My Shield

Just a few days back I'd written something about the benefit of hindsight. But, the prominence of that phrase has started sinking in only now as it is going to be a fortnight since my dad passed away and to get over the grief and to soak up my  tears I am making futile attempts to remember the tiffs, fights, grudges etc. that I had with or against him, but somehow they do not sustain beyond a few seconds and soon they are overlapped by happy and positive memories that make the other things look frivolous.

One incident that comes to my mind happened when I went to write my Final year B. Com exam in a college as a private student (i.e. someone who studies sitting at home or attending private classes and goes to college just to write the final exams). That year the college had appointed a new person as the in-charge of Examination, who obviously wasn't familiar with my needs. So, when he saw my dad carry me inside followed by my scribe, he refused to make me sit in my usual seat in the library or any other place on the ground floor saying that the other students writing exams will get disturbed or they would write whatever I dictated to my scribe. He made dad carry me up to the second floor searching for an empty classroom. I could sense that he was panting and sweating profusely, this made me upset and I told him if they make you carry me any further I don't want to write the exam. He was in an unusually upbeat mood that day and told me just to think of the paper that I was going to write and leave the rest to him, adding that he had the strength to carry me to the terrace of the building.

Luckily things cooled down and from the next day I was provided a seat in a corner in the library.  Now, if I think about it I feel that I wouldn't have graduated if my dad had mentioned he was tired or fed up of the circus that he was made to do with me.

There are many more such incidents where dad proved to be my shield or saviour when the whole world seemed to be against me, yet he never boasted about the greatness of his action or made me feel that he had done something extraordinary for my sake.

PS: you can read more about my dad here,  here,  and see his one more picture here.

Cadbury Shots – for Pappa

I miss the Cadbury Shots and other assorted candies

that you popped into my mouth as soon as I settled in the auto

after work.

You for me were never the celebrated hero that people make you out be;

just because you made a man out of a son like me.

Never ever you indicated that it was something out of the ordinary.

As Preachers say Life must go on

and I promise you that I'll do my best to cope without you.

But, wherever you are, be sure that you're missed here Pappa.

I wished to hold on to you

I wished to hold on to you a little longer

and caress your cheeks

I wished to hold on to you a little longer

to tell you everything, good and bad,

that happened to me after you left

I wished to hold on to you a little longer

and look into your eyes to see if I still

existed there as a happy memory.

Second visit to the Biennale

At the Aspinwall House.

In front of the work of Vivek Vilasini.

With Sendhil

With Raju

Sendhil with a headless Raju

Discussing about how to be in my frame with their heads intact

All Smiles

At Ease (before Raju got punctured carrying me to the first floor a few times)

The Unholy Trinity

Details of the First Visit to the Biennale are here.

The Ghost Writer

We may never judge a book by its cover because it is nailed into our heads even before we begin to learn the nursery rhymes. But, what happens when you have seen the film based on a book and that too a gripping one? You go to the book expecting to be in line with the film, maybe little clearer and the characters etched with more depth and empathy; that is all. No, not at all! You be ready to be surprised and even shocked as the book takes a totally different trajectory or to another realm.

This was the feeling I'd while reading  The Ghost Writer (the American imprint of The Ghost as published in the UK) by Robert Harris, which is adapted into a film by Roman Polanski.

The story is political thriller where a nameless London based ghost writer (the book is narrated in first person by the writer himself without ever letting out his real name), who is called into to finish the work on the memoirs of the former Prime Minister Adam Lang (a character said be based on Tony Blair), when the man working on them is found dead just a month before the deadline for submitting the manuscript to the publishers. So, the Ghost heads to the USA to be with Adam Lang and his team holed up in Martha's Vineyard in Massachusetts, the summer holiday home of the rich publisher Martin S. Rhinehart to finish the book. Obviously, the sailing isn't smooth as the Ghost had expected. First, the manuscript he has been given to work with is bland and needs overhauling. Second, Lang is very reluctant to open up about is youth and his years in Cambridge, and, there is discrepancy in what Lang says about his entry into politics and the actual version as the Writer finds out through his research. There is more to come in terms of thriller and conspiracy theory.

The film starring Pierce Brosnan as Adam Lang and Ewan McGregor in the title role is loyal to the book as far as the thriller part of the story.

But, what I loved about the book is the fact that at least half of it is a writer's manual, a ghost writer's manual to be precise without the dreaded 'Do it yourself' exercise with the process of writing dealt with in detail; from drawing the Contract to how to present yourself in front of your subject. Everyone of the seventeen chapters begins with a quote from Andrew Crofts' seminal book titled Ghostwriting thereby giving direction about how the story will move in the said chapter.

Couple of interesting passages from the book:

All good books are different but all bad books are exactly the same.

Of all human activities, writing is the one for which it is easiest to find excuses not to begin – the desk's too big, the desk's too small, there is too much noise, there is too much quiet, it's too hot, too cold, too early, too late. I had learned over the years to ignore them all, and simply start.

A book unwritten is a delightful universe of infinite possibilities. Set down one word, however, and immediately it becomes earthbound. Set down one sentence and it's halfway to being just like every other bloody book that's ever been written. But the best must never be allowed to drive out the good. In the absence of genius there is always craftmanship. One can at least try to write something which will arrest the reader's attention – which will encourage them, after reading the first paragraph, to take a look at the second, and then the third.This in no way means that this book is very high funda or technical; it can be enjoyed by anyone who is interested in listening to a good story.

PS. Searching for this book was an experience in itself. It was last year in Bengaluru; I went into an upmarket book-store and asked for this book. At least half a dozen of sale-people converged around me and virtually emptied the whole of the 'Horror' section on my lap. Ma and my sister-in-law had a hard time explaining to them that I wasn't interested in horror stories but just wanted a novel titled The Ghost written by Robert Harris. In the end, they themselves had to dig it out from somewhere for me.

KK’s Death Anniversary, Panipuri, A Birthday Party & Many More Memories

I was lucky yesterday (13th Oct) to hear Singer Srinivas live in concert commemorating the 22nd Death Anniversary of Kishore Kumar.

As always, I was nearly an hour late in reaching the venue, and could hear the last strains of one of favourites Mere Dil Mein Aaj Kya Hai from the film Daag, when Dad was taking me out of the Autorickshaw.

And, by the time I reached my seating place another of my favourites Jeevan Se Bhari Teri Aankhen from Safar came to an end.

Momentarily, I became sad thinking that how many of such gems I’d missed. But, it just passed over as the next song began; like that there were at least two and half dozen more songs in store, none less likeable or favourite than the previous.

My day was made when my request for Meri Bhigi Bhigi Si, a song from Anamika was entertained. Srinivas sang the first stanza without any support from the orchestra because they had not practised it.

I remember the day Kishore Kumar died in 1987 very well. We were celebrating my cousin Sagar’s 9th birthday (he become a very vital part of my life in following years as he wrote most of my exams from Plus I to the completion of my Degree). Ma had prepared Panipuri and Falooda. We were in the kitchen enjoying. I heard Kishore Kumar ka Dheant from the TV; made Ma run out for getting the details, “it was heart attack beta”, she said and continued serving us.

At that moment none of us realised that we’d just lost a legend.

Here is an interesting write-up about Anamika by my friend BG.

A Trip Down The Memory Lane

My Chaddi (childhood) friend SJL, who has committed himself to improve my internet chat vocabulary for the last few years forwarded the video of Mile Sur Mera Tumhara yesterday while chatting.

SJL sometimes becomes a philosopher and a guide too – adding ghee to my Khayali Pulav (loose translation: Pulav cooked in imagination only). Once from a distant corner in US of A he said that he missed his childhood in Alleppy. I said I did not miss anything about childhood as I am happier now than I was in my childhood.

He gave me a technique: first go back ten years – you’ll know what you’re missing now. Then follow the same exercise and go back twenty years.

He proved his point by sending this video.

The memories it refreshed are:

(The person appearing in video – the memories he/she refreshed).

01) Pt. Bhim Sen Joshi – the Dharwadi maestro who ran away from home over a fight with his father for an extra spoon of ghee in the rice.

02) Narendra Hirwani – the leg-spinner whose sixteen wicket haul in the Madras test to level the series against West Indies – Viv Richards’ Only Vimal Ad – Neena Gupta – my memory is going berserk, so stop here.

03) Kamal Hasan – Michael Madan Kama Rajan & Apoorva Sahodarargal – in Galaxy Theatre my brother had a minor scuffle with a drunkard because he responded “why do you bring sick people in the theatre?” when requested to exchange seats (in a houseful theatre) so my brother could sit with me while watching MMKR – and, of course Sundari Neeum Sundaran Njanum.

04) Deepa Sahi – Hero Hiralal with Naseerudin Shah.

05) Dina Pathak – Golmaal.

06) Tanuja – Kajol in Bekhudi, it was released during that period; I was wondering why everyone was praising this loud girl, but started liking her later.

07) Waheeda Raheman – Guide, when I read the book, I was disappointed; they had given a lousy treatment to the story. It was Raju’s story in the book and they made Rosy’s film.

08) Dr. M. Balamuralikrishna – Spirit of Unity Concerts on Doordarshan.

09) Ramanathan Krishnan – Ramesh Krishnan beating Mats Wilander in the initial rounds of Australian Open once.

10) Amitabh Bachchan – Manmohan Desai’s Ganga Jamuna Saraswati & Toofan.

11) Mithun Chakravarthy – Watan Ke Rakhwale – he climbing a vertical wall like a monkey and singing I want to beat somebody with Neelam.

12) Jeetendra – a poor remake of Rajavinte Makan (don’t remember the name)

Random thoughts:

Those days listening to Prime Minister’s speech from the Red Fort on the Independence Day and repeating Jai Hind after him was the most important thing to do.

Those days Hanuman had the macho image of Dara Singh saying Jai Shri Ram and not the baby cartoon singing Hanuman Chalisa as a Rap song.

Those days watching TV serials was fun.

(The Video is of poor quality).