Torrent

An ode to Masakkalli

2009-03-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today, on my way to the office I was listening to the song ‘Masakkali’ from the movie Dilli 6. I have heard this song earlier, but maybe I actually listened to it attentively today and enjoyed it completely. I think it captures the raw ‘dehati’ spirit of old Delhi in more ways than one. Firstly, ‘kabootar baazi’ is an art not practised anymore in the upcoming urban India. It’s a joy ful pastime from the era of nawabs, traces of which can still be found in ‘purani dilli’. In the circuitous gallis of Old Dehi, I will not be surprised to hear, if Mirza Ghalib had ever written a few heart warming couplets about the flight of pigeons. Till today, one can see clusters of pigeons on the sepia turned tombs of Jama masjid and Red Fort. They fly at a sudden disturbance; swoop and swerve in a sky for a quick flight only to come back just where they were.
Coming back to the song, I think that it beautifully captures this flighty nature of pigeons. ‘Zara pankh jhatak gayi dhool atak’ Notice the myriad adjectives used for sheer graceful movement of the bird. ‘lachak machak ke door bhatak’. It celebrates the sheer abandon and nonchalance in the behaviour. ‘Tadi se mud, hawa se jud...’ At a very metaphorical (it is actually quite evident) the song brings a parallel between the pigeon and a carefree girl.
While at one point the song takes the pigeon to an almost lofty level it brings back the ordinariness as the singer says ‘Dil tera saloni badal ki colony’. Man, I have heard such fantastic use of local hindi or Hindustani, to be more precise, after a very long time, and yet it is so brilliantly poetic. “thenga dikla de unko jo udna na jaane’ I think it can’t get cheekier and more rebellious than that.
Full credit goes to the singer who infuses life into the words. While listening to the song, I could picture a road side Romeo singing the song in Daryaganj (in undertones), in an ambiguous manner of teasing a girl. A girl, who can slap him right away if he is too direct with words. The singer, Mohit Chauhan captures the naughty spirit of the song, and sings as if he is casually talking in an alley.

Ratatouille

2008-06-04T23:30:00.000-07:00

The movie is about a rat who loves to experiment with cooking and actually becomes a cook in a famous french reataurant! Uggh...that sounds repulsive, doesn't it? The subject makes me think waht a bold decision it would have been for its makers to actually make this movie. Well it has been a profitable risk. Money wise and appreciation wise as well. Watch the movie and you will come back thinking that finally what counts is teh spirit to cook. As Gustave the chef says in the Ratatouille, 'Anybody can cook' and inspires our little chef.

Rain in Pune

2008-06-04T03:36:00.000-07:00

Finally it rained in Pune. Whenever anybody talks passionately about Pune, there are two things which make way into their animated eulogy; trees and rains. I witnessed the first monsoon rains in the city yesterday. Season's first rain made an unannounced entry on the city's stage and brought the house down by its sheer performance. The top floor of my office commands a bird's eye view of the green Pune city, cradled in the lap of Sahayadris. The rain completely fogged the view and suddenly the entire city seemed to have surrendered to the Rain God. Akshay's descriptions of the Pune rains rang loud and clear in my mind.

'When it begins to rain, IT JUST RAINS' It will stop at the right time, meaning when you are going to office in the morning and while you are coming back home in the evenings. God save you if you fail to play according to the rules. Once caught in rain..you will just get stranded wherever you are.'

Stories apart. It was an amazing downpour. Giant trees swing frantically to the force of winds and suddenly everything comes to a standstill. People take refuge under the eaves of shops. Fortunate souls can scurry off to the nearest vada paav shop to catch a quick bite while people like me who are caught in the office, just come outside to soak up their senses in the edible smell of earth.

Day one

2007-05-15T04:51:00.001-07:00

It was stragely familiar yet vastly different. My first day in a south Indian household allowed me a sneak peek into a different culture. The decor of the drawing room seemed to have jumped out of some R.K Narayan novel. The room was adorned with many photogaraphs and idols of dieties. All of them, almost all, were known to me. The difference was that they now looked more tamillian with heavy necks and godesses wore nose pins on the right. There was a south Indian air about the house. The way elderly talked and joked in tamil, the way coffee was relished instead of tea. The threshold of the house bore a plastic sticker of a rangoli pattern. The way some of my prospective south indian relatives drank water from small glasses with turned brim. I drank water and then I remembered the custom of not touching the glass with one's mouth. Anyway, the deed was done and nobody seemed to notice.

Soon, Gayatri opened up her bridal trousseau and displayed the silk sarees she had purchased from Kumaran after much debate and deliberation between groups of uncles and aunties. Some jokes were shared about funny usage of tamil by some urbane cousin. Poor chap! atleast he knew something. May be he was a little like me, confusing Perima with Terima.

Month of June

2007-04-13T00:37:00.000-07:00

I hear again...
The old kelvinator humming a tune amidst the laughter of jubilant youngsters.
Gluttural sound of the mother peigeon on the eaves of my room.
A sudden cooker whistle meshed with the tune of a popular daily soap.
I close my eyes and rest my limbs and drown in the lethargy of afternoon of June.

June, the month of prespiration,
The month of ice-creams and luscious mangoes,
Of exciting climbs on trees in the sun,
Of complete abandon, fear and fun.
It carries the burden of holiday homework,
It brings the gangs of cousins together,
It brings old pranks, old street cricket buddies,
It carves many memories for years to remember.

With mercury shooting with each passing day
and the capital waiting for thudershowers.
I pray for my old friend, the month of june,
and long for july to get delay.

First day of college

2007-03-18T05:10:00.000-07:00

Curious eyes, confident feet,
Rugged touch of the new denim,
Faint caresses of the new perfume.
A flamboyant satchel with some precious odds and ends,
dangling on a carefree shoulder.
A surge of joy, a flight of novelty.
Mint like freshness of the newly found freedom.
Tangy touch of the canteen food on
otherwise tame and domestic tongue.
Full throated laughter of old birds in kitchy grafittied corridors.
The bygone year, the movie of the day,
the latest heartthrob, the unavertable result
All a part of the wild assortment of staccato sophomore conversations.
Dainty-romantic drizzle of july suddenly annoints the young heads,
A loud and ferocious downpour pierces a caramel sensation and aroma of desire.

2007-03-08T00:33:00.000-08:00

Torrent

2006-09-08T02:03:00.000-07:00

Who are you?
What a frank question!!! Its good you allow me to talk about myself rather than subjecting me to a mindless scrutiny.

I am water that is calm as well as turbulent. I am practical in an instant and a hopeless dreamer the other moment. If life is about contradictions and oppositions then I impersonate that necessary and fruitful conflict of life.

I embody a little fault of each person just as I imbibe a few grains of beauty from everybody. I am a storehouse of emotions . I am a unique bag of creation where several vices and virtues fuse to weave an exquisite fabric. If there is a song of cosmos then I am one of the essential notes of that song.
I am the world and the world is me.

2006-09-07T02:58:00.000-07:00

I had always known Mussorie. Ruskin Bond stories had done the task of making me fall in love with this old idyllic town. My imagination had often created Char Dukan, Lal tibba, Kulri bazzar, Landour and the old graveyard and I used to pass by all these places saying hello to them or giving them a friendly wink. When we actually decided to go to Mussorie, I excitedly waited to discover how accurately I had visualised the town. I visited Mussorie twice in the course of one and a half months. Each time, I met a different Mussorie.

On the first trip, my excitement knew no bounds. We boarded a night bus to Dehradun. In the comfort of a volvo we completely forgot the office fatigue and the boredom of city life. Its amazing how even the thought of visiting a beautiful place brings out the beautiful and effervecent person in us. Our faces were beaming with the thoughts of a lovely journey ahead. On an average day, sleep rules my mind but that night I just wanted to stare out from the window into the dark expase of night mystically lit by the moonlight. The feverish cities had come to a temporary halt in the night. On the way, the shutters of the shops had been drawn down and the roads were a lonesome sight save for a few stray dogs who barked frantically at the approach of our bus.

The wide fields and the gaunt trees stood silently as if basking under the sensual touch of the moonlight. Some rays of the moon streamed inside the bus evoking delightful memories from the other trips in the past. I sat and observed the nature embracing me and helping me connect with myself. For two days i wanted to surrender myself to nature's charms.
I was wide awake till we reached the periphery of the foothills. Soon we were moving round and round and up and down on the snaky roads. The air had suddenly become cooler and the moon was peeping from behind a hill. The little stretch of forest with a dry riverbed seemed to be in a slumber. Now that I had seen everything on the way, I decided to snatch a few moments of sleep. I snuggled up to my friend who had been snoring in contentment, and closed my eyes.

Dehradun bus Depot:4 a.m.

2006-06-15T10:22:00.000-07:00

Everytime I visit hills it turns out to be an entirely different experience. Novel in its own way. Last time when I visited Mussorie I had approached the town as a tourist. This time around I was an acquaintance. Probably the hills liked me so much that they called me back again. So I sauntered in the hilly terrain as if I belonged to them. I showed the places around to my friends as if I knew Mussorie for ages.

Surprise

2006-05-31T00:42:00.000-07:00

That was the day
Strange and gloomy.
Papa tinkered with utensils in the kitchen.
I got my breakfast a little late,
a bottle of sugared milk and a carelessly jammed slice of bread.

I looked at dad with pleading eyes.
with a lump in the throat
'Mumma', said I.
My voice was perhaps too weak to reach his busy ears
waiting for the cooker whistle.
Gently he kept a pillow under my head
and a teddy by my side and scurried off
to try to cook.

I missed the familiar cootchie cooing of mumma
her songs, her endearments, her lullabys.
Her genial presence, her milky-sweaty
heavenly smell.
Dad bathed me and dressed me in a shabby sort of a way
and carried me to an unknown place.

We entered a huge red bricked building
where all and sundry wore pristine white.
we went inside a small room
where my mumma waited with a surprise.

2006-04-19T22:38:00.000-07:00

An Ode to hills

''And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet's wings.''

Years back, while reading a poem by W.B. Yeats these lines had got imprinted on my mind. Thoughts that one treasures, do make an appearance from time to time. Little did I know that these soothing lines were playing hide and seek in my subliminal. The first sight of the mountains, the first daft of the fresh breeze from hills spilled all the sweet memories from the past.

Peace came to me, slowly and coyly like a newly wed damsel. On my way uphill to mussorie, I sat motionless and gaped at the beauty that is nature. My eyes spread out in wonder to capture the silent dance of colour and light on the mighty mountains. How had such heaps of soil risen up to accomodate the ever floating clouds? The sound of our old ambassador gurgled and echoed in the valley. The other noise being the chirruping of unknown birds and the faint music of insects in the thickets.

Days of Childhood

2006-04-04T04:18:00.000-07:00

You have seen me growing old and naughtier.
From the days when life was complete in romping around in lush green fields,
When dusty togs and dirty hair and muddy feet I proudly showed.
When winds moved and water played to the whim of my mischevious spirit.
Or so I thought.

When I rode your archaic scabbed back,
To meet the elusive GOD who lived somewhere
in the ocean of the sky.
To see the harmonious halo of earth around my tiny existence.
A strange joy moved up and down in body with squeaky gyrations of the swing.

Did you know then that I loved you when I knew it not?

When I heard you croon a lullaby as sleep caressed me on your branches.
When I created my first artifacts with your twigs, and flowers and leaves.
When mum made me stand near you on a hot afternoon
as a punishment.
Did you keep a name for me the way I lovingly called you'Robin'

Rain

2006-03-14T01:33:00.000-08:00

Suddenly the age old sky grumbles
and casts a lightining stare.
Elephantine clouds rise and fall
like waves of a typhoon.

Roofs of the houses and streets and roads
turn into favourite picnic spots.
With children romping about and singing
songs and rhymes in gleeful abandon.
Threatening wind.

Banging doors, restless windows
heaps of dust and crackling papers.
And then the marathon powercut.......
when elders talk of bygone days, bygone duststorms
bygone rains and bygone people.

A thunder...and dollops of raindrops fall in an
all embracing frenzy.

2006-03-13T00:46:00.000-08:00