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Archive for the ‘Music’ Category

Sharada, fog of mercy

In Arts, Music, Music, Poem, Social, Women on September 7, 2013 at 7:24 am



lax1

O Sharada!
Your spotless white saree,
wraps your broken shell;
A gauze bandage
covering cigarette-butt burns.
I can’t see ’em,
My injured Goddess.
You hide them just well.



Above the river’s
turbulent waters,
Sunlight drenched,
you dazzle, you float.
A white mist, a fog
Of mercy you wear
like a white cloth.

Your Vina’s
Manicured music,
hides a string-bend,
pulled beyond it’s limits.
I strain to hear it,
O Sharada!
I thought it was music all along.

Are we ecstatic,
In your presence?
Are we blind to your cry?
Do we not hear
That your music
Is one of pain?

Should I lightlax3
My protest vigil candles
At your feet, Sharada?

Or if you so wish
Some fragrant mombattis
May cover the abuse
Just as perfectly as you have
All along.

Wealth and wisdom flow
much like a river gush.
Your discerning swan, though
sinks with a puzzled blush.

Take my eyes off from,
your broken face.
I need a loving smile.
Glossy calendar art,
Focus, help me pray
on godly things.
Of rituals I must complete

Here’s some talcum you may need,
to look just like her.
Take it, my gift to you.
A touch-up, a cover-up.
Sharda, a dab will do.
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Alaipayuthey – My heart’s aflutter

In Carnatic, Music, Poem, Religion on July 7, 2013 at 9:27 pm

 
 
krishna

 
 


Kudamaloor Janardhanan – Flute
 
பல்லவி:

அலை பாயுதே கண்ணா
என் மனம் மிக அலை பாயுதே
உன் ஆனந்த மோஹன வேணுகானமதில்
அலை பாயுதே கண்ணா
உன் ஆனந்த மோஹன வேணுகானமதில்
அலை பாயுதே கண்ணா

Pallavi:

My mind is all aflutter, Oh Krishna, listening to the joyous,
enchanting music of your flute, My mind is all aflutter!

அனுபல்லவி:

நிலை பெயராது சிலை போலவே நின்று
நிலை பெயராது சிலை போலவே நின்று
நேரமாவதறியாமலே
மிக விநோதமான முரளிதரா
என் மனம் அலை பாயுதே
கண்ணா….

Anupallavi:

Transfixed, I stood there like a statue, oblivious of even the passage
of time, hey, mysterious flautist!

சரணம்:

தெளிந்த நிலவு பட்டப் பகல் போல் எரியுதே
திக்கு நோக்கி என்னிரு புருவம் நெரியுதே
கனிந்த உன் வேணுகானம் காற்றில் வருகுதே
கண்கள் சொருகி ஒரு விதமாய் வருகுதே!
தனித்த மனத்தில் உருக்கி பதத்தை
எனக்கு அளித்து மகிழ்த்த வா
ஒரு தனித்த வனத்தில் அணைத்து எனக்கு
உணர்ச்சி கொடுத்து முகிழ்த்தவா!
கணைகடல் அலையினில் கதிரவன் ஒளியென
இணையிரு கழல் எனக்களித்தவா!
கதறி மனமுருகி நான் அழைக்கவா
இதர மாதருடன் நீ களிக்கவோ
இது தகுமோ? இது முறையோ?
இது தருமம் தானோ?
குழல் ஊதிடும் பொழுது ஆடிடிடும்
குழைகள் போலவே
மனது வேதனை மிகவோடு
அலை பாயுதே கண்ணா
என் மனம் மிக அலை பாயுதே
உன் ஆனந்த மோஹன வேணுகானமதில்
அலை பாயுதே கண்ணா
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Babu’s Gents Beauty Barler

In Carnatic, Music, Music, Short Story, Social, Writing Assignments on June 23, 2013 at 10:34 am

 
 

barber5
 

 
I entered the barber shop via a hidden and decrepit side-street. I gently stepped over Jimmy – that lazy dog sprawled across the entrance to the barber shop. It noticed me after I had crossed over and quickly stood up to wag it’s tail enthusiastically. Jimmy, and that included every mongrel here named so, practiced the art of the welcome at the slightest hint it may be required. This was the third Jimmy that stood guard at the steps in the past few years. I acknowledged him by calling it’s name. He must be a barber’s karmic avatar, just like the previous two, unable to break free from the cyclical karmic forces that tied them down to a barber’s shop. He let out a contended high-pitched whine that quickly lowered in pitch to a wide silent yawn as he coiled around himself for comfort and sleep.

I deftly pushed the glass door that had a life-size sticker of a smiling woman’s face with hands clasped in a ‘namaste’ position. This was all Babu the barber had to offer as a receptionist and I was OK by the lack of fanfare here. The banner on top of this shop provided me with gentle amusement. ‘Babu’s Gents Beauty Barler’ it proclaimed, mocking my fine sense of linguistic prowess and shaking my firm opinion on a gender biased cabal and profession. This was good. One already had a sense of psychological trimming-down outside the barber shop; and by means of a reverse meta-physical extrapolation: the real trimming of real overgrown hair awaited inside Babu’s parlous: The haircut.

“Come, come” Babu invited me in with his typical South Indian hospitality, anglicizing a word-pair borrowed from his native tongue – Tamil, that had a general predilection for reduplication. In Tamil, simply stopping with the single word “Come” would have meant giving the guest a partial welcome. An incomplete invitation bordering on business-neutral. Babu’s was different. This was home and it demanded completeness in all words, deeds and actions.

He said that out loud enough to mean a general invitation on behalf of the few contended men sitting inside. I could count at least three of them that were overstaying their welcome that only Babu’s could provide. Each one of them felt obliged at that instance to make light conversation with me sometime during the course of my haircut. A self sustaining bio-sphere of happiness. That was what drew me in. A momentary hypnotizing event, this haircut. I would pick on elements of this parlor, as I reclined on my chair to ruminate on it’s divine purpose within this cozy clam-shell of a barber shop.
rajni5
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Hum Ko Man Ki Shakti Dena

In Music, Music, Poem on May 21, 2013 at 12:10 pm

 
 

humko
 

Album Title: Divinity 4 – Spiritual Music for Peace
Artists: Akhlak Hussain, Ashit Desai, Rakesh Chaurasia (Flute), Sunil Das (Sitar), Ulhas Bapat (Santoor)
 
 
Hum Ko Man Ki Shakti Dena
 
This very popular devotional and sacred song is from the 1971 movie Guddi. This Hindi film song is sung as morning prayer song, in many schools across India. Lyrics by Gulzar, composed by the late legendary Vasant Desai in raaga “Kedar” and sung by the child prodigy Vani Jayaram. This song won several national awards at the time.

divider2
 
 
हम को मन की शक्ति देना, मन विजय करे
दूसरों की जय से पहले, खुद को जय करे

O Lord, grant me strength of mind and heart, that it may be victorious
Before I persuade another to victory, help me master and dominate my self

भेदभाव अपने दिल से साफ़ कर सके
दोस्तों से भूल हो तो माफ़ कर सके
झूठ से बचे रहे, सच का दम भरे
दूसरों की जय से पहले, खुद को जय करे

Let my heart not discriminate
Let my heart be forgiving
Save me from that which is untrue, and let truth prevail
Before I persuade another to victory, help me master and dominate my self

मुश्किलें पड़े तो हम पे इतना कर्म कर
साथ दे तो धर्म का, चले तो धर्म कर
खुद पे हौसला रहे, बदी से ना डरे
दूसरों की जय से पहले, खुद को जय करे

If I find myself on a difficult path, do this much for me:
Walk with me if my cause is right,
and if I must walk, then assure me my cause is right,
That I do not lose faith in myself, and fear no evil
Before I persuade another to victory, help me master and dominate my self

 
 
Notes
 

  1. I took some liberties in this translation. This line in particular, posed an interesting challenge:

    दूसरों की जय से पहले, खुद को जय करे

    From a Christian perspective: Jesus tells his disciples “remove the beam from your eyes before you plan on removing the speck from your brother’s eyes”. His tone here is one of admonishment.

    Gulzar however, puts a positive spin to the judgementalism in this verse. I find that very interesting. Maybe he meant it to be child-friendly? I translated it thus:

    Before I persuade another to victory, help me master and dominate my self

 
 

 

Other poems
tucker raghu vatican2
Aaj jaane ki zid na karo Hey Bhagwan – Raghu Dixit Aye Maalik Tere Bande Hum

 
 
 

Aye Maalik Tere Bande Hum

In Arts, Music, Music, Poem, Religion on May 18, 2013 at 7:27 am

 
 
ankhen
 
 
The song ‘Aye Maalik Tere Bande Hum’ is from the 1957 classic Do Aankhen Barah Haath directed by V. Shantaram The song pleads for the strength to be virtuous, embraces death as a reality, accepts human fraility, and implores God to take all our sins and weaknesses. The lyricist Bharat Vyas penned this eternal classic.
 

 
Album Title: Divinity 4 – Spiritual Music for Peace

Artists: Akhlak Hussain, Ashit Desai, Rakesh Chaurasia (Flute), Sunil Das (Sitar), Ulhas Bapat (Santoor)

divider2
 
 

ऐ मालिक तेरे बन्दे हम
ऐसे हों हमारे करम
नेकी पर चलें और बदी से टलें,
ताकि हंसते हुए निकले दम

O Lord, you are our creator
Our deeds are the outcome of
a righteous path we walk and evil we shun
we smile fulfilled till our last breath
O Lord, you are our creator

बड़ा कमज़ोर है आदमी,
अभी लाखों हैं इसमें कमी
पर तू जो खड़ा, है दयालू बड़ा
तेरी किरपा से धरती थमी
दिया तूने हमें जब जनम
तू ही झेलेगा हम सबके ग़म
नेकी पर…

Frail is the human being
With a million shortcomings
But you who stands tall, is forgiving
The world exists by your grace
You who breathed life into us
Will surely bear our burdens?

जब ज़ुल्मों का हो सामना,
तब तू ही हमें थामना
वो बुराई करें, हम भलाई भरें
नहीं बदले की हो कामना
बढ़ उठे प्यार का हर कदम,
और मिटे बैर का ये भरम
नेकी पर…

When put to the test
O Lord, hold us firm
To our evil-doers, we are kind
May there be no desire for revenge
May every step ahead be for love
May every thought of enmity be wiped

ये अंधेरा घना छा रहा,
तेरा इंसान घबरा रहा
हो रहा बेखबर, कुछ न आता नज़र
सुख का सूरज छुपा जा रहाहै
तेरी रोशनी में जो दम
तो अमावस को कर दे पूनम
नेकी पर…

The world is engulfed in darkness
Your creation is afraid
He is uninformed and blind
The light of peace and happiness is hidden from him
Such is the strength of your presence,
a moonless night glows bright

 

The original song The movie online

 
 
Notes

  1. First translation to the prayer
  2. I saw a bit of Akira Kurosawa in this classic. An early part of Bollywood history, effectively indigenizing a western media/format with song and dance. The song presented here, is woven as part of the movie’s fabric, not in isolation but very much part of the story. It’s as memorable a hook, by Indian sensibilities, as say the theme in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.
  3. Some Kurosawa elements in this Shantaram movie:
     
    The season as guide: Shantaram takes his convicts into a barren place. With the fury of the summer sun giving way to the joy that rain and spring brings, he highlights the transformation of beasts to men.

    Wilderness meets Village: Like Kurosawa, Shantaram toys with civilization meeting the frontier. This is a cusp where rules are flexed. It throws up surprises. The frontier convict does not know how to handle a villager.

    Ambiguous ally: The convicts are reluctant participants of an idealists’ open air freedom project to reform prisoners. They actually want to kill him and escape to freedom.

    Challenges to change: Shantaram gets deeper here. His convicts have not experienced freedom in a long while, and so when offered it, they cannot sleep in peace. They tie their legs with heavy weights, so it feels like regular leg irons, thus inducing “normalcy”

    Fake Opponent: The seller of toys is their unwilling partner. She turns around and imposes higher moral standards that the convicts adhere to without much resistance

    Sacrificial leader: The protagonist eventually gives up his life in saving the work of the convicts. He trades his life for his ideals.

    The transforming talisman: The idealist’s two eyes are looked upon as the watchful eyes of a jail warden, ensuring that the convicts do not escape. This trope in the end transforms itself in the eyes of the convicts. They no longer look at it as eyes that will catch them doing wrong, but as benevolent eyes that look down from the heavens to protect them.

    There is another transforming talisman: the dead tree: The convicts after their morning ablutions at a tank, take mouthful of water and spit water on a dead tree, more in jest than anything else. In the end, this tree grows leaves and becomes a beautiful blossoming tree. The convicts take flowers from this tree and gift it to the superintendent of police. This tree represents themselves. Society spits on these convicts as murderers and cheats. In the end, they are transformed to become useful citizens of the same society that ostracized them.

    Of deeper psychological interest are the talismans: Not only does the talisman transform the convict, it transforms itself, or in how it is being viewed over a period of time.

 
 
 

Other poems
tucker raghu vatican2
Aaj jaane ki zid na karo Hey Bhagwan – Raghu Dixit Hum Ko Man Ki Shakti Dena

 
 
 
 

The anklet bells went dead

In Carnatic, Music, Music, Political, Short Story, Social, Women on April 20, 2013 at 11:04 pm

 
 
 

anklet3

 
 

Bhanu Devi left the small water tap running while she scrubbed off the dried-up blobs of henna paste on her palms and feet. As the olive green henna dregs, washed away on the white tiles of a dimly lit bathroom, an intricate bloody-red pattern emerged on her palms and feet. She reminisced on her own wedding preparations of a long time ago.

“Not even a mosquito should find an open spot to land” demanded her mother to the one applying the henna design, a day prior to her wedding, some three decades ago.

With that, the design grew even more intricate. Bhanu Devi snapped out of this dreamy haze when she heard foot steps behind her.

“Don’t waste the water” said Meera Bai the prison warden, rather stiffly.

Bhanu Devi looked at her palms. They were flush red with the henna design. Yes, they were intricate. Yes, a mosquito will find it difficult to find an open spot to land. She turned her palms over to reveal an equally red finger tip and nails. She weaved her fingers together and imagined herself as a dead corpse. She would make a pretty one, she thought. She shut the tap, picked up her white saree and gave it a quick wiggle. She was prepared to die.

Meera Bai escorted her back to her cell. It was too early for the other prison mates to be awake. It was 3:00 AM on a cold Tihar jail Thursday morning, and Bhanu Devi’s anklet bells proved an insufficient wake-up ringtone for the deep sleepers. She passed Rupali the prayerful, Mohsina the beautician, Savitri the musician and Jamila the vaastu expert. The anklet bells were Savitri the musician’s idea. They were all behind bars, they were all fast asleep. They knew each other for more than a decade now. They were the survivors who lived past an alarming mortality rate in this notorious maximum security prison for hardened criminals. She stopped at her tracks, as she felt a tug at her saree. She looked down. It was Jamila the vaastu expert, kneeling down, one hand holding the prison bar and the other, Bhanu Devi’s white saree.

“Face east, you will attain moksha” she whispered fiercely. Having said that she let out a loud wail and started crying.

Just the previous night, Mohsina the beautician applied the henna on Bhanu Devi’s hands and feet. She was constantly reminded of her brief as the rest of the girls giggled – “Not even a mosquito should find an open spot to land”

Rupali the prayerful, read from the scriptures, but they did not have the patience to hear it. So she slipped into a love triangle Bollywood potboiler. “Rupali, tell us what you would have done, if you caught your husband cheating?” They actually knew it in great detail, and needed nothing to jog their memories. This unusual night was a last supper of sorts, and it threw up unusual questions. They already knew that Rupali had made it impossible to find any trace of the victim – her cheating husband, and his illicit lover, some two decades ago.

“Let us not dwell in a past where we can never find redemption. Memory only serves to confirm our rotten selves.” Rupali slipped into a simple sermon to an attentive audience of four that night. “Only action is a great redeemer, hence let us do good deeds”

Bhanu Devi leaned forward to clutch Rupali, but stopped abruptly realizing that she had pasty henna on her hands. “Thank you for keeping me alive in this dark world”

Mohsina the beautician pulled her gently back and signaled to Savitri the musician to wipe the tears from Bhanu Devi’s face “Just dab, not wipe. We do not want the kajal to smear the entire face”

Savitri the musician made it abundantly clear that the anklet bells be of the seventh note of the swaras. The “Nishadha” or the high pitched “ni” of the musical scale. “Nothing else would do” she had mentioned to Lalu the pimp, who was a tone deaf gate-keeper of prisons, and got it right after the fifth try. “Ni, you bloody idiot!” yelled Savitri the musician loudly into his ears. “Ni, Ni, Ni, SaRiGaMaPaDhaNi, Ni, Ni, get it?”

Lalu, finally got it by sheer luck. It was the luck of trial-and-error. The anklet bells matched the damned “Ni”, a high-frequency note that Savitri the musician swore you could hear from the other side of the universe. It was her damned idea, that this high pitched note, could be heard loud and clear from a distance. Even from the gallows, that is.

Jamila the vaastu expert, gasped for breath, by which time everybody was awake. “Do not worry darling, we are with you!” cried somebody in the dark and it was clear it was a male voice.

Bhanu Devi walked the 240 steps north, 300 steps east, up a small staircase of 5 steps, 34 steps right and across the multi-faith temple-mosque-church for lost causes to arrive at the gallows. “Hey, Bhagwan!” said the hangman as he nervously slipped the black mask over her face and proceeded to tighten the noose that he hoped would not fail. He was no professional hangman. But they said they will pay him Rs.5,000 if he gets it right. They forgot to tell him it would be a woman though. India’s first woman to be hanged to death. “Beyond rarest-of-rare cases” he thought to himself as he pulled the lever.

Bhanu Devi slumped out of sight and into the dark gallows. She did make a valiant attempt to jangle the anklets in the depths to produce the “Ni” that Savitri assured would reach their ears. That she had moved on from this world to another.

“Did you hear that?” asked Savitri at around 5:01 AM that fateful Thursday morning. That high pitched “Ni” reached her ears.

Three times before it went dead.

 
 
 
Notes

  1. Pranab clears way for first-ever hanging of a woman
  2. Vijay Madhav’s cover – ARR’s Uyire/Tu Hi Re
  3. The Death Penalty Worldwide
  4. “It’s like living in a graveyard.”
  5. Dearth of hangmen in India

 
 
 

 

Other Short Stories
bharathi raghu pieta
A Delivery in the Slow Mail Lesson One – Mayamalavagowla Gudiya – A doll that saved me

 
 

 

Lesson One – Mayamalavagowla

In Arts, Carnatic, Music, Music on April 14, 2013 at 4:20 pm

 
 
Mayamalavagowla
 
 
 
I am a closet guitarist. When the institute where I train, offered me a chance to take a few free classes, I asked more out of a whim: you wouldn’t happen to teach carnatic vocals, do you?

Laxman, the institute manager, swiveled around in his chair towards a girl seated next to him and gave her two thumbs up. Then he swiveled back towards me with the same two thumbs lifted in elation. Responding to my quizzical look, he said, throwing a glance at the girl –

The teacher just accepted our offer to join us, about five minutes back! Your classes begin next week

I gauged her to be a pleasant 20-something. Every teacher here at this institute, was a 20-something and she fit in like a glove. It was me that was a bit fossilized at the edges.

I have been enjoying carnatic music for a long time. I remember it playing on our Murphy vacuum-tube-valve-radio of my childhood. It would entice me with it’s green-glowing magic-eye, like a firefly on a dark night. All India Radio ruled our house. A time before the advent of television. The gadgets of today appear to be post-armageddon by comparison! But I had never taken any formal carnatic vocal classes.

Armed with an old memory of having bagged a first prize for western style singing, a stainless steel lunch box, that we later etched my name on (for posterity, joked a sibling), I caved in to a heady rhetorical question – Why not?

I sharpened my two HB pencils and put it inside my soft leather pencil pouch. I threw in the sharpener and an eraser for good measure. Just in case we need that. There might be a lot of note taking. Don’t want to be caught without the correct instruments of this trade. I went to class with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. The guitar, on the other hand, was a safe bet, a familiar territory, do some fly-by strumming and pass off as an incorrigible junkie. Vocals sounded plain defeating. I was setting myself up for a grand fall here.

I waited for a few minutes inside our sound-proof audio room. Simple mercies, this soundproofing. I do not want the entire world to listen in!.

Did you guys meet yet? Laxman stopped by to ask.

No, I said, somewhat relieved.

She probably did not recognize you, he said, and went in search of her.

Why don’t we keep it that way? I thought, fidgeting nervously with my notebook.

Inside my head, I am a smart-aleck.  Outside, I wasn’t so sure.

She barges in, while I am still appreciating the sound-proofing materials.

Hello, how are you, I inquired in my super-cool natural voice.

I did put on a brave front till she asked me to sing. I gulped some much needed oxygen.

Did I hear that right? Me? Sing? I flatly refused to sing, to which she said –

You have to, or we will never know your pitch!

I thought to myself – She is forcing me to sing, is this even legal?

I do all this thinking, but she is firm in her demands.

I did some quick thinking and took out my mobile with a flourish. Brilliant, I’ll just sing-along. I played a carnatic tune by Karthik.

Big mistake.

I cannot sing like Karthik. I cannot breathe like Karthik. I am no Karthik. Here is what my mobile played:

 
 

 
 

The silly machine assumed that I will adhere to pure gold standards. Wrong!

I started off with my eyes closed. Closing ones eyes during such times is a very cool ostrich trick. I felt I had sound-proofed myself from eternal damnation. After about a minute that seemed to have lasted forever, I opened my eyes, expecting her to have run away or disappeared from the audio room.

But there she was. Unmoved. Unsympathetic. Not a trace of humor to break the embarrassment, in the relentless pursuit of music and it’s teaching.

The demolition was complete. Vestiges of my self-respect were visibly floating around the audio room. I coughed silently. Mostly to comfort myself.

I don’t remember all of the other details in this one hour session, as the carnatic vocabulary fell on me like a Chennai torrent on a tin roof. Thankfully, all bad things come to an end too. She proffered a hand-shake in the end and then introduces herself. Interesting, I thought to myself. She first icily demolishes, then she warms up.

The next day after my vocal misadventure, I open my notebook over a cup of coffee in the morning. Trying to remember what I had learned and hoping my note-taking will rescue me from a quickly fading memory. A near-blank first page greeted me, and one word, scribbled hastily on it, stared back at me – Mayamalavagowla.

Just one word.

I was overly equipped with assorted accouterments to scribble this one raga’s name in a notebook of 100 pages. The lessons must have glided smoothly over my head, for me to have trapped just one butterfly in an hour. I have work to do. This is a beginner’s raga. It should have had an easy two-syllable name. I’d have named it Ma-ya.

Oh! why did they have to complicate it?
 
 
Here is Professor Mysore Nagamani Srinath teaching her students Mayamalavagowla. Great for practice, I listen to her while driving, and practice with the windows rolled-up!
 
 

 
 
 
 

Other Short Stories
bharathi pieta pieta
The anklet bells went dead
Gudiya – A doll that saved me A Delivery in the Slow Mail

 
 

 

Calling Muruga

In Media, Music, Poem, Religion on April 6, 2013 at 2:42 pm

 
 
lord_murugan
 
 
 


 
Koovi Azhaithal, Poet Vaalee, Valaji Ragam, Aadhi Thala
 
 

Pallavi
 
Koovi azhaithAl kural koduppAn, Kumaran,
Param kundram Eri nindrA KumarA, endru…

The one who stands tall on the divine hill,
will listen to my cry

 
Anupallavi
 
poovidhazh malarndharuL punnagai purivAn,
puNNiyam seidorkku kaNNedhiril terivAn (Koovi…)

He blesses with a blossoming flower-like smile,
He appears in front of them,
who perform good deeds,

 
Charanam
 
Deviyar iruvar, mEviya guhane,
thingalai anindha Shankaran magane
pAvalar yAvarum pAdiya vEndhanai,
pon mayil Eridum Shanmugha nAdhane (Koovi…)

Oh Guha, loved by two divine damsels,
Oh Son of the God bathed in moonlight,
Oh King, every great poet sings your praise,
Oh Lord Shanmuga, mounted on a golden peacock

 
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Pieta Carnatic

In Arts, Music, Music, Poem, Religion, Women on March 30, 2013 at 6:42 am

 
 
PIETA
 
 
A Good Friday reflection, set to the Carnatic raaga, Jounpuri. Aadi taalam
 
Mahakavi Bharathiyar, wrote this poem when he had misplaced a photograph of his mother. He pines to see her face again. I have set this poem and it’s lyrics to the sorrow of a mother who has just lost her son.
 
The Shroud of Turin, was made public after 40 years. It is assumed to be an image of Jesus. Mostly wrapped in controversy and mystery! Pope Emeritus, Benedict XVI, signed it’s public viewing, beginning Good Friday 29th March, 2013. The need to see a picture of the divine christ, bears an uncanny but easy human parallel to the poet’s intense need to recover his mother’s picture. It is this intense need that keeps the Shroud of Turin very real for many believers of the faith, irrespective of what science confirms as true or untrue.
 
Good Friday commemorates the death of Jesus. Pieta is a marble statue of Michaelangelo that depicts a limp and dead son in his mother’s arms. I wonder if these words of the Mahakavi, did not pass through a grieving mother’s mind?
 

 
 
Aasaimugam marantho pochey,

Alas, I have forgotten love’s very face,

idhai yaaridam solven adi thozhi;

My grief is unbearable, my friend;

Nesam marakavillai nenjam,

My heart remembers the tender affections,

enil Ninaivu mugam marakalaamo;

Memory cannot fail me now;

Kannil theriyuthoru thotram,

I perceive him in my mind’s eye,

athil Kannan azhagu muzhuthillai

But I fail to capture his beauty in full;

Nannu mugavadivu kaanil, andha

and I find his eyes,

Nallavalla sirippai kaanom;

Wanting of his winsome smile;

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@Pontifex Habemus Papum Franciscum – We have Pope Francis – Part II

In Music, Religion on March 14, 2013 at 9:00 am

pope1
Jorge Mario Bergoglio of Argentina was elected in a surprise choice to be the new leader of the troubled Roman Catholic Church on Wednesday, taking the name Francis and becoming the first non-European pontiff in nearly 1,300 years.

[When I penned the part preceding this segment, four months ago, I ended it with a quote from St. Francis of Assisi.  That quote and the saint proved to be accidentally prescient!]

He takes his papal name from a thirteenth century frair – St. Francis of Assisi. St. Francis took to a vow of poverty and preached the gospel in street corners. He is known as the patron saint of animals, the environment, and is one of the two patron saints of Italy. He took to nursing lepers in Assisi. After a pilgrimage to Rome, where he joined the poor in begging at the doors of the churches, he said he had a mystical vision of Jesus Christ, in which the Icon of Christ Crucified said to him,

Francis, Francis, go and repair My house which, as you can see, is falling into ruins.

He took this to mean the ruined church in which he was presently praying, and so he sold some cloth from his father’s store to assist the priest there for this purpose.

A very touching prayer attributed to him is the hymn Make me a channel of your peace. This rendition of his prayer by Sinead O’Connor, to me represents an acute pain that needs to be healed now:

escher-saint-francis-pope-2

Make me a channel of your peace:

Where there is hatred, let me bring your love,
Where there is injury, your pardon, Lord,
And where there’s doubt true faith in you.

Make me a channel of your peace:
Where there’s despair in life, let me bring hope,
Where there is darkness, only light,
And where there’s sadness, ever joy.

O Master, grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved, as to love with all my soul!



Make me a channel of your peace:
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
In giving of ourselves that we receive,
And in dying that we are born to eternal life.


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The Pearl Fishers of Mani Ratnam’s “Kadal”

In Arts, Movie Reviews, Music, Music, Place, Religion on February 10, 2013 at 9:43 am

A brief history of Christians in coastal Tamil Nadu

manapad_boats

A picturesque Manapad, the cradle of coastal Christianity in Tamil Nadu.

ஏலே கீச்சான் வெந்தாச்சு – நம்ம சூச பொண்ணும் வந்தாச்சு ஹே ஈசா வரம் பொழிஞ்சாச்சு Mate, the tiger fish curry is done cooking and Joseph’s girl is here. Jesus has showered his blessings
Elay = Mate; Keechan = Tigerfish, freshwater fish available in Tuticorin and Cuddalore Joseph’s girl = Mary. In this case Beatrice

This opening title song Elay Keechan, immediately brings to mind a certain people.  Elay and Yekki are how you would address a boy or a girl in this coastal town.  It’s a corruption of the Portuguese terms Ela and Equ.

How did the Portuguese come to influence the language, culture and religion of the fishermen here? 

Mani Ratnam’s latest movie Kadal is about a fisherman from a village close to Tuticorin called Manapad.  This is of immense interest to me, as I consider the place my cultural roots.  Having grown up in bigger cities all my life, I always come back here, to figure out what makes me me. That journey of self-discovery is absolutely thrilling.  I wanted to see if Mani Ratnam added to my understanding of myself through this movie.

Let me introduce my cultural heritage to you then, via a popular song.  A 1973 movie Do Phool saw Mehmood singing and dancing to a funny Tamil song.  The Hindi speaking population ingloriously mutilated a Tamil song in Muthu Kodi Kawari Hada much less understood what it meant.  Apparently Mehmood used to love mimicking Nagesh and Asha Bhosle loved LR Eswari and the song and dance in Do Phool was a remake of another tamil song called Muthu Kullika Varigala from a 1967 Tamil movie:  Anubhavi Raja Anubhavi.  

What does Muthu Kulikka Vaarigala mean?

Muthu Kulikka Vaarigala,  in Tamil means Do you want to go deep sea fishing to harvest oysters for pearls?

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Krishna Nee Begane Baro – Colonial Cousins

In Music, Poem on December 9, 2012 at 7:18 am

muslimTank

The picture above is that of a Muslim offering Friday prayers in Egypt’s Tahrir Square. A daybreak sojourn in a standoff between Mubarak’s military and the citizens during Arab Spring’s defining moment.

India’s brand of secularism is facing extensive challenges. The three religions that have existed in harmony for centuries are wondering if there are new equations for co-existence.  There seems to be an uncouth political stimuli meddling with these equations and shaking the foundation of peace on which all the religions are founded on.

The Colonial Cousins powerhouse duo of Hariharan and Leslie Lewis, picked up a traditional Carnatic composition of Vyasaraya Tirtha in the raaga Yamuna Kalyani.  This song is in the Kannada language and it simply means “Krishna, please hurry and come my way”.  The pleading for Krishna’s intervention to help overcome life’s challenges, appears to be the last vestige of forgotten prayers for the modern world.

They have drawn on the traditions of all three of these religions to render an uplifting melody and thought.

  

  

Krishna nee begane baro
krishna nee begane baro

Darkness coming round
And everybody fighting with their brothers
Everybody wants control
Don’t hesitate to kill one another
So come back as Jesus
Come back and save the world
That’s all the future
Of every boy and girl
Come back as Rama
Forgive us for what we’ve done
Come back as Allah
Come back as anyone

Krishna nee begane baro
krishna nee begane baro

Religion is the reason
The world is breaking up into pieces
Colour of the people
Keeps us locked in hate please release us
hmm..

So come down and help us
Save all the little ones
They need a teacher
And you are the only one
We can rely on
To build a better world
A world that’s for children
A world that’s for everyone

Krishna nee begane baro
Krishna nee begane baro

Time is the healer
Time moves on
Time don’t wait for anyone
You tell you’ll be back
But that will take some time
I’m waiting…
ahh……
I’m waiting…
Waiting…
I’m waiting…
I’m waiting
Yea…. Yea…
Come back as Jesus
Come back and save the world
We need a teacher
You are the only one
Come back as Rama
Forgive us for what we’ve done
Come back as Allah
Come back as anyone

Krishna nee begane baro
Krishna nee begane baro

Jesus!
Come back and save the world
That’s all the future
Of every boy and girl
Come back as Rama
Forgive us for what we’ve done
Come back as Allah
Come back for everyone

Govinda bolo hare Gopal bolo….
Alleluia!

  
  
While the above is a fusion rendition, here is one by K. S. Chitra in it’s classic form.
  

  

Aaj jaane ki zid na karo – Urdu poetry by Faiyaz Hashmi

In Arts, Music, Music, Poem on October 29, 2012 at 1:45 am

Once in a while you hear a soul stirring rendition that stops you on your tracks.  That makes you forget your past and your future.  Actually makes you forget the present too!

This piece here is breathtaking for multiple reasons.  The singer Rohini Ravada, the clarinetist Shankar Tucker, the Urdu poet Faiyaz Hashmi collude to bring time to a standstill.

Faiyaz Hashmi’s innate genius is on display here:  taking what appear to be commonplace words and infusing them with extraordinary depth of meaning.

Shankar Tucker is an American jazz clarinetist who has successfully crossed genres:  Western and Indian.  That’s no easy feat considering the fact that Western jazz accords an unrestricted freedom and Indian classical music has it’s incredible but inspiring restrictions! An accomplished Hindustani and Carnatic musician, he studied under the classical Hindustani bamboo flutist Pundit Hariprasad Chaurasia.  Shankar calls Chennai home, but is globally popular for his YouTube videos at ShrutiBox, and locally much sought after by his India fans during his India tours.

Yes, he loves the Kolavari song, especially the nadaswaram piece and mimics it “pa pa pa pam” with a smile.  Cross over artist, he must be!
 

 
 

आज जाने की ज़िद न करो
यूं ही पहलू में बैठे रहो
हाय मर जायेंगे हम तो लुट जायेंगे
ऐसी बातें किया न करो

Do not leave me
Come, stay by my side
I think I’ll die, or be lost, if
you insist on leaving me tonight

तुम ही सोचो ज़रा क्यूँ न रोके तुम्हें
जान जाती है जब उठके जाते हो तुम
तुम को अपनी क़सम जान-ऐ-जान
बात इतनी मेरी मान लो

Think for a moment
Why wouldn’t I stop you? Because,
every time you leave me, I am left lifeless
Listen to this one request of mine,
Don’t insist on leaving me tonight

वक़्त की क़ैद में ज़िंदगी है मगर
चन्द घड़ियाँ यही हैं जो आज़ाद हैं
इन को खो कर मेरी जान-ऐ-जान
उम्र भर न तरसते रहो
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