Narrow winding roads through tea gardens, deep gorges with establishments in clutter in the distance, a bustling market when you reach the top of the hill where you can have fruit wines and Tibetan massage. Could there be a better getaway from the scorching city where you feel like breaking the red lights where you get baked? McLeod Gunj is now just two hours away with flights operating between Delhi and Kangra. From Kangra, you can take a cab for five hundred rupees that’ll take you to McLeod Gunj.
The place is quite crowded now in general, and this time of the year makes it even more crowded, there are long jams at times. The jams, however, do not take away from the charm, you can just walk it and enjoy the view while your cab trudges along. On top of the hill is Bhagsunag, where there’s a temple and a waterfall. This is the best place to stay as it’s less crowded than McLeod Gunj, and just fifteen minutes walk from there. One has to trek for half an hour to reach the falls; you can either walk along the path or walk through the rocks through which the river flows. People generally laze around on the rocks, couples lost in themselves, some taking a nap, or washing clothes, or drinking and dancing. Near the fall is a sheltered spot where people have painted graffiti on stones. The grafitti are beautiful – paintings, messages of peace and love. An elderly couple came and folded their hands at the spot. The wife asked, “Whose temple is this?” and the husband replied, “Yeh jal devta ka mandir hai.” At the fall, the water is so chilled that they cool their cold drink crates in that. The shower of the fall is blissful, and you can just hang around for hours there, and have refreshments as well at the two stalls nearby.
Downhill, the McLeod Gunj market bustles with activity. There are pamphlets advertising Tibetan massage for men and women- you can get massaged, you can learn it; you can learn astrology, feng-shui, languages, and hordes of things. The book shops are amazing, with unique books about Tibet, Tibetan astrology and odd second hand books which foreigners sell off. You’ll find many books in Hebrew too. For, the Israeli population is overwhelming, the market is full of Israelis shopping and biking around. A large number of foreigners ensures a tremendous variety of food in the restaurants. At Bhagsunag, the German bakery has Israeli, Tibetan, German and Indian foods, and priced very reasonably. You get fruit wines in McLeod Gunj as well, from rhododendron to apple to plum. One can also get a lot of jazzy and ethnic Tibetan costumes as well.
The main attraction of McLeod Gunj is the Dalai Lama monastery. There are several monasteries in the area. The one next to the market is an imposing structure with a series of good-luck wheels around it, and a numbers of monks chanting their mantras inside it. A little away is the Dal Lake, which is considered very holy. When you go boating, you have to take your shoes off at the bank. The lake is small and depleting, and needs a lot of maintenance. Do not confuse the hounds for dogs and try to shoo them here. They are real hounds! Down the hill from Dal Lake are a couple of resorts where you can chill out with a swim, massage, and beer. You have to go uphill again to reach the sunset point where you see little kids on horses going back to their international boarding school. The view from here is amazing, the telescope-wallas charge you ten bucks to show snow capped mountains.
There are hordes of places one can go to here, there are the tea gardens, monastries, endless number of temples. Our pick of the lot, however, is “St John’s Church in the Wilderness”. As you enter the place, a dog will bark at you and you’ll be freaked out, but it’s locked in a cage so you needn’t run away. It is really in the wilderness and very beautiful. It’s not an amazing piece of architecture aesthetically speaking, but its settings make it out-wordly with dense greenery at the edge of a deep valley, and the cemetery which has a thousand stories engraved on the graves. Here lies Lord Elgin, as well Lord Mc Leod himself. There’s a grave of a man who was killed by a bear, another grave of a soldier who died a day before his marriage. The church is in tatters and needs serious attempts at restoration.
At night, you can party in any of the hundreds of pubs around and eat and drink world cuisines and not empty your pockets. There are a couple of discs also, which play a lot of Punjabi music, they are the makeshift variety, and are great fun. You can watch movies in mini theatres where they play movies on DVDs.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Word Droppin11- Coulrophobia
Word dropping11
Coulrophobia
An Australian genealogist Victor and I became friends, trying to find out something about John Lang together. Lang was an Australian lawyer-writer who spent a large part of his life in India in the 19th century, and even fought Rani of Jhansi’s case against the East India Company. I did not know till I met Victor that “genealogist’ could be a profession.
“Well,” said Victor, when a friend and I met him for the first time, “the genealogy of the word genealogy is that it’s got a Greek genealogy. ‘Logos’ as you know is student, and ‘genus’ means generation. In a young country like Australia, everyone wants routes to their roots.”
We were at the Camel’s Back Cemetry in Mussoorie where Lang’s grave is. My friend trying to match the genealogist’s poetic penchant, said, “This cemetery has a lot of symmetry. Everything is so neatly laid out.”
Victor replied, “Not all cemetries are symmetrical my friend. And in some places, deliberately so. Some communities have been afraid of symmetry. It is called symmetrophobia.”
“That’s quite funny,” my friend said, “I have never heard of something like this. The best architecture is symmetrical, the best looking faces are the most symmetrical ones.”
“You need to learn a little more my friend,” Victor said, “ have you read Lindsay Jones’s The Hermeneutics Of Sacred Architecture: A Reassessment Of The Similitude Between Tula, Hidalgo And Chichen Itza? The Egyptian and Japanese deliberately keep their buildings assymetrical.”
I realised that we were entering into a dangerous territory and butted in, “We are at the grave but do we need to be so grave?”
Victor’s eyes suddenly lit up, “Do you know why the two ‘graves’ you used in your sentence have different meanings?”
“Well they have almost the same meaning,” I said, “both are depressing.”
“No,” said Victor, “the noun ‘grave’ where people sleep the longest slumber comes from Germanic and Gothic graban which means a ditch, whereas the adjective ‘grave’ for sombre expression comes from Latin ‘gravis’ which means, weighty and serious.”
“Your point has got quite some gravity,” I tried to be innovative.
“But you’ll realize the irony when you know that a similar sounding ‘gravid’ means preganat, because it comes from the Latin root. Grave and gravid, and vividly different meanings,” Victor said.
My friend was looking flummoxed and said, “Let’s go, or else the dead will turn in their graves. We will resurrect them with our chatter.”
“I am no resurrectionist,” said Victor and started laughing.
“Why are you laughing,” friend asked.
“Oh because it reminded me of Charlie Chaplin,” the Austrlian chuckled.
“Resurrection and Chaplin?” I asked
“Well, resurrectionist is a euphemism for grave robbers, and Charlie Chaplin’s grave was robbed. A couple of people kidnapped his dead body in hope of a ransom,” Victor said.
“Quite funny,” friend said, “they were bigger clowns than Chaplin. I’d rather stay away from such clowns.”
“Oh you have coulrophobia. You are afraid of clowns,” Victor said.
“Yes,” said the friend, and ran off pointing towards him.
Coulrophobia
An Australian genealogist Victor and I became friends, trying to find out something about John Lang together. Lang was an Australian lawyer-writer who spent a large part of his life in India in the 19th century, and even fought Rani of Jhansi’s case against the East India Company. I did not know till I met Victor that “genealogist’ could be a profession.
“Well,” said Victor, when a friend and I met him for the first time, “the genealogy of the word genealogy is that it’s got a Greek genealogy. ‘Logos’ as you know is student, and ‘genus’ means generation. In a young country like Australia, everyone wants routes to their roots.”
We were at the Camel’s Back Cemetry in Mussoorie where Lang’s grave is. My friend trying to match the genealogist’s poetic penchant, said, “This cemetery has a lot of symmetry. Everything is so neatly laid out.”
Victor replied, “Not all cemetries are symmetrical my friend. And in some places, deliberately so. Some communities have been afraid of symmetry. It is called symmetrophobia.”
“That’s quite funny,” my friend said, “I have never heard of something like this. The best architecture is symmetrical, the best looking faces are the most symmetrical ones.”
“You need to learn a little more my friend,” Victor said, “ have you read Lindsay Jones’s The Hermeneutics Of Sacred Architecture: A Reassessment Of The Similitude Between Tula, Hidalgo And Chichen Itza? The Egyptian and Japanese deliberately keep their buildings assymetrical.”
I realised that we were entering into a dangerous territory and butted in, “We are at the grave but do we need to be so grave?”
Victor’s eyes suddenly lit up, “Do you know why the two ‘graves’ you used in your sentence have different meanings?”
“Well they have almost the same meaning,” I said, “both are depressing.”
“No,” said Victor, “the noun ‘grave’ where people sleep the longest slumber comes from Germanic and Gothic graban which means a ditch, whereas the adjective ‘grave’ for sombre expression comes from Latin ‘gravis’ which means, weighty and serious.”
“Your point has got quite some gravity,” I tried to be innovative.
“But you’ll realize the irony when you know that a similar sounding ‘gravid’ means preganat, because it comes from the Latin root. Grave and gravid, and vividly different meanings,” Victor said.
My friend was looking flummoxed and said, “Let’s go, or else the dead will turn in their graves. We will resurrect them with our chatter.”
“I am no resurrectionist,” said Victor and started laughing.
“Why are you laughing,” friend asked.
“Oh because it reminded me of Charlie Chaplin,” the Austrlian chuckled.
“Resurrection and Chaplin?” I asked
“Well, resurrectionist is a euphemism for grave robbers, and Charlie Chaplin’s grave was robbed. A couple of people kidnapped his dead body in hope of a ransom,” Victor said.
“Quite funny,” friend said, “they were bigger clowns than Chaplin. I’d rather stay away from such clowns.”
“Oh you have coulrophobia. You are afraid of clowns,” Victor said.
“Yes,” said the friend, and ran off pointing towards him.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
dada never dies
Dada never dies
The queue was long. People waited patiently for their film tickets. “Bhai sahib yeh super hit film hai. Dekhe bina mat jaiye,” said one of the men standing in the queue. Outside the hall, there were a huge number of vehicles. The film was Pyar Ka Karz, the vehicles were cycle rickshaws, the day was yesterday. The venue was Hans Cinema, Azadpur Mandi where the 1990 film is running full house. The poster has a helicopter from which two ambassador cars are hanging amid flames, Dharmendra wielding a rocket launcher, Mithun firing bullets from a machine gun, Sonam firing oomph. By the way the user rating of this film on imd.com is 10 on 10. I won’t reveal the number of votes!
Hans is not a standalone. There are other movie halls in the national capital that survive on people’s appetite for B grade and M Grade (M grade is exclusively Mithun) despite the multiplexes that have devoured a huge number of these old halls.
Return of the bombs
We were inspired to go around check out these cinema halls because the bombs have returned in the market – in the form of Dharmendra’s rocket launchers, and human bombs in the form of the Sonams of the 1980s. Moser Baer has launched a number of CDs, mostly from the 80s and 90s with the Pyar Ka Karz profile. So on my last round to a posh music store I bought Atank Hi Atank (Aamir Khan, Rajnikant), Dance Dance (Mithun, Smita Patil), Roti Ki Kimat (Mithun), Izzat Ki Roti (Sunny) and Danveer (Mithun). The CDs come for Rs 28, and DVDs for Rs 34. And they are selling like momos. The CDs can also be bought off their website, www.moserbaerhomevideo.com , and there are no shipping charges if you order 20 or more titles. One can order 50 titles at one go, they are so fascinating. It’s been a while, and the company has launched videos in regional languages too, of which Tamil films are hotsellers.
We spoke to the CEO of Moser Baer Home Video, Mr G Dhananjayan, who tells that the trade is doing well in all states. They’ve launched over 300 titles in Hindi films, out of which 100 are doing very well. “In videos, 60 per cent of the business comes from old catalogues and the rest from new films. While super hit to hit films are selling in major cities, the B & C grade films (with violence and sex) sell mostly in smaller towns and villages. Hence, overall, there is a market for all catalogue titles in India,” he tells. Their plans are ambitious and they’ll soon acquire rights for over 7000 films. The prices are bound to come down.
Sarkar ka darbar
Back to Hans, which has to be commended on its sense of discipline. People stand in queues patiently, they are scanned while entering and have to forfeit their guthkas and bidis. Of late Bhojpuri films have been doing well as well, and Bhojpuri stars have come and performed here. “There are only two kinds of films that run packed house here – Mithun and Bhojpuri,” the manager tells.
A little distance away on the main road is Akash cinema hall, which is not a Mithun specialist like Hans, but runs old movies too. There’s Metro construction going on there, so the business is low. But the trade at a CD store next to the hall is unaffected. Why? Because they have one rack full of Mithun, and another full of Bhojpuri films. “Mithun to hamare sarkar hain. Roti inhi se chalti hai. Amitabh aur baki sab to kuch nahi hain inke saamne,” the shop owner says. Bhojpuri is not just famous in its belt that is Azadpur, but the CDs sell at the stalls at Nizamuddin dargah as well.
The cabin in Robin
We head back on the Hans road, cross Pratap Bagh, where there are ancient gates under which the road passes. The gates are a shelter to pigs, cows, men and excreta of all three species, and the gates have a huge notice, “Those who deface the monument will be fined Rs 5000.” As we reach Ghantaghar, there is Amba cinema hall on the right. It’s also one of those old halls, but manages to run mainstream movies. A little ahead after the round about is Robin. You can easily miss it; it’s in the heart of the crowded lane of Subzi Mandi and just a small iron gate leads inside.
Inside, it expands all of a sudden. We are welcomed by the ticket distributor, who also turns out to be the manager. The film playing by the way is Sunny starrer Izzat Ki Roti. The manager, however, is finding it hard to survive on his Izzat ki roti, for he earns Rs 3965 as his salary after having worked there for 28 years. Only forty tickets have sold today, and Sharma sighs that it’s not long before the hall might have to close down. They rent a film for Rs 4000, and get about around eight times on that still. I advise him that he should get more Mithun films, which he notes down seriously. I ask why there’s no parking lot around. “In the old days, people used to get three things for dowry – Murphy radio, HMT wrist watch, and bicycle. So they used to come rising on cycles, and for that you do not need a parking lot,” he chuckles. Food for thought. Most old halls do not have a proper parking lot.
The manager presents us with three posters as we promise to come back next week for a show – Pyaasi Haveli (Ramsay Bros.), Sone Pe Suhaga (Dharmendra, Jeetendra, Anil Kapoor!), Karz (Sunny, Sunil Shetty).
So the deal is clear, either buy from the deluge of these CDs or head to Hans and Robin. And remember there’s no parking!
The queue was long. People waited patiently for their film tickets. “Bhai sahib yeh super hit film hai. Dekhe bina mat jaiye,” said one of the men standing in the queue. Outside the hall, there were a huge number of vehicles. The film was Pyar Ka Karz, the vehicles were cycle rickshaws, the day was yesterday. The venue was Hans Cinema, Azadpur Mandi where the 1990 film is running full house. The poster has a helicopter from which two ambassador cars are hanging amid flames, Dharmendra wielding a rocket launcher, Mithun firing bullets from a machine gun, Sonam firing oomph. By the way the user rating of this film on imd.com is 10 on 10. I won’t reveal the number of votes!
Hans is not a standalone. There are other movie halls in the national capital that survive on people’s appetite for B grade and M Grade (M grade is exclusively Mithun) despite the multiplexes that have devoured a huge number of these old halls.
Return of the bombs
We were inspired to go around check out these cinema halls because the bombs have returned in the market – in the form of Dharmendra’s rocket launchers, and human bombs in the form of the Sonams of the 1980s. Moser Baer has launched a number of CDs, mostly from the 80s and 90s with the Pyar Ka Karz profile. So on my last round to a posh music store I bought Atank Hi Atank (Aamir Khan, Rajnikant), Dance Dance (Mithun, Smita Patil), Roti Ki Kimat (Mithun), Izzat Ki Roti (Sunny) and Danveer (Mithun). The CDs come for Rs 28, and DVDs for Rs 34. And they are selling like momos. The CDs can also be bought off their website, www.moserbaerhomevideo.com , and there are no shipping charges if you order 20 or more titles. One can order 50 titles at one go, they are so fascinating. It’s been a while, and the company has launched videos in regional languages too, of which Tamil films are hotsellers.
We spoke to the CEO of Moser Baer Home Video, Mr G Dhananjayan, who tells that the trade is doing well in all states. They’ve launched over 300 titles in Hindi films, out of which 100 are doing very well. “In videos, 60 per cent of the business comes from old catalogues and the rest from new films. While super hit to hit films are selling in major cities, the B & C grade films (with violence and sex) sell mostly in smaller towns and villages. Hence, overall, there is a market for all catalogue titles in India,” he tells. Their plans are ambitious and they’ll soon acquire rights for over 7000 films. The prices are bound to come down.
Sarkar ka darbar
Back to Hans, which has to be commended on its sense of discipline. People stand in queues patiently, they are scanned while entering and have to forfeit their guthkas and bidis. Of late Bhojpuri films have been doing well as well, and Bhojpuri stars have come and performed here. “There are only two kinds of films that run packed house here – Mithun and Bhojpuri,” the manager tells.
A little distance away on the main road is Akash cinema hall, which is not a Mithun specialist like Hans, but runs old movies too. There’s Metro construction going on there, so the business is low. But the trade at a CD store next to the hall is unaffected. Why? Because they have one rack full of Mithun, and another full of Bhojpuri films. “Mithun to hamare sarkar hain. Roti inhi se chalti hai. Amitabh aur baki sab to kuch nahi hain inke saamne,” the shop owner says. Bhojpuri is not just famous in its belt that is Azadpur, but the CDs sell at the stalls at Nizamuddin dargah as well.
The cabin in Robin
We head back on the Hans road, cross Pratap Bagh, where there are ancient gates under which the road passes. The gates are a shelter to pigs, cows, men and excreta of all three species, and the gates have a huge notice, “Those who deface the monument will be fined Rs 5000.” As we reach Ghantaghar, there is Amba cinema hall on the right. It’s also one of those old halls, but manages to run mainstream movies. A little ahead after the round about is Robin. You can easily miss it; it’s in the heart of the crowded lane of Subzi Mandi and just a small iron gate leads inside.
Inside, it expands all of a sudden. We are welcomed by the ticket distributor, who also turns out to be the manager. The film playing by the way is Sunny starrer Izzat Ki Roti. The manager, however, is finding it hard to survive on his Izzat ki roti, for he earns Rs 3965 as his salary after having worked there for 28 years. Only forty tickets have sold today, and Sharma sighs that it’s not long before the hall might have to close down. They rent a film for Rs 4000, and get about around eight times on that still. I advise him that he should get more Mithun films, which he notes down seriously. I ask why there’s no parking lot around. “In the old days, people used to get three things for dowry – Murphy radio, HMT wrist watch, and bicycle. So they used to come rising on cycles, and for that you do not need a parking lot,” he chuckles. Food for thought. Most old halls do not have a proper parking lot.
The manager presents us with three posters as we promise to come back next week for a show – Pyaasi Haveli (Ramsay Bros.), Sone Pe Suhaga (Dharmendra, Jeetendra, Anil Kapoor!), Karz (Sunny, Sunil Shetty).
So the deal is clear, either buy from the deluge of these CDs or head to Hans and Robin. And remember there’s no parking!
Monday, June 18, 2007
Loco Foco
word dropping10
I did not the credentials of Prem ji until that day. Prem ji sells cigarettes in a university and keeps reading Hindi thriller novels of the Atank Hi Atank types at the same time. That is his eyes do not waver from his book while he is giving you the fare. I walked up to his shop with a friend who was slightly delirious because he’d been awake a couple of days writing his M Phil thesis. So the friend says to Prem ji, “Monsieur, for the sake of the equipoise of my bleary eyes and weary life, can you please give me some fine blended tobacco rolled in fine paper, and backed with a filter that can reduce its carcinogenic effect?”
Prem ji put a pan inside his mouth and for the first time I heard him speak English, “Well, the cancer stick will remain a cancer stick. And will stick to you, you see. After all the word cancer itself comes from ‘crab’.” Saying this, he handed over the lightest cigarette available, to my friend.
Friend was flummoxed. He said to Prem ji, “Oh you can pun too.”
And pat came the reply, “And I can have fun too. Because I do not smoke like you. I just have paan. So I was telling you that cancer is related to crabs. You must be knowing, you guys read all that fluff – Linda Goodman’s Sunsigns and all.”
“How do you know?” Friend said.
“I know who reads what,” said the vendor, and continued, “Greek physician Galen noted the similarity in some tumours with swollen veins and the crabs. And so he named the disease after the Greek word karinos, which now means a crab, a tumour and a sunsign. I tell you English is such a funny language.”
It was quite windy and my frind wasn’t able to light his cigarette. So Prem ji took it, put it in his mouth lifted his head and lit the match against the wind, which blew the fame towards the cigarette and lit it. Style.
“A fortune is to be made against the wind,” he said after lighting and handing over the stick to friend. Friend stared and Prem ji said, “Rhett Butler’s dialogue from Gone in the Wind. That’s how I learnt how to light a cigarette when it’s windy. But you are weak hearted. You need a loco foco.”
“Now what’s that?” I asked.
“Well it’s a self-lighting cigarette. Foco is from Spanish fuego for fire. And loco they didn’t know stood for place and not for ‘self’. In a New York assembly the lights went out, and they used such matches. It was 1837.”
“Prem ji how do you know so much,” I was incredulous.
“Well I was also a PhD student here,” he said, “And I realised I want to stay here and just read books all my life. But my choices have changed as you can see.”
I did not the credentials of Prem ji until that day. Prem ji sells cigarettes in a university and keeps reading Hindi thriller novels of the Atank Hi Atank types at the same time. That is his eyes do not waver from his book while he is giving you the fare. I walked up to his shop with a friend who was slightly delirious because he’d been awake a couple of days writing his M Phil thesis. So the friend says to Prem ji, “Monsieur, for the sake of the equipoise of my bleary eyes and weary life, can you please give me some fine blended tobacco rolled in fine paper, and backed with a filter that can reduce its carcinogenic effect?”
Prem ji put a pan inside his mouth and for the first time I heard him speak English, “Well, the cancer stick will remain a cancer stick. And will stick to you, you see. After all the word cancer itself comes from ‘crab’.” Saying this, he handed over the lightest cigarette available, to my friend.
Friend was flummoxed. He said to Prem ji, “Oh you can pun too.”
And pat came the reply, “And I can have fun too. Because I do not smoke like you. I just have paan. So I was telling you that cancer is related to crabs. You must be knowing, you guys read all that fluff – Linda Goodman’s Sunsigns and all.”
“How do you know?” Friend said.
“I know who reads what,” said the vendor, and continued, “Greek physician Galen noted the similarity in some tumours with swollen veins and the crabs. And so he named the disease after the Greek word karinos, which now means a crab, a tumour and a sunsign. I tell you English is such a funny language.”
It was quite windy and my frind wasn’t able to light his cigarette. So Prem ji took it, put it in his mouth lifted his head and lit the match against the wind, which blew the fame towards the cigarette and lit it. Style.
“A fortune is to be made against the wind,” he said after lighting and handing over the stick to friend. Friend stared and Prem ji said, “Rhett Butler’s dialogue from Gone in the Wind. That’s how I learnt how to light a cigarette when it’s windy. But you are weak hearted. You need a loco foco.”
“Now what’s that?” I asked.
“Well it’s a self-lighting cigarette. Foco is from Spanish fuego for fire. And loco they didn’t know stood for place and not for ‘self’. In a New York assembly the lights went out, and they used such matches. It was 1837.”
“Prem ji how do you know so much,” I was incredulous.
“Well I was also a PhD student here,” he said, “And I realised I want to stay here and just read books all my life. But my choices have changed as you can see.”
Monday, June 11, 2007
Meeting Paradoxes
Hunting stories for a special issue on Delhi, I met paradoxes. Human paradoxes. In CP, we came across this shop that declared itself “the smallest studio of the world”, and the pictures hanging outside were of the owner with the biggest Bollywood stars. Inquisitive, I asked the Sikh gentlemen standing outside how he managed to get clicked with the who’s who. “We are in the media ji,” he replied. “ Freelancer, you mean,” I asked. “I am not a freelonser. I am media,” he grumbled. We asked him for his card, he said he doesn’t give cards. Smallest studio, biggest stars, no cards.
We walked a little ahead and found two guys cycling for world peace. Lokbandhu and Vishvabandhu are their names, they have traveled the entire South east Asia and plan to keep cycling for world peace for the next five years. They are the bandhu of the entire world, but themselves in tattered condition and complained of financial problems. It seems their government is not quite their bandhu.
The next day we were hunting for a mosque built by Ghulam Qadir Rohilla’s father, around India gate. On reaching Pandara Road, at a newspaper stall, I chanced upon this old man with thick white moustache, white kurta and lots of photographs pinned to his kurta. An identity card said “ freedom fighter” and the photos were of him with Sonia Gandhi and Sheila Dixit and other top Congress leaders. After a little chat in which he was very reticent, he said I hate the media and I hate politicians.” I pointed out that he was very lovingly carrying those people on his chest who he hated. “what will you know. You were not even born,” was his reply as he walked away.
Next, in the mosque hunt, we reached the mosque where an old man – not the imam, but someone hanging around told us that taking pictures was prohibited by religion. A while later, I clicked his picture, and he smiled and posed for it.
We walked a little ahead and found two guys cycling for world peace. Lokbandhu and Vishvabandhu are their names, they have traveled the entire South east Asia and plan to keep cycling for world peace for the next five years. They are the bandhu of the entire world, but themselves in tattered condition and complained of financial problems. It seems their government is not quite their bandhu.
The next day we were hunting for a mosque built by Ghulam Qadir Rohilla’s father, around India gate. On reaching Pandara Road, at a newspaper stall, I chanced upon this old man with thick white moustache, white kurta and lots of photographs pinned to his kurta. An identity card said “ freedom fighter” and the photos were of him with Sonia Gandhi and Sheila Dixit and other top Congress leaders. After a little chat in which he was very reticent, he said I hate the media and I hate politicians.” I pointed out that he was very lovingly carrying those people on his chest who he hated. “what will you know. You were not even born,” was his reply as he walked away.
Next, in the mosque hunt, we reached the mosque where an old man – not the imam, but someone hanging around told us that taking pictures was prohibited by religion. A while later, I clicked his picture, and he smiled and posed for it.
Draked
word droppin 9
DRAKED
This weekend I went to Dharamshala on a junket. To our surprise, we discovered that we’d not be staying in a hotel but at the bunglow of a herbal-medicine-would-be-baron whose herbs we had gone to check out. There were twelve guys and a couple of scientists, and we were packed off in two rooms, so we chose to sleep under the open sky on rooftop. I am in reverie whenever I am with stars or rains, and so I mumbled to myself, “If there are so many stars, with so much light, why is the night sky, not bright?” “You are talking about Olber’s paradox aren’t you?” came a voice that was a paradox for me, for I could see no one. I turned around to see Dr Bhoon smiling through his long white beard.
“I don’t know any Olber,” I said.
“Well you have coincidentally said what one of the most profound scientists said. Olber proposed that if it is an infinite universe with infinite number of stars, the luminosity should be enough to keep the night bright,” the scientist chuckled.
“I did not know that poets and scientists think alike,” I said.
“What do you think about aliens?” the professor asked me.
“Well they never land in Delhi. They land only in the land of Donald Duck. By the way it should be Donald Drake and not duck,” I smiled.
“You sure are a science student my boy,” the prof was enthusiastic, “you know about the Drake equation as well.”
“Well a drake should get a duck, he should have that much luck, that’s the drake equation,” I said.
“ You must be kidding me,” the prof gleamed, “Drake was the man who proposed an equation to find out the number of planets that extra terrestrial life. It is also discussed in Frederick Pohl’s “Fermi and Frost” where technically advanced civilizations destroy themselves.”
“Sir can we move beyond drakes, ducks, dolphins?” I said a little irritated.
“Oh you know the Order of the Dolphin too. The famous ten people who decided to find out more about the drake equation and possibility of extra terrestrial life. You sure are kidding me,” the prof said.
“I wish dolphins turned horses and ran away,” I said.
“You know cetology too!” the prof exclaimed, “in the medieval records, the cetologists who study whales and dolphins, say they encounter names like red whales and horse whales.”
I had to run like a horse to the garden before he declared me a Nobel winner.
DRAKED
This weekend I went to Dharamshala on a junket. To our surprise, we discovered that we’d not be staying in a hotel but at the bunglow of a herbal-medicine-would-be-baron whose herbs we had gone to check out. There were twelve guys and a couple of scientists, and we were packed off in two rooms, so we chose to sleep under the open sky on rooftop. I am in reverie whenever I am with stars or rains, and so I mumbled to myself, “If there are so many stars, with so much light, why is the night sky, not bright?” “You are talking about Olber’s paradox aren’t you?” came a voice that was a paradox for me, for I could see no one. I turned around to see Dr Bhoon smiling through his long white beard.
“I don’t know any Olber,” I said.
“Well you have coincidentally said what one of the most profound scientists said. Olber proposed that if it is an infinite universe with infinite number of stars, the luminosity should be enough to keep the night bright,” the scientist chuckled.
“I did not know that poets and scientists think alike,” I said.
“What do you think about aliens?” the professor asked me.
“Well they never land in Delhi. They land only in the land of Donald Duck. By the way it should be Donald Drake and not duck,” I smiled.
“You sure are a science student my boy,” the prof was enthusiastic, “you know about the Drake equation as well.”
“Well a drake should get a duck, he should have that much luck, that’s the drake equation,” I said.
“ You must be kidding me,” the prof gleamed, “Drake was the man who proposed an equation to find out the number of planets that extra terrestrial life. It is also discussed in Frederick Pohl’s “Fermi and Frost” where technically advanced civilizations destroy themselves.”
“Sir can we move beyond drakes, ducks, dolphins?” I said a little irritated.
“Oh you know the Order of the Dolphin too. The famous ten people who decided to find out more about the drake equation and possibility of extra terrestrial life. You sure are kidding me,” the prof said.
“I wish dolphins turned horses and ran away,” I said.
“You know cetology too!” the prof exclaimed, “in the medieval records, the cetologists who study whales and dolphins, say they encounter names like red whales and horse whales.”
I had to run like a horse to the garden before he declared me a Nobel winner.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
lord bhairav and charonian steps
I went with Lord Bhairav and his favourite student Leela to watch aplay called B Three or BBB. Lord Bhairav is a Bhairav reincarnate –his real name is Bhairav Nath Burmula – huge frame, flowing manethat's turning grey now, teeth stained with too much smoking,bloodshot eyes. When he gets passionate, he can put Browning to shamein the art of dramatic monologue. Both the Lord and Lord's Leela coulddrop words like bullets in a video game, and I hang around with themfor wisdom. Before watching the play, they were speculating on whatBBB could possibly mean."Baroque of a baffled bubble," Leela chuckled, seeing me blowing a chewing gum.The bubble of my gum burst in a second, "Now kindly don't baffle mebefore a nice play," I said.Lord looked towards me and said, "She'll become a real academician.She uses theatrical terms so creatively. Did you know that "bubble" isa jargon used for the lamps in a play? Did you know that "baffle" is atimber box on which the speakers are kept so that other surfaces don'treflect the sound and spoil the effect?""I am baffled to know such a meaning of "baffle", sir," I said.Leela paid the least heed to me and continued with her reverie, "Oh Iwish the play is a baroque. I so love the baroque theatrical form,with its elaborate stages. Unlike other forms where you have toconcentrate on the plot and the characters all the time, this is coolfor the other senses. The scene changes from lovers in meadows, topalaces of kings, to beggars in dingy alleys. Done through sets thatchange so fast. Like films, and much better than films."Lord Bhairav chipped in, "Baroque comes from ancient Portugese wordbarroco which means a pearl of an uneven but elaborate shape.""What's an out-of-shape pearl got to do with all this," I asked."Shut up," grumbled the lord, "you'll never understand metonymies andmetaphors."So I shut up and we went into the play. The play's plot was about ateacher experimenting on students by regimenting them into a littlearmy, filling them with hatred against anyone who was not like them.He wanted to teach them the meaning of Nazism through this experiment.The experiment goes out of hand, and his students form their BlackBoard Brigade and not 'baroque of a baffled bubble'. This brigade isintolerant, coercive and violent. "Nice play sir," I whispered."Stanislavski would have been so happy to see them perform. Methodacting to the core," the lord whispered back." You should have invited Stanislavski also sir," I said, thinking hemust be one of his firang friends."Shut up," the lord almost roared, and everyone turned back. He calmeddown and whispered, "Stanislavski was a theorist. He postulated thatactors must remember their own experiences and reproduce thoseemotions while emoting the part of a character. That is methodacting."In the last scene, where a brainwashed student kills another becausehe doesn't conform to the former's ideas, Leela was almost in tears.She said, "Sir, had I been the director I would have used adeux-ex-machina or charonian steps but somehow I would find catharsisfor this denouement."I opened my notebook and looked at the lord. "Deux-ex-machina is whenGods descended literally on the stage to help out the hero in crisis.Charonian steps are under the stage, and the gods of the underworldemerged from those in Greek theatre to save the hero. Denoument is theuntying of the plot. And catharsis is relief. Now shut up and provideme some catharsis," the lord was visibly angry with me.And I hoped that a deux-ex-machina or gods clambering from charoniansteps would come and take me away from Lord and his Leela.
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