and kiss your copy of Exit-stance.
I wish you pleasant reading.
Signed this day, Saturday, April 2, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Ajanta Indian Restaurant
2 pm to 4. 30 pm
Exit-stance
Certificate of Ownership
I, (.....your name), take thee Exit-stance as my lawfully bought book at a discounted price.
I promise to protect, preserve and keep thee for life. I further promise not to loan my copy of Exit-stance to anyone or let anyone borrow thee from me.
Administrator of oath:
You now kiss your Twelve Dollars good bye and kiss your copy of Exit-stance.
I wish you pleasant reading.
Signed this day, Saturday, April 2, 2011
Exit-stance: Book Release Report
This is a very belated and long overdue 'news' report of the lanuching of Exit-stance (my play)
Exit-stance book launch event news report:
Note that no big time geriatric literary figure from Gujarat was asked to do the book launch, no fanfare (well there was some of it because the big time dramatist had paid for it), but definitely no press coverage with big photos and pompous speeches... Prior to the formal launching of the book, Dr. Raghava Gowda read excerpts from Exit-stance and that was followed by Sharonjee reading three scenes from my one-character play An Evening with Mary Carpenter. Both the readings lasted a little over twenty-minutes each with a very enthusiastic and standing ovation. (The standing part was due to lack of seats in the restaurant)
And here's my totally unobjective, dramatic and very self-serving report: (Some people just have no shame or any concept of modesty)
Dr. Tom Percy launched the book by tearing off the fancy gift-wrap in which the book was ensconced with a dramatic flourish - appropriate to the occasion and made equally generous remarks about the writing skills of the dramatist and his writing skills. Dr. Percy thanked the Publisher too for this very first publication under the Sharon Media Group banner.
The Publisher then invited the dramatist for his lofty and profound remarks that included his dramatic reading of the legal ownership certificate that was to be provided to the very enthusiastic or very reluctant (take your pick) guests. Over fifty very enthusiastic or reluctant guests clamored to buy a copy of Exit-stance, get their photos taken with the dramatist and of course the obligatory autograph and signed certificate of ownership from the dramatist was provided to all...(Some of the guests took more than one copy of the signed certificate and additional copies had to be printed)
During the remarks by the dramatist and at his urging (thinking that it was inevitable) many of the guests chose to rush for the dessert or to refill their wine glasses. Incidentally the cake was covered with a photo of the cover-page of the book. The cake was covered with the said photo that was printed on edible paper. Yes, this small city in the mid-west has very good bakeries run by descendants of German, Polish and Hugarian immigrants. One could actually hear their grunts from the back rooms where they bake such goodies. (The dramatist thought that the process of kneading the dough for bread and pastries was very sensuous and at times erotic and totally irrelevant part of this news report).
Later the niece of the dramatist Alpa Mahuvakar and her family hosted that evening a dinner with assistance from the Publisher where some thirty hand picked guests were present. The dinner menu was meticulously selected or prepared by Alpa and the Publisher. Merlot from Woodridge winery from the Sonoma Valley flowed like water and was consumed by few guests but mostly by the dramatist.
Just about the time when the guest were getting ready to stagger out of the restaurant, Alpa and the Publisher surreptitiously sprang open a big box of birthday cake. Even though the dramatist's birthday is usually in January this was a surprise celebration of the historic birthday. A truly big surprise for the dramatist! Every one sang Happy Birthday, some hummed while some faked singing. The dramatist made the thank you cum after dinner speech wherein he said how he and the misses generally request to be seated in the non-birthday section of a restaurant where they do not have to listen to some guest celebrating some relative, spouse or mistress's birthdays...
The dramatist now overwhelmed by some indescribable emotions, very tipsy and suddenly feeling very OLD, thanked the guests and staggered towards the car...
It is assumed that good time was had by all or at least by one person - the dramatist!
Now if you can correctly tell me how many times the words the dramatist has appeared in this report you may qualify for a prize that is not worth a damn! (Of course void where prohibited by law or spouse)
(Excerpted from Ass - ociated Press, very Random house report, Barns and Stables news and other unheard of news and wired services)
Exit-stance book launch event news report:
Note that no big time geriatric literary figure from Gujarat was asked to do the book launch, no fanfare (well there was some of it because the big time dramatist had paid for it), but definitely no press coverage with big photos and pompous speeches... Prior to the formal launching of the book, Dr. Raghava Gowda read excerpts from Exit-stance and that was followed by Sharonjee reading three scenes from my one-character play An Evening with Mary Carpenter. Both the readings lasted a little over twenty-minutes each with a very enthusiastic and standing ovation. (The standing part was due to lack of seats in the restaurant)
And here's my totally unobjective, dramatic and very self-serving report: (Some people just have no shame or any concept of modesty)
Dr. Tom Percy launched the book by tearing off the fancy gift-wrap in which the book was ensconced with a dramatic flourish - appropriate to the occasion and made equally generous remarks about the writing skills of the dramatist and his writing skills. Dr. Percy thanked the Publisher too for this very first publication under the Sharon Media Group banner.
The Publisher then invited the dramatist for his lofty and profound remarks that included his dramatic reading of the legal ownership certificate that was to be provided to the very enthusiastic or very reluctant (take your pick) guests. Over fifty very enthusiastic or reluctant guests clamored to buy a copy of Exit-stance, get their photos taken with the dramatist and of course the obligatory autograph and signed certificate of ownership from the dramatist was provided to all...(Some of the guests took more than one copy of the signed certificate and additional copies had to be printed)
During the remarks by the dramatist and at his urging (thinking that it was inevitable) many of the guests chose to rush for the dessert or to refill their wine glasses. Incidentally the cake was covered with a photo of the cover-page of the book. The cake was covered with the said photo that was printed on edible paper. Yes, this small city in the mid-west has very good bakeries run by descendants of German, Polish and Hugarian immigrants. One could actually hear their grunts from the back rooms where they bake such goodies. (The dramatist thought that the process of kneading the dough for bread and pastries was very sensuous and at times erotic and totally irrelevant part of this news report).
Later the niece of the dramatist Alpa Mahuvakar and her family hosted that evening a dinner with assistance from the Publisher where some thirty hand picked guests were present. The dinner menu was meticulously selected or prepared by Alpa and the Publisher. Merlot from Woodridge winery from the Sonoma Valley flowed like water and was consumed by few guests but mostly by the dramatist.
Just about the time when the guest were getting ready to stagger out of the restaurant, Alpa and the Publisher surreptitiously sprang open a big box of birthday cake. Even though the dramatist's birthday is usually in January this was a surprise celebration of the historic birthday. A truly big surprise for the dramatist! Every one sang Happy Birthday, some hummed while some faked singing. The dramatist made the thank you cum after dinner speech wherein he said how he and the misses generally request to be seated in the non-birthday section of a restaurant where they do not have to listen to some guest celebrating some relative, spouse or mistress's birthdays...
The dramatist now overwhelmed by some indescribable emotions, very tipsy and suddenly feeling very OLD, thanked the guests and staggered towards the car...
It is assumed that good time was had by all or at least by one person - the dramatist!
Now if you can correctly tell me how many times the words the dramatist has appeared in this report you may qualify for a prize that is not worth a damn! (Of course void where prohibited by law or spouse)
(Excerpted from Ass - ociated Press, very Random house report, Barns and Stables news and other unheard of news and wired services)
Re: A Rejoinder from Natwar Gandhi
Re: Missing the Point--Harsh Trivedi on Gujarati Diaspora Writing,
A Rejoinder by Natwar Gandhi
(Note: - The ‘rejoinder’ was ‘forwarded’ to me by a kind friend. Later Mr.Natwar Gandhi too sent me a revised version of his rejoinder. My reply to Mr. Gandhi is based on his original 'rejoinder')_
A reply to Natwar Gandhi’s ‘rejoinder’
By Harsh Trivedi
© June 2011.
Art thou troubled milord?
(From a Hymnal)
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
(William Shakespeare, Hamlet)
1) Harish Trivedi (his blog--2011) sees irony in publishing activities surrounding the launching of my book Pennsylvania Avenue.
Yes, I did see irony as well as hypocrisy, I must admit.
Next?
2) Further, newspaper interviews, dramatic readings of poems by stage actors at a well-publicized publishing event organized by the publisher—“the whole shindig”—smacks of hypocrisy to him. Quoting words from an article that I had written earlier criticizing such activities, Trivedi writes, “this proves that Natwar Gandhi is no exception to what he strongly abhors in others. Hypocrisy? Chutzpah or just plain audacity of hype—you be the judge.” If Trivedi is keen on proving that I am a hypocrite practicing what I criticize in others, he need not have wasted his considerable energy and several pages. The case could have been made quickly and easily and only in a few words. To the charge of hypocrisy, I plead guilty.
Physician, heal thyself…. The last sentence in 2) above could very well be applied to Natwarbhai’s long and rather self-serving exercise in rationalization. He admits, albeit grudgingly the validity of my criticism but abhors my guts for writing about it…
2) Harsh Trivedi (his blog--2011) sees irony in publishing activities surrounding the launching of my book Pennsylvania Avenue. In particular, favorable news paper columns by Mumbai’s literary lion Suresh Dalal, a well known Gujarati poet and publisher of the book, bothered him.
The fact that this so-called literary lion also happens to be the publisher of Natwarbhai’s book. So any laudatory note, deserved or undeserved constitutes a conflict of interest on the part of this lion. The fact that this particular newspaper continues to publish this lion’s writings as a piece of legit criticism further compounds the folly and makes the newspaper publishers complicit in this shenanigans. This is something worth bothering about, no complaining about and shouting about from the rooftops. Natwarbhai has ignored this important fact when he comes to the defense of this ‘lion’. Natwarbhai seems to follow the dictum don’t let facts come in the way of a good diatribe.
Suresh Dalal’s (the literary lion as Natwarbhai calls him) columns in newspapers and periodicals about works that are published by his own publishing house (well, may be he does not own it, but surely acts as if he does and no body seems to care either) could be described in one word - hagiography. But who are we to complain about this professional promoter, the one who acts like a side -show barker and hides under the moniker of a ‘literary lion’ given to him by one of his own clients?
3) As is often the case in contemporary Gujarati literary criticism, Trivedi’s reading of my article is literal and superficial. Worse yet, his criticism is personal. But he simply misses the point.
I have responded rather at great length and point by point to Natwarbhai’s misconceived and in my opinion ill advised pompous, grand eloquent and presumptuous paean to the NRI Gujarati writers. His view of the criticism of his article simplistic and personal criticism defies logic and undermines Natwarbhai’s own apologia. Readers are welcome to check out my bog on this subject and ascertain the truth at http://harishtrivedi.blogspot.com/2010/08/natwar-gandhi-on-gujarati-diaspora_34.html
5) If NRI writing is to emerge as authentic, the aspiring NRI writer would have to see through all the hoopla—“shindig”— surrounding the publication including favorable reviews and press notices. I wrote, “Most forewords and prefaces offered to NRI writers are misleading at best and disingenuous at worst.” Unfortunately, hypnotized by these false praises, “the writer is under an illusion that the literary doors have been opened to him and he goes back to his writing desk determined to do more writing. Encouraged in such a fashion, we have North American NRI writers who have dozens of books to their credit.
6) Contrary to prevailing NRI publishing practice, none of my book contains any introduction or preface by any of the worthies of Gujarati literature. Nor does it contain on back cover or elsewhere in the book any excerpts from numerous favorable reviews and laudatory comments.
Well, there could be couple of reasons for this absence of excerpts of reviews on the back covers of Natwarbhai’s books. It could be the fact that no one had read his book prior to publication. The absence of ‘preface’ or ‘forward’ in his books may be because of the money that some of our Gujarati ‘preface’ and ‘forward’ writers demand. Of course this absence could simply described as the gentle and very modest authors own choice. Nothing wrong about it.
It seems as if Natwarbhai is alluding to the publication of my play Exit-stance (I am going to shamelessly plug my play that has been recently published and perhaps cause some annoyance in the process…) If so, let me clarify – The reviews and comments, some of which appear in my book and the back cover came from folks who either had seen the play or read a copy of the manuscript of Exit-stance. The use of blurbs, quotes, prefaces, reviews and what have you is a tool for marketing of a publication. Use of such method is a matter of choice and it should not be used as an occasion for needless cheap shots as any one, particularly at one who has written, no matter how unflattering an expose of a recent publicity stunt in Mamba, India.
7) I also know that there is a novelty factor in my attempting to write poetry while still deeply engaged in a day job as Chief Financial Officer of managing the $10 billion budget of Washington, DC. Many commentators both here and at home have wondered how I maintain literary interests and write poetry in arcane Sanskrit meters after nearly fifty years of living in the United States. Or, for that matter, I write at all while maneuvering my ways through the treacherous waters of Washington politics and public finance. All this makes an interesting human story and good copy for newspapers.
What an example of modesty! More power to you Natwarbhai!
It seems as if any other Gujarati diaspora writers do not have to hold a full-time job in order to survive, as if every one of those Gujarati writers hold a high paying government job, as if every one is married to a rich banker and does not have to do any house work except to travel and write… Wouldn’t it be nice if it were so!
Natwarbhai, why don’t you ask some of these Diaspora Gujarati writers whom you are providing some unsolicited advise as to what they have to do to survive. You would be surprised by what you hear from them. Distributing newspapers each morning, starting around 3 am, cleaning up toilets in the high-rise offices, criss-crossing the neighborhoods to count heads for the Census Bureau, unemployed for over twenty years and living on a parsley pension and social security payments…. Their writing is no less useful, important, relevant and at times enlightening than some one who manages a $10 billion budget!
Only Natwarbhai holds a very important job as a Chief Financial Officer and manages s budget of $10 billion dollars, of places in Wahsington D.C. So no wonder the poor scribe in Mumbai finds there in a human-interest story. Sorry, for missing this human-interest angle!
I remember an incident that occurred not too long ago, when a reputed writer’s column had erroneously printed one less zero in the billion figure of Natwarbhai’s budget and Natwarbhai had taken this poor wretch of a writer to task for missing some zeros.
Here is an excerpt from a ‘thank you’ note that I had sent to Natwarbhai at that time –
‘You have thoughtfully pointed out 1) Possibly the obvious lapse in proof reading or 2) your concern that some readers may think that (the columnist’s) literary sense and sensibilities are far better than his monetary understanding... (Natwarbhai’s words) How well you have expressed this in your own discreet, diplomatic and subtle way!’
‘Reading your note I also learned something that I was not aware of - that because of some misprint or error in proofing some zeros were misplace in the billion figure and it may cause - hurt feelings of hundreds of thousands of District (of Columbia) citizens of which Mr. Barack Obama is one - who would read this particular column by ... Again your thoughtfulness and concerns about the feelings of your fellow citizens was evident there...’
‘While I do not know the print circulation of the newspaper that publishes ( ) column or the number of people who read Gujarati in the Washington DC area, I am sure the Divya Bhaskar editors and publishers would be happy and ecstatic to know that hundreds of thousands of Washington DC folks read ( ) column. Not only that but the DC citizens are also vigilant about any inaccuracy in news pertaining to their district. I am really thrilled and illuminated by this discovery!’ - From my note to Natwarbhai, July 14, 2010.
Frankly, I did not know that many people in the D.C area read this newspaper column with such a dedication and an eye for details and misprints – all written in Gujarati. But I digress let us move on….
8) Without trying to make any comparison, I would not be surprised if the notable novelist and playwright K. M. Munshi also aroused similar human interest in his day because in addition to his prolific literary output he also distinguished himself in law, politics and government.
Without trying to make any comparison – But you do so sir, you do…
9) I have no illusion of grandeur about what I write or what I do in Washington. Since I have not applied for sainthood, let me take this opportunity to plead guilty, in addition to hypocrisy, to many other deadly sins as well for the benefit of Trivedi and all others who have their watchful eyes on what I do and write.
Natwarbhai says, I have no illusion of grandeur about what I write or what I do in Washington. That may be so and we take his word for it. I know he is a very modest and unassuming person. No doubt or question about this on my part and I hope every one knows this fact…
My only gripe or complain is this - Natwarbhai could have spared all of us the trouble of reading his ‘rejoinder’, albeit a very late ‘rejoinder’ at that, (since my bog was posted in August of 2010) simply by pleading guilty, in addition to admitting being a hypocrite etc. in the last paragraph of his rather a long ‘rejoinder’.
As far as I know, no one had asked him to write a rejoinder and no one had asked him to plead guilty to any real or imaginary sin.
No one has any right to ask Natwarbhai or for that matter any one else to admit guilt for anything that they may have done. It is none of any one’s business. And as far as I am concerned no one should ask him to admit to anything, let him manage the $10 million budget and keep writing in arcane Sanskrit meters…
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Mumbai Blasts and a personal note
by Harish Trivedi
First a personal note:
The Dadar area in Mumbai (Bombay) is a suburb of Mumbai where I grew up. One of the three bombs exposition occurred in Dada area. The site of the explosion is less than two miles from where my brother and his family live now and the area where I grew up.
My brother and his wife are currently in California but my youngest niece lives there and we learned from her call about an hour ago. She is fine, though a bit rattled...
One of my friends lives across from where the blast occurred but all the communication lines to Mamba are jammed so I was not able to reach him. I'll try again later... It is around 10.30 pm in Mumbai now...
I regret for sharing this really horrible news with you...
Harish
There is short video clip on the following Times of India web link.
>
> http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/mumbai/Three-bomb-blasts-rock-Mumbai/articleshow/9212554.cms
MAMBAI: Three blasts rocked Mumbai within minutes of each other, police said on Wednesday. According to TV reports, eight persons have died in the blasts and 70 have been injured.
Police sources said the nature and intensity of the blasts was not known. The ministry has confirmed it is a terror strike.
The first explosion took place in south Mamba's Zaveri Bazaar, near the famous Mumbadevi temple, in which some people were injured, said Mumbai Police spokesperson Nisar Tamboli. The bustling market also has a number of jewellery shops.
The second explosion was reported in a taxi in Dadar area in central Mumbai, he said.
The third blast was reported from south Mumbai's Opera House *in Charni Road after 7pm.
All three are busy commercial and residential areas, and were bustling with people and traffic during the evening peak hours when the explosions took place.
The communication network has been jammed. People are unable to get through phone lines in the city.
An NIA team has been sent for Mumbai. All states have been put on high alert. A parked car bore the brunt of the blast in Dadar.
Police teams quickly moved into the three places. In New Delhi, the home ministry put the National Security Guard (NSG) on alert.
166 people were killed in a terror strike in 2008 by Pakistan-based terrorists.
______________________________________
* (Opera House is a historic building where in early part of last century Anna Pavlova danced and was a venue of many a touring British theatrical companies. Opera House used to show movies and since last decade or so has been closed down... There is famous Devdhar School of Indian Music from across the Opera House where I used to go for rehearsing my plays. Some of the scenes of Raj Kapoor's first film AAG were shot there. It is also a place where the doyen of Indian movies, Prithviraj Kapoor (the grand old man of the Kapoor dynasty) used to perform his Hindi plays with his Prithvi Theatre... all now memories of days gone by...). Prithvi Raj Kapoor's grand and great grand kids are still drawing crowds for their Bollywood films. The Wilson College, one of the oldest colleges in Mumbai is located a few blocks away from the Opera House.
The Very Rev John Wilson after whom the College is named was Born in Lauder, Scotland in 1804.
As a linguist John Wilson was a man of amazing calibre. Having studied the Classics, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and French at Edinburgh, he soon became proficient in the local languages and the classical eastern languages of Sanskrit, Persian and Arabic. In 1832, convinced of the importamce of Christian Education, he founded the Ambrolie English School, which has grown to become the Wilson High School and Wilson College of today.
His missionary travels took him around Western India in his bullock cart. Wherever he went he showed a natural curiosity for all things local, becoming a keen student of the antiquities of the area. His work on the translation of rock inscriptions at Girnar in Saurashtra gained him the highest award science had to offer at that time a Fellowship of the Royal Society. He became President of the Royal Asiatic Society and Vice Chancellor of the University, but above all he was a Christian Missionary.
He died in Bombay on 1st December 1875, his final words having been "I have perfect peace, and am content that the Lord should do what seems good to Him."
Now, 236 years after his birth, it is only fitting that we should remember him - the truly great missionary that he was... After his death his personal collection of books was donated to the Bombay University Library.
Wilson College the legacy continues...
Wilson College has witnessed the turn of two centuries. As a tribute to the journey of this diminutive school started at the residence of Dr. Wilson, to develope into a multi - disciplined University affiliated college
...as an educational institution going back to 1832. It began as Ambrolie School in Girgaum, later seeing several changes of sites and names, eventually being called Wilson School. A collegiate section from which Wilson College evolved in 1836.
The founder of these institutions, the Rev. John Wilson of the Scottish Missionary Society. John and his wife Margaret arrived in Bombay on February 14,1829, learnt the local language and with great zeal set up schools for boys and girls of all castes and classes.
John Wilson's work went beyond the field of education. He was a Linguist, an Orientalist, a Reformer, an Author.
The pioneering work in higher education began a quarter of a century, before the establishment of any official body for this purpose. The vision and foresight of Dr. Wilson saw the establishment of the University of Bombay in 1857. On 14th December 1861, the collegiate section of Wilson's institution under the name of Free General Assembly's Institution became the first privately owned, non-government institution to get affiliated to the University.
For many years, both the school and college sections were housed in one building, but largely through the efforts of Dr. Mackichan, a site for the college was secured at Chowpatty and the present college building was opened on 14th March 1889.
Fostering a tradition of liberalism and freedom, the Scottish Principals inspired many students to be at the centre stage of the freedom - struggle Usha Mehta (Political Science professor for my Masiter degree, freedom fighters - Acharya Kriplani, a fire-brand revolutionary and freedom fighter S. .A. Dange, Aloo Dastoor- another Political Science and Contract Law professor for my Master's and Law degrees, B.G. Kher... to mention a few.
India's former Prime minister Morarji Desai along with the great Orientalist and Sanskrit scholar P.V. Kane and one of the pioneers for women's education D. .K. Karve are also proud alumni of this institution.
Today Wilson College is one of the few colleges in Mumbai which offer an array of subjects in the Arts, Science and Vocational stream, along with undergraduate courses in Management Studies, Mass Media, Biotechnology, Computer Science and Information Technology.
The students of Wilson College are from nearly every ethnic, religious and social group, of the country as well as of the world.
The college motto Fides, Spes, Caritas - Faith, Hope, Love - Vishwas, Asha, Prem speaks of Faith in God, the Love that steers the college community through life and Hope...
(Source - the Wilson College history...)
First a personal note:
The Dadar area in Mumbai (Bombay) is a suburb of Mumbai where I grew up. One of the three bombs exposition occurred in Dada area. The site of the explosion is less than two miles from where my brother and his family live now and the area where I grew up.
My brother and his wife are currently in California but my youngest niece lives there and we learned from her call about an hour ago. She is fine, though a bit rattled...
One of my friends lives across from where the blast occurred but all the communication lines to Mamba are jammed so I was not able to reach him. I'll try again later... It is around 10.30 pm in Mumbai now...
I regret for sharing this really horrible news with you...
Harish
There is short video clip on the following Times of India web link.
>
> http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/mumbai/Three-bomb-blasts-rock-Mumbai/articleshow/9212554.cms
MAMBAI: Three blasts rocked Mumbai within minutes of each other, police said on Wednesday. According to TV reports, eight persons have died in the blasts and 70 have been injured.
Police sources said the nature and intensity of the blasts was not known. The ministry has confirmed it is a terror strike.
The first explosion took place in south Mamba's Zaveri Bazaar, near the famous Mumbadevi temple, in which some people were injured, said Mumbai Police spokesperson Nisar Tamboli. The bustling market also has a number of jewellery shops.
The second explosion was reported in a taxi in Dadar area in central Mumbai, he said.
The third blast was reported from south Mumbai's Opera House *in Charni Road after 7pm.
All three are busy commercial and residential areas, and were bustling with people and traffic during the evening peak hours when the explosions took place.
The communication network has been jammed. People are unable to get through phone lines in the city.
An NIA team has been sent for Mumbai. All states have been put on high alert. A parked car bore the brunt of the blast in Dadar.
Police teams quickly moved into the three places. In New Delhi, the home ministry put the National Security Guard (NSG) on alert.
166 people were killed in a terror strike in 2008 by Pakistan-based terrorists.
______________________________________
* (Opera House is a historic building where in early part of last century Anna Pavlova danced and was a venue of many a touring British theatrical companies. Opera House used to show movies and since last decade or so has been closed down... There is famous Devdhar School of Indian Music from across the Opera House where I used to go for rehearsing my plays. Some of the scenes of Raj Kapoor's first film AAG were shot there. It is also a place where the doyen of Indian movies, Prithviraj Kapoor (the grand old man of the Kapoor dynasty) used to perform his Hindi plays with his Prithvi Theatre... all now memories of days gone by...). Prithvi Raj Kapoor's grand and great grand kids are still drawing crowds for their Bollywood films. The Wilson College, one of the oldest colleges in Mumbai is located a few blocks away from the Opera House.
The Very Rev John Wilson after whom the College is named was Born in Lauder, Scotland in 1804.
As a linguist John Wilson was a man of amazing calibre. Having studied the Classics, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and French at Edinburgh, he soon became proficient in the local languages and the classical eastern languages of Sanskrit, Persian and Arabic. In 1832, convinced of the importamce of Christian Education, he founded the Ambrolie English School, which has grown to become the Wilson High School and Wilson College of today.
His missionary travels took him around Western India in his bullock cart. Wherever he went he showed a natural curiosity for all things local, becoming a keen student of the antiquities of the area. His work on the translation of rock inscriptions at Girnar in Saurashtra gained him the highest award science had to offer at that time a Fellowship of the Royal Society. He became President of the Royal Asiatic Society and Vice Chancellor of the University, but above all he was a Christian Missionary.
He died in Bombay on 1st December 1875, his final words having been "I have perfect peace, and am content that the Lord should do what seems good to Him."
Now, 236 years after his birth, it is only fitting that we should remember him - the truly great missionary that he was... After his death his personal collection of books was donated to the Bombay University Library.
Wilson College the legacy continues...
Wilson College has witnessed the turn of two centuries. As a tribute to the journey of this diminutive school started at the residence of Dr. Wilson, to develope into a multi - disciplined University affiliated college
...as an educational institution going back to 1832. It began as Ambrolie School in Girgaum, later seeing several changes of sites and names, eventually being called Wilson School. A collegiate section from which Wilson College evolved in 1836.
The founder of these institutions, the Rev. John Wilson of the Scottish Missionary Society. John and his wife Margaret arrived in Bombay on February 14,1829, learnt the local language and with great zeal set up schools for boys and girls of all castes and classes.
John Wilson's work went beyond the field of education. He was a Linguist, an Orientalist, a Reformer, an Author.
The pioneering work in higher education began a quarter of a century, before the establishment of any official body for this purpose. The vision and foresight of Dr. Wilson saw the establishment of the University of Bombay in 1857. On 14th December 1861, the collegiate section of Wilson's institution under the name of Free General Assembly's Institution became the first privately owned, non-government institution to get affiliated to the University.
For many years, both the school and college sections were housed in one building, but largely through the efforts of Dr. Mackichan, a site for the college was secured at Chowpatty and the present college building was opened on 14th March 1889.
Fostering a tradition of liberalism and freedom, the Scottish Principals inspired many students to be at the centre stage of the freedom - struggle Usha Mehta (Political Science professor for my Masiter degree, freedom fighters - Acharya Kriplani, a fire-brand revolutionary and freedom fighter S. .A. Dange, Aloo Dastoor- another Political Science and Contract Law professor for my Master's and Law degrees, B.G. Kher... to mention a few.
India's former Prime minister Morarji Desai along with the great Orientalist and Sanskrit scholar P.V. Kane and one of the pioneers for women's education D. .K. Karve are also proud alumni of this institution.
Today Wilson College is one of the few colleges in Mumbai which offer an array of subjects in the Arts, Science and Vocational stream, along with undergraduate courses in Management Studies, Mass Media, Biotechnology, Computer Science and Information Technology.
The students of Wilson College are from nearly every ethnic, religious and social group, of the country as well as of the world.
The college motto Fides, Spes, Caritas - Faith, Hope, Love - Vishwas, Asha, Prem speaks of Faith in God, the Love that steers the college community through life and Hope...
(Source - the Wilson College history...)
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Regarding Comments
Response to commenters -
There was a tenant in my house before 25 years. I was in 6th Standard then. He had a book very old and thick with yellowish pages. It was mahabharat poet and written by manbhatt. An interesting one and I read it entire one. Today I google it and found that manbhatta was some tradition and unable to locate that book now. I want to transfer the same knowledge to my children, which is base for all the success in career we have. Can someone help me find that? Being in this world of literature there are high chances that you know existence of such book and availability of that.
By V Patel on History of Gujarati Theatre by Hasmukh Baradi and ... on 4/5/11
Dear Mr. Patel,
From your note it seems like you had come across a copy of Kunwar Bai Nu Mohmeru by the poet Premanand (l636 - l734), He was one of the best Maan Bhatt of his time. As far as I know, Dharmiklal Pandya from Vadodara or Baroda is one of the best contemporary maan players today. He has provided many concerts in the tradition of Permanente. Doordarshan, Ahmedabad, has recorded many of his performances. I hope this information is helpful to you.
There was a tenant in my house before 25 years. I was in 6th Standard then. He had a book very old and thick with yellowish pages. It was mahabharat poet and written by manbhatt. An interesting one and I read it entire one. Today I google it and found that manbhatta was some tradition and unable to locate that book now. I want to transfer the same knowledge to my children, which is base for all the success in career we have. Can someone help me find that? Being in this world of literature there are high chances that you know existence of such book and availability of that.
By V Patel on History of Gujarati Theatre by Hasmukh Baradi and ... on 4/5/11
Dear Mr. Patel,
From your note it seems like you had come across a copy of Kunwar Bai Nu Mohmeru by the poet Premanand (l636 - l734), He was one of the best Maan Bhatt of his time. As far as I know, Dharmiklal Pandya from Vadodara or Baroda is one of the best contemporary maan players today. He has provided many concerts in the tradition of Permanente. Doordarshan, Ahmedabad, has recorded many of his performances. I hope this information is helpful to you.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
'The Sahib's Dilemma' by Harish Trivedi
Copyright ©2011 First published in Muse India, May/June Issue
(Note: The octogenarian head of a penurious Indian American family finds it very hard to make both ends meet in the times of recession, and so no option but to bid goodbye to his two equally old pets.)
The news reports say that the national poverty level has reached nearly to fifteen per cent.
That may be so, but that figure probably does not include these folks we know only as the Sahib, his Missej* and their two cats - Baboo and Raja. Even in his own neighborhood somewhere in the Ohio suburb no one seems to know this family except as ‘that fellow from India and his cute wife’.
The Sahib family is living below the poverty level forever. His ridiculously low pension is not even good for their mortgage payments.
Baboo is nearly 70 years old in cat-years (fifteen-years in human years). He has arthritis, has lost his sense of smell and has a slightly impaired vision. He was also born with a neurological condition that has affected his walking. Baboo does not have any Medicare and has no HMO (Health Maintenance Organization) to cover his health expenses.
During the last few months only, the Sahibs have spent nearly $5,500 on Baboo’s health.
The Sahib is in his early 80s but he still looks youthful. His Missej is in her early 70s and looks fifteen years younger than her real age.
After being daily bombarded by the media with the news of various companies down-sizing, the layoffs, the rate of unemployment, the ever increasing rate of bankruptcies and foreclosures across the country, the Sahib was inspired to do something about his own ever increasing pet maintenance expenses and the couple’s nearly evaporated 401K account (Pension fund).
So one night, the Sahib called a little family meeting.
The Family Meeting:
The Sahib called Baboo and Raja and explained to them the state of economy, the ever-increasing expenses and the family’s very limited financial resources.
He said, “You guys are brave even though Raja runs away and hides under the bed as soon as hears the door bell ring. You have been a lot of fun and a lot of trouble too. We all have had wonderful time together the past dozen years or so. You know that, we all know about our fun times together. But I have to tell you some thing. It is very difficult for me to do this, but you know, nothing lasts forever. Even all-good things come to an end some day. I think for you guys, that day is today.”
He continued: “You have no idea about the bad condition of your Sahib’s finances … All you know is eating fancy foods, napping, eating fancy food and napping, eating fancy food … That’s the only thing you know. But let me tell you that time is over. I had to make a very tough decision. I do not know of any proper way of telling you this but I have to tell you …”
The Sahib’s voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat and continued –
“I have decided to let you guys go. You two will have to find something else to do with your lives.”
There was silence. Absolute silence. Only audible sound in that room was that of the Missej’s sobbing …
There was no evocative music to enhance the somber mood of that moment. The silence was very striking and unbearable.
After listening to his Sahib with open ears and closed eyes, Baboo, the bright one among the two cats (that is bright one compared to Raja), jumped down from his chair, came limping near the Sahib and said -
“How can you do this to us? What about all the joy and pleasure we have given you all these years? What about the guests I have hurt with my claws and scarred the hell out of them… What about my jumping and general running around the house? I did that to amuse you with my galloping gait. What about my informing you when the mailman or a delivery guy came to our door? Raja and I always sniff the newly delivered packages and make sure that the contents were safe for all of us. I have even let you take my videos when I was relaxing or cleaning my paws and my face ... I always stopped from my singing when you interrupted me by yelling at me.
“Some times when I am at the window of our dinning room and talking with the dogs next door you often shouted, ‘Stop it Baboo …’ And I always stopped… I have always obeyed your orders. Have I ever complained about anything? Don’t these things count for any thing? You cannot act like all those big corporations…you have to take our age, loyalty and love into consideration, after all we are a FAMILY, don't you understand that simple thing?
“And, tell us, who is going to adopt us old cats? Where are we supposed to go now? Do you want us to die under a car or die of a disease or you want us gassed by that inhumane Humane Society? C'mon, we know you are a kind-hearted man. We have heard Mom call you a Softy … Please, please, won’t you allow us to stay here, just for a few more years?”
Raja ever so royal and loyal had decided to find a place near his Sahib - or Saabjee as his Missej called him- with one of his paws in his lap. As usual Raja was sound asleep. As sound as only a cat could be… No one was sure if Raja had listened to any of the things that his Sahib had said…
By this time the Missej was to the last piece of her second box of Kleenexes and uncontrollably sobbing. Her nose and eyes had turned red. Baboo's nostrils were flaring (that can only be detected by the observant eyes of his Sahib or his Vet Ms Dawn). His pink nose had turned to apple-red. A tear or two had surfaced and were trying to roll down Baboo’s eyes.
The Sahib’s face had turned ashen gray. His hands were trembling. A sense of embarrassment and overwhelming feeling of guilt had taken over the Sahib’s usually calm and composed demeanor... He felt as if his heart had stopped. He could barely breathe… He tried to get up from his couch, but could not. As if all the strength from his body had drained out. Finally, with great effort the Sahib tried to stand up again and in the process he lost his balance and collapsed on the couch. The Missej requested her Sabjee not to move away from the couch. She went to the kitchen and got a glass of water for her Sahib.
Sipping some water with his trembling hand, the Sahib was quiet for some time, as if reflecting about all that had happened during the last few minutes. He looked around the room and finally looking at Baboo and Raja the Sahib said something that only this Sahib from India could say at that time -
‘Okay, you guys never asked us to be with us. We brought you here to stay with us. I believe in fate.’
The Sahib remembered the day they had brought Baboo home. The images on the Sahib’s memory screen rapidly moved backwards to the day when they had spotted a little kitten in a parking lot of a hotel where their guests were staying.
Baboo had then looked like a little panda cub… His eyes were matted and barely open … he came staggering near their car … The Missej picked him up, looked up at the kittens belly area and told the Sahib, ‘It is a BOY… We got to take this little guy home.’
She thought of a suitable Indian name for the little guy and came up with Baboo. And the little guy thus became Baboo. They thought that Baboo might be missing his siblings, so the Missej picked up Raja from a pet adoption agency. There the volunteers called him Neville. And the Missej changed Neville to Raja…
The film in the memory stopped there … The Sahib looked at Baboo and said,
‘We have had a great time with both of you. Your first Christmas and the photo session with Santa at the pet store, new collars … the warehouse full of toys that you guys never played with… The annual shots, monthly pedicures, the catnip treats…’
‘My heart tells me that we have owed you something from our past incarnations. The Missej and I are just paying our Karmic debt by taking care of you. By having you here, we are not doing any favors to you. We are just repaying what we have owed you… You guys came into our lives because of some good Karmic deeds you must have performed in YOUR last incarnation. Everything happens for a reason.’
The Sahib paused for a moment. There was a total silence in the room. He continued,
‘You guys win! You guys were meant to be with us. You will be staying with us. You will be staying with us forever …’
The Sahib wiped his eyes, looked lovingly at Raja and Baboo with a steady gaze.
The Missej was still sobbing.
Raja jumped down from near his Sahib’s side and ran towards the hallway as if signaling to Baboo that the game of chase was on.
The Sahib remembered a few lines of an old Indian movie song … ‘Life is now infused with new hope,Brothers, the days of sorrow and sadness are ove r…’ (Dukhbhare Din Beetore Bhaiya … etc.
A faint smile emerged and a soft glow could be detected on the Sahib’s face. He got up from the couch and started to walk slowly towards the bedroom.
And while walking, the Sahib said to himself, ‘Sahib, now you better think of doing something about the Missej ...’ No, that’s not true. Only a silly writer can think of such humor.
The Sahib loved his Missej too much to entertain such thoughts. He was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. His mind was numb … He was in no condition to think about anything at that time.
And before the Sahib could reach the bedroom, the Missej grabbed him from behind … The Sahib was startled and looked at his Missej… the Missej wiped her tears and said in a choking voice, “Hubbyjee, you know something? You are the greatest Hubby in the world!”
The Sahib slowly turned around, put his trembling hand over the Missej’s shoulder and pulled her close by his side and they continued walking towards the bedroom.
If this was an ordinary story, it would have ended with the predictable coda, ‘The Sahib, his Missej, and their two cats – Baboo and Raja lived happily ever after.’
Raja and Baboo do not know what was going on in their owners’ lives and we have no way of knowing what was going on in the Sahib’s mind.
Tomorrow the sun would rise in that Ohio suburb as it always has all over the world. People in that neighborhood and across the world would carry on with their lives as they have always done and one only hopes that the Sahibs too would live their anonymous lives as they have always lived …
END
* Some people in India pronounce Mrs as Missej.
(Note: The octogenarian head of a penurious Indian American family finds it very hard to make both ends meet in the times of recession, and so no option but to bid goodbye to his two equally old pets.)
The news reports say that the national poverty level has reached nearly to fifteen per cent.
That may be so, but that figure probably does not include these folks we know only as the Sahib, his Missej* and their two cats - Baboo and Raja. Even in his own neighborhood somewhere in the Ohio suburb no one seems to know this family except as ‘that fellow from India and his cute wife’.
The Sahib family is living below the poverty level forever. His ridiculously low pension is not even good for their mortgage payments.
Baboo is nearly 70 years old in cat-years (fifteen-years in human years). He has arthritis, has lost his sense of smell and has a slightly impaired vision. He was also born with a neurological condition that has affected his walking. Baboo does not have any Medicare and has no HMO (Health Maintenance Organization) to cover his health expenses.
During the last few months only, the Sahibs have spent nearly $5,500 on Baboo’s health.
The Sahib is in his early 80s but he still looks youthful. His Missej is in her early 70s and looks fifteen years younger than her real age.
After being daily bombarded by the media with the news of various companies down-sizing, the layoffs, the rate of unemployment, the ever increasing rate of bankruptcies and foreclosures across the country, the Sahib was inspired to do something about his own ever increasing pet maintenance expenses and the couple’s nearly evaporated 401K account (Pension fund).
So one night, the Sahib called a little family meeting.
The Family Meeting:
The Sahib called Baboo and Raja and explained to them the state of economy, the ever-increasing expenses and the family’s very limited financial resources.
He said, “You guys are brave even though Raja runs away and hides under the bed as soon as hears the door bell ring. You have been a lot of fun and a lot of trouble too. We all have had wonderful time together the past dozen years or so. You know that, we all know about our fun times together. But I have to tell you some thing. It is very difficult for me to do this, but you know, nothing lasts forever. Even all-good things come to an end some day. I think for you guys, that day is today.”
He continued: “You have no idea about the bad condition of your Sahib’s finances … All you know is eating fancy foods, napping, eating fancy food and napping, eating fancy food … That’s the only thing you know. But let me tell you that time is over. I had to make a very tough decision. I do not know of any proper way of telling you this but I have to tell you …”
The Sahib’s voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat and continued –
“I have decided to let you guys go. You two will have to find something else to do with your lives.”
There was silence. Absolute silence. Only audible sound in that room was that of the Missej’s sobbing …
There was no evocative music to enhance the somber mood of that moment. The silence was very striking and unbearable.
After listening to his Sahib with open ears and closed eyes, Baboo, the bright one among the two cats (that is bright one compared to Raja), jumped down from his chair, came limping near the Sahib and said -
“How can you do this to us? What about all the joy and pleasure we have given you all these years? What about the guests I have hurt with my claws and scarred the hell out of them… What about my jumping and general running around the house? I did that to amuse you with my galloping gait. What about my informing you when the mailman or a delivery guy came to our door? Raja and I always sniff the newly delivered packages and make sure that the contents were safe for all of us. I have even let you take my videos when I was relaxing or cleaning my paws and my face ... I always stopped from my singing when you interrupted me by yelling at me.
“Some times when I am at the window of our dinning room and talking with the dogs next door you often shouted, ‘Stop it Baboo …’ And I always stopped… I have always obeyed your orders. Have I ever complained about anything? Don’t these things count for any thing? You cannot act like all those big corporations…you have to take our age, loyalty and love into consideration, after all we are a FAMILY, don't you understand that simple thing?
“And, tell us, who is going to adopt us old cats? Where are we supposed to go now? Do you want us to die under a car or die of a disease or you want us gassed by that inhumane Humane Society? C'mon, we know you are a kind-hearted man. We have heard Mom call you a Softy … Please, please, won’t you allow us to stay here, just for a few more years?”
Raja ever so royal and loyal had decided to find a place near his Sahib - or Saabjee as his Missej called him- with one of his paws in his lap. As usual Raja was sound asleep. As sound as only a cat could be… No one was sure if Raja had listened to any of the things that his Sahib had said…
By this time the Missej was to the last piece of her second box of Kleenexes and uncontrollably sobbing. Her nose and eyes had turned red. Baboo's nostrils were flaring (that can only be detected by the observant eyes of his Sahib or his Vet Ms Dawn). His pink nose had turned to apple-red. A tear or two had surfaced and were trying to roll down Baboo’s eyes.
The Sahib’s face had turned ashen gray. His hands were trembling. A sense of embarrassment and overwhelming feeling of guilt had taken over the Sahib’s usually calm and composed demeanor... He felt as if his heart had stopped. He could barely breathe… He tried to get up from his couch, but could not. As if all the strength from his body had drained out. Finally, with great effort the Sahib tried to stand up again and in the process he lost his balance and collapsed on the couch. The Missej requested her Sabjee not to move away from the couch. She went to the kitchen and got a glass of water for her Sahib.
Sipping some water with his trembling hand, the Sahib was quiet for some time, as if reflecting about all that had happened during the last few minutes. He looked around the room and finally looking at Baboo and Raja the Sahib said something that only this Sahib from India could say at that time -
‘Okay, you guys never asked us to be with us. We brought you here to stay with us. I believe in fate.’
The Sahib remembered the day they had brought Baboo home. The images on the Sahib’s memory screen rapidly moved backwards to the day when they had spotted a little kitten in a parking lot of a hotel where their guests were staying.
Baboo had then looked like a little panda cub… His eyes were matted and barely open … he came staggering near their car … The Missej picked him up, looked up at the kittens belly area and told the Sahib, ‘It is a BOY… We got to take this little guy home.’
She thought of a suitable Indian name for the little guy and came up with Baboo. And the little guy thus became Baboo. They thought that Baboo might be missing his siblings, so the Missej picked up Raja from a pet adoption agency. There the volunteers called him Neville. And the Missej changed Neville to Raja…
The film in the memory stopped there … The Sahib looked at Baboo and said,
‘We have had a great time with both of you. Your first Christmas and the photo session with Santa at the pet store, new collars … the warehouse full of toys that you guys never played with… The annual shots, monthly pedicures, the catnip treats…’
‘My heart tells me that we have owed you something from our past incarnations. The Missej and I are just paying our Karmic debt by taking care of you. By having you here, we are not doing any favors to you. We are just repaying what we have owed you… You guys came into our lives because of some good Karmic deeds you must have performed in YOUR last incarnation. Everything happens for a reason.’
The Sahib paused for a moment. There was a total silence in the room. He continued,
‘You guys win! You guys were meant to be with us. You will be staying with us. You will be staying with us forever …’
The Sahib wiped his eyes, looked lovingly at Raja and Baboo with a steady gaze.
The Missej was still sobbing.
Raja jumped down from near his Sahib’s side and ran towards the hallway as if signaling to Baboo that the game of chase was on.
The Sahib remembered a few lines of an old Indian movie song … ‘Life is now infused with new hope,Brothers, the days of sorrow and sadness are ove r…’ (Dukhbhare Din Beetore Bhaiya … etc.
A faint smile emerged and a soft glow could be detected on the Sahib’s face. He got up from the couch and started to walk slowly towards the bedroom.
And while walking, the Sahib said to himself, ‘Sahib, now you better think of doing something about the Missej ...’ No, that’s not true. Only a silly writer can think of such humor.
The Sahib loved his Missej too much to entertain such thoughts. He was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. His mind was numb … He was in no condition to think about anything at that time.
And before the Sahib could reach the bedroom, the Missej grabbed him from behind … The Sahib was startled and looked at his Missej… the Missej wiped her tears and said in a choking voice, “Hubbyjee, you know something? You are the greatest Hubby in the world!”
The Sahib slowly turned around, put his trembling hand over the Missej’s shoulder and pulled her close by his side and they continued walking towards the bedroom.
If this was an ordinary story, it would have ended with the predictable coda, ‘The Sahib, his Missej, and their two cats – Baboo and Raja lived happily ever after.’
Raja and Baboo do not know what was going on in their owners’ lives and we have no way of knowing what was going on in the Sahib’s mind.
Tomorrow the sun would rise in that Ohio suburb as it always has all over the world. People in that neighborhood and across the world would carry on with their lives as they have always done and one only hopes that the Sahibs too would live their anonymous lives as they have always lived …
END
* Some people in India pronounce Mrs as Missej.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Montaigne (Michel de Montaigne)
Harish Trivedi,
© 2011
Michel Eyquem de Montaigne (February 28, 1533 – September 13, 1592) was one of the most influential writers of the French Renaissance, known for popularising the essay as a literary genre and is popularly thought of as the father of Modern Skepticism. He became famous for his effortless ability to merge serious intellectual speculation with casual anecdotes[1] and autobiography—and his massive volume Essais (translated literally as "Attempts") contains, to this day, some of the most widely influential essays ever written… - Wikipedia).
Montaigne has credited Aristotle with the maxim, “A man . . . should touch his wife prudently and soberly, lest if he caresses her too lasciviously the pleasure should transport her outside the bounds of reason.” The real source of this unromantic advice is unknown.
and more -
Like Socrates, Montaigne claims that what he knows best is the fact that he does not know anything much.
One of Montaigne’s most valuable insights is that self-knowledge is connected with the knowledge of others, and that empathy is the heart of morality.
Montaigne complained that “there are more books on books than on any other subject: all we do is gloss each other.”
“Be born,” “Do a good job, but not too good a job,” and “Question everything.” But the one that resonates most strongly with his biographer Ms. Sarah Bakewell is “Read a lot, forget most of what you read and be slow-witted.” Somewhat unconsciously or sub-consciously I live by the last dicta of Montaigne.
The above is just a tip of the iceburg (lettuce), for a whole salad bar read Montaigne's Essays. Still in print after some four-hundred years. His book of essays was banned for nearly two-hundred years by the Vatican.
He is considered to be master of digression and often his essays are too revealatory. Montaigne informed his readers about his small penis (no wonder that the Vatican found his writings objectionable) what kind of wines he liked, women he liked... so on and so forth.
As a matter of fact, Montaigne is credited with 'inventing' the art of essay.
Montaigne retired from public life in 1570 and a little over a quarter century later British British philosopher and statesman Francis Bacon published his own collection of small pieces in 1597.
Montaigne essays melds the intellectual and the personal, and his musings have inspired countless writers, including William Hazlitt, Friedrich Nietzsche and Virginia Woolf.
This idea — writing about oneself to create a mirror in which other people recognize their own humanity — has not existed forever,” Ms. Bakewell writes. “It had to be invented. And, unlike many cultural inventions, it can be traced to a single person.”
Ms. Sarah Bakewell is the winner of the National Critic Circle Award this year (announced only two days back) for her biography of Montaigne titled "How to Live" with the sub-title “Or a Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty Attempts at an Answer” published by the Other Press.
Written by Harish Trivedi and based on Anthony Gottleib's essay, Montaigne Moment, NYT, Sunday, March 13, 2011 and Patricia Cohen's review of Sarah Bakewell's biography of Montaigne ' How to Live' (NYT Dec. 17, 2010)
Few more Montaigne bon mots –
Selected by Harish Trivedi
A good marriage would be between a blind wife and a deaf husband.
A straight oar looks bent in the water. What matters is not merely that we see things but how we see them.
A wise man sees as much as he ought, not as much as he can.
Age imprints more wrinkles in the mind than it does on the face.
Ambition is not a vice of little people.
An unattempted lady could not vaunt of her chastity.
An untempted woman cannot boast of her chastity.
Confidence in others' honesty is no light testimony of one's own integrity
Confidence in the goodness of another is good proof of one's own goodness.
Death, they say, acquits us of all obligations.
© 2011
Michel Eyquem de Montaigne (February 28, 1533 – September 13, 1592) was one of the most influential writers of the French Renaissance, known for popularising the essay as a literary genre and is popularly thought of as the father of Modern Skepticism. He became famous for his effortless ability to merge serious intellectual speculation with casual anecdotes[1] and autobiography—and his massive volume Essais (translated literally as "Attempts") contains, to this day, some of the most widely influential essays ever written… - Wikipedia).
Montaigne has credited Aristotle with the maxim, “A man . . . should touch his wife prudently and soberly, lest if he caresses her too lasciviously the pleasure should transport her outside the bounds of reason.” The real source of this unromantic advice is unknown.
and more -
Like Socrates, Montaigne claims that what he knows best is the fact that he does not know anything much.
One of Montaigne’s most valuable insights is that self-knowledge is connected with the knowledge of others, and that empathy is the heart of morality.
Montaigne complained that “there are more books on books than on any other subject: all we do is gloss each other.”
“Be born,” “Do a good job, but not too good a job,” and “Question everything.” But the one that resonates most strongly with his biographer Ms. Sarah Bakewell is “Read a lot, forget most of what you read and be slow-witted.” Somewhat unconsciously or sub-consciously I live by the last dicta of Montaigne.
The above is just a tip of the iceburg (lettuce), for a whole salad bar read Montaigne's Essays. Still in print after some four-hundred years. His book of essays was banned for nearly two-hundred years by the Vatican.
He is considered to be master of digression and often his essays are too revealatory. Montaigne informed his readers about his small penis (no wonder that the Vatican found his writings objectionable) what kind of wines he liked, women he liked... so on and so forth.
As a matter of fact, Montaigne is credited with 'inventing' the art of essay.
Montaigne retired from public life in 1570 and a little over a quarter century later British British philosopher and statesman Francis Bacon published his own collection of small pieces in 1597.
Montaigne essays melds the intellectual and the personal, and his musings have inspired countless writers, including William Hazlitt, Friedrich Nietzsche and Virginia Woolf.
This idea — writing about oneself to create a mirror in which other people recognize their own humanity — has not existed forever,” Ms. Bakewell writes. “It had to be invented. And, unlike many cultural inventions, it can be traced to a single person.”
Ms. Sarah Bakewell is the winner of the National Critic Circle Award this year (announced only two days back) for her biography of Montaigne titled "How to Live" with the sub-title “Or a Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty Attempts at an Answer” published by the Other Press.
Written by Harish Trivedi and based on Anthony Gottleib's essay, Montaigne Moment, NYT, Sunday, March 13, 2011 and Patricia Cohen's review of Sarah Bakewell's biography of Montaigne ' How to Live' (NYT Dec. 17, 2010)
Few more Montaigne bon mots –
Selected by Harish Trivedi
A good marriage would be between a blind wife and a deaf husband.
A straight oar looks bent in the water. What matters is not merely that we see things but how we see them.
A wise man sees as much as he ought, not as much as he can.
Age imprints more wrinkles in the mind than it does on the face.
Ambition is not a vice of little people.
An unattempted lady could not vaunt of her chastity.
An untempted woman cannot boast of her chastity.
Confidence in others' honesty is no light testimony of one's own integrity
Confidence in the goodness of another is good proof of one's own goodness.
Death, they say, acquits us of all obligations.
Natwar Gandhi’s Pennsylvania Avenue sonnet collection released in Mumbai
By Harish Trivedi
© 2011
According to the PDF copies of news articles and interviews forwarded to friends by Natwar Gandhi, on February 11, 2011 a new collection of his sonnets titled Pennsylvania Avenue was released in Mumbai with much fanfare and aplomb.
(I got the abovementioned forward from a kind friend who keeps me informed about such goings on here as well as in India and even from across the world).
But let’s move on -
Book release parties in the big cities like Mumbai are more or less formulaic – readings from the works of the writer/poet/playwright, speech full of lavish praise by the publisher who also acts as a cheer-leader- in- chief for his client writer/poet what have you… attendance by available writers or client writers of the publishing house, other literati, journalists and hangers on make a large part of audience at such gatherings. The gala event for the release of Pennsylvania Avenue was no exception.
The world renowned Santoor player and the current president of the Indo-American Society (and a good friend) Snehal Mozoomdar (his preferred spelling) made introductory remarks, Bhagwatikumar Sharma, the octogenarian poet – much respected and admired for his Gazals and Sonnets, journalist, past president of the Gujarati Sahitya Parishad presided over the event. Suresh Dalal - a poet, critic, columnist and an impresario who is known for hosting his client writers book-launch parties and the chief honcho at the publishing house Image Publications of Mumbai made incidental and predictable remarks praising Natwar Gandhi to high heavens. (For an alleged 100,000 to 200,000 rupees a book this things don’t come cheap). Incidentally, the Image Publications had also published Natwar Gandhi’s earlier sonnet collections America, America (2004) and India, India (2006).
Noted actors, poets such as Utkarsh Mazumdar, Ankit Trivedi, Chirag Vora, and Panna Naik et al provided dramatic reading of some of the poems by Natwar Gandhi.
At the book release event in Mumbai, everything was great no everything was fantastic. Some may even call it awesome and why not? Every one must have had a jolly good time and satisfaction of having attended a literary event (that it was). Even cynics like me are impressed – I particularly love the amount of the hot air that the speakers blow at such occasions. I was so overjoyed by reading the description of event in Chitralekha (March 7, 2011) and an interview with Natwar Gandhi accompanied by big photos in Mumbai Samachar ((February 26, 2011) that I dashed off an email congratulating Natwarbhai Gandhi. I must say that Natwar Gandhi’s poems make enjoyable reading. So more power to him! May he write many more poems and essays for our enjoyment and entertainment.
So if you are wondering, why am I writing about a month old book release party in Mumbai? Wonder no more…
It is the irony of this whole shindig (the book release party or the Vimochan samaramb for the launching of Pennsylvania Avenue in Mumbai) that I could not miss noticing.
The Image Publications of Mumbai, publishers of the Pennsylvania Avenue is known for being one of the more popular vanity publishers and it thrives on publishing works by NRIs (Non Resident Indians) for big bucks. If your work is published by the Image Publications, pre and post publicity of your work is guaranteed. As the name suggests, these folks are image-makers. This is a business and I am not quarreling with Image Publication’s business practices. But it would be nice if the newspaper that carries Suresh Dalal’s column recognizes the conflict of interest when Suresh Dalal fawns over or indulges in openly apple-polishing every book that his company publishes in his columns. One feels like wiping off the drool after reading such columns.
Having said this, let’s look at some excerpts from the much discussed and much praised essay titled Gujarati Diaspora Writing--A Call for Independence by none other than Natwar Gandhi. He has publicly criticized such events and diaspora writers who seek out approval from Indian critics etc.
‘We look to India to get a Good Housekeeping stamp of approval…’
‘Dependence of Diaspora
‘Gujarati NRI writers look homeward for approval particularly for what they write. They strive to get good reviews and they get them easily in India. A North American return address on the envelope or a call from North America works wonders in India. As long as you are willing to pay, Indian publishers are willing to print and publish any rubbish any one pretending to be a writer comes up with. They would even hold a book party at your expense. Eminent Gujarati writers would show up at book parties to give their blessings. Photographers are at the ready and for the right price the newspapers are eager to publish the “news” of the party with appropriate pictures. Favorable forewords and book reviews can also be bought. NRI doctor, engineer or accountant is now an established novelist or poet! TV and radio interviews soon follow.’
‘This game is mutually satisfactory. The NRI’s long deferred dream of being a writer is realized while the publisher or a promoter makes a fast buck. The promoter’s dream of making an all expense paid trip to the United States might also be realized. A favorable foreword, a follow up column along with a literary prize could make such a trip a reality’.
‘The NRI writer who would happen to be a doctor, an engineer or an accountant is often lauded for his literary interests. He is also applauded for being a good ambassador of Indian culture and literature in the United States. …In short, it is a sham’.
This proves that Natwar Gandhi is no exception to what he so strongly abhors in others. Hypocrisy? Chutzpah (pronounced hutspa)? or just plain audacity of hype - You be the judge.
© 2011
According to the PDF copies of news articles and interviews forwarded to friends by Natwar Gandhi, on February 11, 2011 a new collection of his sonnets titled Pennsylvania Avenue was released in Mumbai with much fanfare and aplomb.
(I got the abovementioned forward from a kind friend who keeps me informed about such goings on here as well as in India and even from across the world).
But let’s move on -
Book release parties in the big cities like Mumbai are more or less formulaic – readings from the works of the writer/poet/playwright, speech full of lavish praise by the publisher who also acts as a cheer-leader- in- chief for his client writer/poet what have you… attendance by available writers or client writers of the publishing house, other literati, journalists and hangers on make a large part of audience at such gatherings. The gala event for the release of Pennsylvania Avenue was no exception.
The world renowned Santoor player and the current president of the Indo-American Society (and a good friend) Snehal Mozoomdar (his preferred spelling) made introductory remarks, Bhagwatikumar Sharma, the octogenarian poet – much respected and admired for his Gazals and Sonnets, journalist, past president of the Gujarati Sahitya Parishad presided over the event. Suresh Dalal - a poet, critic, columnist and an impresario who is known for hosting his client writers book-launch parties and the chief honcho at the publishing house Image Publications of Mumbai made incidental and predictable remarks praising Natwar Gandhi to high heavens. (For an alleged 100,000 to 200,000 rupees a book this things don’t come cheap). Incidentally, the Image Publications had also published Natwar Gandhi’s earlier sonnet collections America, America (2004) and India, India (2006).
Noted actors, poets such as Utkarsh Mazumdar, Ankit Trivedi, Chirag Vora, and Panna Naik et al provided dramatic reading of some of the poems by Natwar Gandhi.
At the book release event in Mumbai, everything was great no everything was fantastic. Some may even call it awesome and why not? Every one must have had a jolly good time and satisfaction of having attended a literary event (that it was). Even cynics like me are impressed – I particularly love the amount of the hot air that the speakers blow at such occasions. I was so overjoyed by reading the description of event in Chitralekha (March 7, 2011) and an interview with Natwar Gandhi accompanied by big photos in Mumbai Samachar ((February 26, 2011) that I dashed off an email congratulating Natwarbhai Gandhi. I must say that Natwar Gandhi’s poems make enjoyable reading. So more power to him! May he write many more poems and essays for our enjoyment and entertainment.
So if you are wondering, why am I writing about a month old book release party in Mumbai? Wonder no more…
It is the irony of this whole shindig (the book release party or the Vimochan samaramb for the launching of Pennsylvania Avenue in Mumbai) that I could not miss noticing.
The Image Publications of Mumbai, publishers of the Pennsylvania Avenue is known for being one of the more popular vanity publishers and it thrives on publishing works by NRIs (Non Resident Indians) for big bucks. If your work is published by the Image Publications, pre and post publicity of your work is guaranteed. As the name suggests, these folks are image-makers. This is a business and I am not quarreling with Image Publication’s business practices. But it would be nice if the newspaper that carries Suresh Dalal’s column recognizes the conflict of interest when Suresh Dalal fawns over or indulges in openly apple-polishing every book that his company publishes in his columns. One feels like wiping off the drool after reading such columns.
Having said this, let’s look at some excerpts from the much discussed and much praised essay titled Gujarati Diaspora Writing--A Call for Independence by none other than Natwar Gandhi. He has publicly criticized such events and diaspora writers who seek out approval from Indian critics etc.
‘We look to India to get a Good Housekeeping stamp of approval…’
‘Dependence of Diaspora
‘Gujarati NRI writers look homeward for approval particularly for what they write. They strive to get good reviews and they get them easily in India. A North American return address on the envelope or a call from North America works wonders in India. As long as you are willing to pay, Indian publishers are willing to print and publish any rubbish any one pretending to be a writer comes up with. They would even hold a book party at your expense. Eminent Gujarati writers would show up at book parties to give their blessings. Photographers are at the ready and for the right price the newspapers are eager to publish the “news” of the party with appropriate pictures. Favorable forewords and book reviews can also be bought. NRI doctor, engineer or accountant is now an established novelist or poet! TV and radio interviews soon follow.’
‘This game is mutually satisfactory. The NRI’s long deferred dream of being a writer is realized while the publisher or a promoter makes a fast buck. The promoter’s dream of making an all expense paid trip to the United States might also be realized. A favorable foreword, a follow up column along with a literary prize could make such a trip a reality’.
‘The NRI writer who would happen to be a doctor, an engineer or an accountant is often lauded for his literary interests. He is also applauded for being a good ambassador of Indian culture and literature in the United States. …In short, it is a sham’.
This proves that Natwar Gandhi is no exception to what he so strongly abhors in others. Hypocrisy? Chutzpah (pronounced hutspa)? or just plain audacity of hype - You be the judge.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Jaipur Literature Festival and Gujarati Writers
By Harish Trivedi
© 2011
Recently a revered Gujarati scholar and journalist Deepakbhai Mehta lamented about the absence of Gujarati writers and the absence of a vast majority of writers from other states in India at the prestigious Jaipur Literature Festival.
Deepakbhai’s article appeared the Gujarati daily Mumbai Samachar under the section that is called Dialogue, but in effect it was a monologue.
This is my humble effort to turn that monologue in to a true dialogue.
Deepakbhai starts out by mocking at the festival being described as The Greatest Show on Earth.
Background about the phrase:
It is said that the great impresario and circus owner P. T. Barnum coined the phrase The Greatest Show on Earth and by1872, Barnum was already referring to his enterprise as 'THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH' - and it was! 'P.T. Barnum's Traveling World's Fair, Great Roman Hippodrome and Greatest Show On Earth' It covered five acres and accommodated 10,000 seated patrons at a time ... and, to reach more people, took to the rails and traveled across the country and also took the show to England. Queen Victoria is reported to have been very impressed and amused by the show.
The phrase The Greatest Show on Earth is a copyright phrase owned by P.T. Barnum and Bailey Circus. (The full name is RINGLING BROS.-BARNUM & BAILEY COMBINED SHOWS, INC.) The company has filed lawsuites to protect their copyright for the phrase and has won it everytime in the courts of law in the United States.
In 1952 there was a movie titled The Greatest Show on Earth. It was a drama film set in the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus. The film was produced, directed, and narrated by Cecil B. DeMille, and won the Academy Award for Best Picture. The movie had lavish production values, actual circus acts, and documentary, behind-the-rings looks at the massive logistics effort which made big top circuses possible. Bosley Crowther, the esteemed New York Times critic called the movie a "lusty triumph of circus showmanship and movie skill" and a "piece of entertainment that will delight movie audiences for years"
Richard Dawkins' 2009 best seller is titled The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution.
For over a century the phrase is used to describe any big or spectacular event. It is in this sense that Tina Brown described the Jaipur event as the greatest show on earth.
Tina Brown, the legendary editor of such internationally known magazines as the Vanity Fair and the New Yorker, described the Jaipur Literature Festival as the Greatest Literary Show on Earth. She is the founder and editor of the webzine the Daily Beast. Recently the weekly news magazine Newsweek merged with the Daily Beast. Tina Brown acts as an Executive Editor for both the publications.
Deepakbhai is critical of the construction company DSC for being the major sponsor of the Jaipur event. Forget the fact that the Sahitya Academy, the National Book Trust and nearly a dozen Gujarati publishers stage book fairs each year and some even host similar events (Pustak Melo) fair many a times during the year. Gujarati publishers host such events at their own expense. The Sahitya Academy and the National Book Trust host such events by using taxpayers’ money. These government bodies even participate in international book fairs at the taxpayers’ expense. So why is Deepakbhai criticizing the DSC and its many sponsors?
Further on Deepakbhai states that the Jaipur Literature Festival is not similar to (meaning not as good as) the Gujarati Sahitya Parishad and the Marathi Sahitya Sammelan.
On one hand the scholar criticizes the lack of marketing by the Sahitya Academy affecting sales of its publications, but then he is quick to mock the Jaipur event as a product of modern marketing and criticizes the advertising agencies that supports the Jaipur Festival. This does not make any sense, does it?
The advertising agencies or major multi-nationals that sponsor such events look at the audience, the demographics, and the segment of population that would attend such event and the prestige of participating in such event itself.
Can the Gujarati Sahitya Parishad provide the demographics that these agencies are covet?
Then Deepakbhai accuses that the sponsors of the Jaipur Festival look for English publications that are either popular or controversial. Nothing could be farther from truth. Just look up the names of literary celebrities that attended the Jaipur Literature Festival – 2011 in the attached document.
The Jaipur event is open to all; any one can attend the event. Folks who want to attend as a ‘Delegate’ have to pay fees that cover their lunch etc. I am sure some of the multi-national publishing houses pick up the tab of ‘their’ writers to showcase those writers’ work. Are there any Gujarati publishers who are willing to pick up a tab for their writers?
How many Gujarati publishers advertise their publications in newspapers and magazines? How many novels, short story and poetry collections are reviewed in Gujarati newspapers? How many Gujarati books are sold each year? The publication scene for the Gujarati language is pathetic, to say the least. Here is a question: Since the Jaipur Literature Festival was open to all, did Deepakbhai attend the event and write a first hand review of the event? How many Gujarati newspapers sent their reporters to cover this major international publishing event?
How are people from beyond Gujarat to know about Gujarati literature if the Gujarati literary establishment and governmental agencies do not make concerted effort to publicize the works of major Gujarati writers? Why criticize modern marketing methods - the potent tool of marketing in this age of globalization?
Deepakbhai laments the absence of writers from many other Indian states… The event, as mentioned above was open to all so if writers from any state could have attended the event if they wanted to attend. Why blame the Jaipur event sponsors for it? The sponsors of the Jaipur festival are not obligated to have representation from every state of India. Where did Deepakbhai get this idea?
Name-calling the English literary works is not productive and diminishes not only good writers but it also diminishes the person who makes such ignorant remarks.
Deepakbhai wonders if prominent public servants such as Kapil Sibal, Manishankar Aiyar or Nirupama Mennon Rao have written any books and thus casts a shadow on the ability of these individuals to write anything worthwhile. So for record, let me say a few words about these people who were unnecessarily maligned by Deepakbhai.
An Anthology of Kapil Sibal's poems titled \"i witness\" was published by Roli Books in 2008. He has also contributed several articles on various topical issues in national dailies and periodicals.
Manishankar Aiyar has written several books including Remembering Rajiv", Rupa, New Delhi, 1992, "One Year in Parliament", Konark, New Delhi, 1993, "Pakistan Papers", UBSPD, New Delhi, 1994 and numerous newspaper articles.
Nirupama Menon Rao is an Indian Foreign Service (IFS) officer, and the current Foreign Secretary of India, serving the External Affairs Ministry.
She has also served as Ambassador of India to China, High Commissioner of India to Sri Lanka, the Deputy Chief of Mission at the Indian Embassy in Moscow and as a Minister at the Indian Embassy in Washington DC. Nirupama Rao has written a book of poetry, named Rain Rising. Her poems have been translated into Chinese and Russian.Nirupama Rao’ speech/article at Singapore Consortium for China-India Dialogue titled Rabindranath Tagore’s vision of India and China: A twenty first century perspective should be a ‘must’ reading to any self professed Tagore expert.
Now everyone is entitled to his or her own opinions. Unfortunately the opinion expressed by Deepakbhai are tinted by his provincial and myopic understanding of how international literary events are organized, his views are based on mere speculation, and he does not provide any evidence to substantiate his rant.
We have a phrase for such attitude. It is called sour grapes. The phrase refers to envious behaviour, especially pretending to not care for something one does not or cannot have, a condition called cognitive dissonance.
© 2011
Recently a revered Gujarati scholar and journalist Deepakbhai Mehta lamented about the absence of Gujarati writers and the absence of a vast majority of writers from other states in India at the prestigious Jaipur Literature Festival.
Deepakbhai’s article appeared the Gujarati daily Mumbai Samachar under the section that is called Dialogue, but in effect it was a monologue.
This is my humble effort to turn that monologue in to a true dialogue.
Deepakbhai starts out by mocking at the festival being described as The Greatest Show on Earth.
Background about the phrase:
It is said that the great impresario and circus owner P. T. Barnum coined the phrase The Greatest Show on Earth and by1872, Barnum was already referring to his enterprise as 'THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH' - and it was! 'P.T. Barnum's Traveling World's Fair, Great Roman Hippodrome and Greatest Show On Earth' It covered five acres and accommodated 10,000 seated patrons at a time ... and, to reach more people, took to the rails and traveled across the country and also took the show to England. Queen Victoria is reported to have been very impressed and amused by the show.
The phrase The Greatest Show on Earth is a copyright phrase owned by P.T. Barnum and Bailey Circus. (The full name is RINGLING BROS.-BARNUM & BAILEY COMBINED SHOWS, INC.) The company has filed lawsuites to protect their copyright for the phrase and has won it everytime in the courts of law in the United States.
In 1952 there was a movie titled The Greatest Show on Earth. It was a drama film set in the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus. The film was produced, directed, and narrated by Cecil B. DeMille, and won the Academy Award for Best Picture. The movie had lavish production values, actual circus acts, and documentary, behind-the-rings looks at the massive logistics effort which made big top circuses possible. Bosley Crowther, the esteemed New York Times critic called the movie a "lusty triumph of circus showmanship and movie skill" and a "piece of entertainment that will delight movie audiences for years"
Richard Dawkins' 2009 best seller is titled The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution.
For over a century the phrase is used to describe any big or spectacular event. It is in this sense that Tina Brown described the Jaipur event as the greatest show on earth.
Tina Brown, the legendary editor of such internationally known magazines as the Vanity Fair and the New Yorker, described the Jaipur Literature Festival as the Greatest Literary Show on Earth. She is the founder and editor of the webzine the Daily Beast. Recently the weekly news magazine Newsweek merged with the Daily Beast. Tina Brown acts as an Executive Editor for both the publications.
Deepakbhai is critical of the construction company DSC for being the major sponsor of the Jaipur event. Forget the fact that the Sahitya Academy, the National Book Trust and nearly a dozen Gujarati publishers stage book fairs each year and some even host similar events (Pustak Melo) fair many a times during the year. Gujarati publishers host such events at their own expense. The Sahitya Academy and the National Book Trust host such events by using taxpayers’ money. These government bodies even participate in international book fairs at the taxpayers’ expense. So why is Deepakbhai criticizing the DSC and its many sponsors?
Further on Deepakbhai states that the Jaipur Literature Festival is not similar to (meaning not as good as) the Gujarati Sahitya Parishad and the Marathi Sahitya Sammelan.
On one hand the scholar criticizes the lack of marketing by the Sahitya Academy affecting sales of its publications, but then he is quick to mock the Jaipur event as a product of modern marketing and criticizes the advertising agencies that supports the Jaipur Festival. This does not make any sense, does it?
The advertising agencies or major multi-nationals that sponsor such events look at the audience, the demographics, and the segment of population that would attend such event and the prestige of participating in such event itself.
Can the Gujarati Sahitya Parishad provide the demographics that these agencies are covet?
Then Deepakbhai accuses that the sponsors of the Jaipur Festival look for English publications that are either popular or controversial. Nothing could be farther from truth. Just look up the names of literary celebrities that attended the Jaipur Literature Festival – 2011 in the attached document.
The Jaipur event is open to all; any one can attend the event. Folks who want to attend as a ‘Delegate’ have to pay fees that cover their lunch etc. I am sure some of the multi-national publishing houses pick up the tab of ‘their’ writers to showcase those writers’ work. Are there any Gujarati publishers who are willing to pick up a tab for their writers?
How many Gujarati publishers advertise their publications in newspapers and magazines? How many novels, short story and poetry collections are reviewed in Gujarati newspapers? How many Gujarati books are sold each year? The publication scene for the Gujarati language is pathetic, to say the least. Here is a question: Since the Jaipur Literature Festival was open to all, did Deepakbhai attend the event and write a first hand review of the event? How many Gujarati newspapers sent their reporters to cover this major international publishing event?
How are people from beyond Gujarat to know about Gujarati literature if the Gujarati literary establishment and governmental agencies do not make concerted effort to publicize the works of major Gujarati writers? Why criticize modern marketing methods - the potent tool of marketing in this age of globalization?
Deepakbhai laments the absence of writers from many other Indian states… The event, as mentioned above was open to all so if writers from any state could have attended the event if they wanted to attend. Why blame the Jaipur event sponsors for it? The sponsors of the Jaipur festival are not obligated to have representation from every state of India. Where did Deepakbhai get this idea?
Name-calling the English literary works is not productive and diminishes not only good writers but it also diminishes the person who makes such ignorant remarks.
Deepakbhai wonders if prominent public servants such as Kapil Sibal, Manishankar Aiyar or Nirupama Mennon Rao have written any books and thus casts a shadow on the ability of these individuals to write anything worthwhile. So for record, let me say a few words about these people who were unnecessarily maligned by Deepakbhai.
An Anthology of Kapil Sibal's poems titled \"i witness\" was published by Roli Books in 2008. He has also contributed several articles on various topical issues in national dailies and periodicals.
Manishankar Aiyar has written several books including Remembering Rajiv", Rupa, New Delhi, 1992, "One Year in Parliament", Konark, New Delhi, 1993, "Pakistan Papers", UBSPD, New Delhi, 1994 and numerous newspaper articles.
Nirupama Menon Rao is an Indian Foreign Service (IFS) officer, and the current Foreign Secretary of India, serving the External Affairs Ministry.
She has also served as Ambassador of India to China, High Commissioner of India to Sri Lanka, the Deputy Chief of Mission at the Indian Embassy in Moscow and as a Minister at the Indian Embassy in Washington DC. Nirupama Rao has written a book of poetry, named Rain Rising. Her poems have been translated into Chinese and Russian.Nirupama Rao’ speech/article at Singapore Consortium for China-India Dialogue titled Rabindranath Tagore’s vision of India and China: A twenty first century perspective should be a ‘must’ reading to any self professed Tagore expert.
Now everyone is entitled to his or her own opinions. Unfortunately the opinion expressed by Deepakbhai are tinted by his provincial and myopic understanding of how international literary events are organized, his views are based on mere speculation, and he does not provide any evidence to substantiate his rant.
We have a phrase for such attitude. It is called sour grapes. The phrase refers to envious behaviour, especially pretending to not care for something one does not or cannot have, a condition called cognitive dissonance.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Re: Gazal-kaars, gazal singers, bhajans and bhajan singers
On a recent visit to India, the esteemed Gujarati writer Madhu Rye made remarks about Gazal writers who write absolutely abominable gazals and then email the same to zillions of people. Mr. Rye's made these remarks in Surat, the home town of noted' reputable/ certified Gazalkar Bhagwatikumar Sharma. Mr.Rye's comments erupted in to a crazy conflagration of fuming email discussions from the self-styled aficionados of Gazals that was stopped only when a well meaning and sane Gujarati columnist asked those folks to put an end to that silly tirade against Madhu Rye. (I must confess that I had contributed a comment or two in support of Madhu Rye.).
Wasn't that William Shakespeare who said or may be he should have said,
'Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle.
These so-called Gazalkaars are but a walking shadows, a poor players
Who strut and fret their hour upon the stage of cyber-space,
And then is heard no more. Their gazals are tall tales
Told by idiots, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. ..'
So why were these folks so upset about Madhu Rye's criticism of Gazalias or Gazalkaars?
I think all these people who keep forwarding these so-called Gazals should be banned from traveling the cyber-highways.
These new breed of Gazalkaars are nothing but self-hating and generally, what we call losers, they are no Omar Khayyams or Ghalibs or Rumis. Not even Chinoo or Manhar Modys or various Dahiwalas, Dudhwalas, Gheewalas... or Telwalas
And how about the Gazal singers who stretch one note of Jee that seem to be eternity? And the same crazies applaud the Gazal singer when the irritating Jeeing ends.
I have a strong dislike for folks who keep on sending me the inspirational stuff with cute photos of babies or animals or some stolen or perhaps photoshopped nature-scenes, all usually accompanied by Enya-like or New Age-ish type music. And while talking about annoyances, have you ever thought as to why those kids in the TV commercials for adoption and help never seem to get OLD?
And now talking about 'old', do you remember in the old times every Hindi movie had one mandatory song as if just written and sung for the beggars in the trains or on the streets? Songs such as Tumhare se tumse daya mangte hey,... whatever happened to those kind of songs? The orphan's song that I have just quoted is now sung in our local temple as a regulation prayer! As they say, Go figure...
These has led me to think about the devotional songs or Bhajans that are crafted in the movie song melodies. If I am not mistaken, the trend was started by THE Punit Maharaj. At a very young age I had the misfortune to listen to him in Ahmedabad - accompanied by my parents - as I was too young to be left home alone. That experience has left such a big scar on my psyche that I still remember it with a shudder going thru my spine. One of our local priests at the Hindu temple also sings some bhajans that are all sung in the style of popular movie songs... I don't know, may be I am too old-fashioned and not quite familiar with modern practices of worship and bhajan singing.
Now, as you may already know there are perfectly good bhajans written by Kabeer, Surdas, Meera, Dayaram etc. for singing in the classical ragas and all those bhajans are melodious and easy on ears too. So why was there a necessity of composing bhajans in filmy tunes?
The reason for this deterioration is simple - the writers do not know classical music and do not have any knowledge of writing in meters as defined by the Pingal Shashtras.
I just cannot even think of such stuff without getting real upset, brining my blood to the boiling point and breaking my thermometer...
Now I'll have to go and get some special medication to calm me down.
Harish Trivedi
- with his tongue firmly planted in his cheek...
Wasn't that William Shakespeare who said or may be he should have said,
'Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle.
These so-called Gazalkaars are but a walking shadows, a poor players
Who strut and fret their hour upon the stage of cyber-space,
And then is heard no more. Their gazals are tall tales
Told by idiots, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. ..'
So why were these folks so upset about Madhu Rye's criticism of Gazalias or Gazalkaars?
I think all these people who keep forwarding these so-called Gazals should be banned from traveling the cyber-highways.
These new breed of Gazalkaars are nothing but self-hating and generally, what we call losers, they are no Omar Khayyams or Ghalibs or Rumis. Not even Chinoo or Manhar Modys or various Dahiwalas, Dudhwalas, Gheewalas... or Telwalas
And how about the Gazal singers who stretch one note of Jee that seem to be eternity? And the same crazies applaud the Gazal singer when the irritating Jeeing ends.
I have a strong dislike for folks who keep on sending me the inspirational stuff with cute photos of babies or animals or some stolen or perhaps photoshopped nature-scenes, all usually accompanied by Enya-like or New Age-ish type music. And while talking about annoyances, have you ever thought as to why those kids in the TV commercials for adoption and help never seem to get OLD?
And now talking about 'old', do you remember in the old times every Hindi movie had one mandatory song as if just written and sung for the beggars in the trains or on the streets? Songs such as Tumhare se tumse daya mangte hey,... whatever happened to those kind of songs? The orphan's song that I have just quoted is now sung in our local temple as a regulation prayer! As they say, Go figure...
These has led me to think about the devotional songs or Bhajans that are crafted in the movie song melodies. If I am not mistaken, the trend was started by THE Punit Maharaj. At a very young age I had the misfortune to listen to him in Ahmedabad - accompanied by my parents - as I was too young to be left home alone. That experience has left such a big scar on my psyche that I still remember it with a shudder going thru my spine. One of our local priests at the Hindu temple also sings some bhajans that are all sung in the style of popular movie songs... I don't know, may be I am too old-fashioned and not quite familiar with modern practices of worship and bhajan singing.
Now, as you may already know there are perfectly good bhajans written by Kabeer, Surdas, Meera, Dayaram etc. for singing in the classical ragas and all those bhajans are melodious and easy on ears too. So why was there a necessity of composing bhajans in filmy tunes?
The reason for this deterioration is simple - the writers do not know classical music and do not have any knowledge of writing in meters as defined by the Pingal Shashtras.
I just cannot even think of such stuff without getting real upset, brining my blood to the boiling point and breaking my thermometer...
Now I'll have to go and get some special medication to calm me down.
Harish Trivedi
- with his tongue firmly planted in his cheek...
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