sankat city-mai dekhya, par kyum dekhya?

Pankaj gmailed me about his film 'Sankat city' premier on 10th July 2009, and I was keen on watching this movie. The title ticked; it tickled and tempted me. I got myself a DVD.

Had I been a film critic for a paper, I imagine I would have nothing different to say from other critics I have so far read. " Sankat city is not a bad movie but it tries so hard to be 'The Great Indian Absurdist Comedy' that you are reminded of the smug overachiever who sat in the first bench at class. After a point, you stop admiring his (Pankaj Advani's) cleverness - you just want to smack him on the head and ask him to stop showing off", writes Baradwaj Rangan of Express. That is, I feel, quite accurate critique.

I would not smack Pankaj on the head though because Pankaj is Pankaj. However, I would mention one un-miss-able point about him and that would be about Pankaj-ness of his humour. He has a tendency to mention the obvious very banally, with blatant vulgarity even, but he places it in such a way on the brink of onlooker's receptivity that a laugh spills out after (only after) you survive the smart alyck-ness of the thing said. Sankat city could not have been made by any other arrogant son of a bitch. It is totally a Pankaj Advani film, but like Rangan rightly pointed, after a point, you stop admiring his cleverness.

Gangubai Hangal passes away...

The first time I heard Gangubai Hangal on the radio, I thought it was a male singer. When the compere announced after the recital that it was Gangubai Hangal, I learned that it was ms. Gangubai Hangal, of Kirana, from Dharwad, Bhimsen-ji's guru-bhagini, etc. I was amazed. Much later I heard her again on a cd, singing Poorya kallyan with her daughter Krishna. It was a treat.

Gangubai's singing struck me as austere. You knew from her gamaks and taans that she was fully in control over her technique and tone and time and pace, but she kept her raga simple. I thought that most embellishment was Krishna's* doing, but bai kept things to their pure basics. Similar was the case with Pt. Mallikarjun Mansoor; while he kept his singing to a bare minimum, his son Rajashekhar freaked out!

Gangubai Hangal. Well! Ninty Seven years of high degree of application. Senator of Karnatak Univ., Padmabhushan, Padma vibhushan, too! And 24 other honorary titles, - Doctorates from more than two universities...She was decorated by five presidents! Gangubai Hangal was that grand, yet she was a low profile celebrity. I admired her.

* Krishna Hangal, Gangubai's daughter and disciple, passed away not so long ago.

***

Paul Theroux

I like reading Paul Theroux's non- fiction ; not so much his fiction. I am rather unenthusiastic about fiction in general, not just Theroux in particular.

There is something about Theroux's text which is magical, and in so being very engrossing indeed. I marvel over the manner of his description, simple description, in all his text and wonder how he manages that thoughtful word, an apt epithet, an adjective in a paragraph, woven with sentential sequences in to the body of text. The fabric he creates is not expensive like silk but durable and stable - something that you can afford and use till it tatters after it is completely utilised for the purpose for which it was created. In him I find a marriage of usefulness and art.

Paul Theroux to me is an architect of simple lasting public buildings rather than a builder of impressive palaces. He is a builder of town halls rather than Taj Mahals. But his town halls are full of the glory of Taj's fountains and marble and gardens. Remove those from Taj Mahal and, as I imagine it, not much will remain of the wonder that Taj is. But Theroux's town hall without the gardens and the glory still may have that which draws minds of men towards wonderment. You are not awe struck by Theroux, but long after he sinks into you and you start feeling the effect, you realise . And you feel thankful.

***

Darbari and Shuddh kallyan

Raga Darbari and raga Shuddh kallyan have nothing much in common except that both have a range of possibilities and that both are poignant ragas. If Darbari is virile, so is shudhkallyan, both are males and very heroic. They have broad chests and courage to match, but they are so different in their temper, in their psychic constitution, that one is almost not sweet (matter of speaking) and the other is sweet, although both are supposed to be meend-pradhan and gambheer ragas. Darbari is Asawari thata, and shuddhkallyan of the kallyan type. Gandhaars and dhaivats in both are vital: in Darbari an andolan on GA and DHA determines everything that there is to the essence of that raga; in Shudhkallyan you have to dwell on the DHA - especially the lower octave DHA, and rest also on the gandhar. NI (nishad) in Shuddhkallyan has to be omitted in the ascent and teevra MA is a must in the descent. Whereas Darbari takes all seven notes in both ascent & descent - ( in fact with a double reference to 'ni', because Darbari has to have ni re sa in the aroha, although ni sa in the aroha also is 'correct', so to say. But MA RE Sa is important before sthayi.) - Shuddha kallyan takes five in the ascent and seven in its descent. Interestingly- and this may be a matter of personal opinion- although DHA-GA notes are vadi - samvadi (main - subordinate) the most important note in both Darbari and Shuddkallyan are not those, but the Pancham (PA). In Shuddkallyan, the manner of application of PA prevents it from getting too much of the rouge of Jaijaiwanti, a terribly ardent raga in its psychic aspirations. (or hues of chayanat, Des, Kedar etc. Application of Pancham in Dharbari prevents it from taking on the colours of ...Jaunpuri for instance.

Why am I writing this? Michael Jackson died and almost the whole world is lamenting. Last night, both Dhabari and Shuddhkallyan came to me (of all the people!) and asked me to tell the world not to lament. "We are there, tell them!", they said.

Watching the (un)awareness zone

This morning I became aware of my dream activity. It is a strange experience when you are the witness and the participant as well. I do not know when I became aware of my watching, but the sense of I became exponentially greater and the dream merged, as it were, into what man calls 'reality'. Speaking analogically, it was like a 'fade- in- fade- out in cinema editing. I was aware of these empty forms, like on the cinema screen; real because you empathise, unreal because you KNOW they are unreal. The transition was seamless; I had to 'think' in order to understand where the dream ended and wakefulness commenced. At first the chirping of birds outside seemed like the soundtrack of the film, but the gradual increment in the sense of I brought me the awareness of chirping being from 'outside' the experience.

Ah! It was so wonderful.

***

Talking about sleep, I am one of those whom the spiritual-moralists would call sensual, in a very uncomplimentary way. I sleep deep - as good as dead deep sleep - and I used to be a bit uneasy about the fact in the past. But then I read Ramana Maharshi. He has referred to his sleeping habit in the early years. I kind of identify with him on the habit of deep sleep. I remember two instances of my deep sleep:- A classmate of mine, Harindran, was to wake me one afternoon from my room of our hostel in Baroda, for we had decided to go out somewhere. At the appointed time (he told me later), he came and tried to wake me up by shouting & hooting & clapping. I had latched the door, therefore he could not enter my room, but he hit stones at me, those little pebbles you find everywhere. According to Harindran he tried "for hours" but could not wake me up. Wonder why he did not think that I was dead? Perhaps I was snoring, which I often do.

Other instance is when I returned one day after a particularly hectic bus journey from Madurai, where I had gone to see a shrink. I arrived in Pondi at about 4 p.m. I woke up at around seven p.m., fresh and ready to take on the world. Three hours of rest was good I thought without realising that it was seven p.m. on the following day! That is 27 hours of non stop sleep!

***

There have been occasions in the past when just on waking (or just before waking) I have experienced a sheer state of being. I was aware of being, watching or experiencing a state of awareness without any reference to anything at all. It must be the ego element in me, with its need to be this or that or here or there that caused ripples on that absolutely muted state of experiencing. Along with that came fear. Along with fear came the mind, and I was pulled into the muck of ordinariness.

These experiences were more frequent in the years between 1995 - 98. In 1998 I came to live in Auroville.

Tyeb is no more

...Don't know why I am occupied with dying so much. Neither is death new nor am I the only one who has seen or heard of people dying... Tyeb Mehta, Ali Akbar Khan, Habeeb Tanveer... they were not my relatives, yet the occurrence of their death lingers in the mind as much as any relative's death. (Just noticed that all three names above are Moslem, although I think Tyeb was not a Moslem, but a Parsi? I have recently learned that he was a Muslem from Gujarat) what does it matter anyway? It does not matter at all. Years back I'd heard a khyal by Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan in Bhoop. I remember the words of the tchota khyal," Deva Maheshwara Mahadev..." Also Pandit Bhimsen Joshi's "Kareema naam tero" in Miyan ki Malhar, or "Tu hai Mohammed sa darbar aur Nizamuddin sugyaani", in Suha kanada. The Shehanai of Ustaad Bismillah Khan saheb at Vishvanath Temple also testifies that India is about relating the most unrelated.Reconciliation is in its very genius, it seems. In Tamil Nadu they say 'adjust pannlam'. It is an expression used whenever there is a big faut pas. Everybody screws and everybody says 'adjust pannlam'. Done too much and every time it gets at you, even then, you think that the basic intention is to avoid an altercation, you accept. Shakespeare's Shylock would have been quite a frustrated jew in India. He is justified in his demand in 'merchant of Venice', just like Duryodhana of Mahabharata is not exactly 'wrong' in his demands. But there is something else that India seeks in justice. It is, rather than be correct and right, be compassionate and forgiving. In that sense, the Tamil 'adjust pannlam' is in keeping with the indigenous sensibility. ...Mind follows a thread and keeps on... sometimes death of someone you relate to affects you thus - it makes you wander the fields of profundities like a vagabond.