The Times They Are a-Changin’ .. but, are they?

The Times They Are a-Changin‘, sang Bob Dylan.

But more the times change, the more they remain the same.

Would be interesting to see what they were 5 decades ago, the issues that ruled centre-space, human values, social-economic conditions…

I looked at this through the prism of Guru Dutt’s work. Look at these lines from Guru Dutt’s Pyaasa (1957):

Yeh Mehlon, Yeh Takhton, Yeh Taajon Ki Duniya, 
Yeh Insaan Ke Dushman Samaajon Ki Duniya,
Yeh Daulat Ke Bhookhey Rawajon Ki Duniya,
Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaye To Kya Hai.

 (This World of palaces, thrones and crowns/ This World of societies which are enemies of mankind/ This World of parasites hungry for wealth/ What use even if you can clinch This World?)

and so the song goes on in a most fatalistic strain, ending with the hero exhorting all to burn “this world”.

Doesn’t look much different from today, does it?

Next, Guru Dutt as a simple, naive accountant observes the decadence of the very rich in a world of the very poor in his production Sahib, Bibi aur Ghulam. This, and the lines above from Pyaasa ring a striking bell when today, 55 years later, Occupy Wall Street protests are going around the world against corporate greed.

The enigma that he was, Guru Dutt, the maker of classic depressing movies also acted in, and directed several light romantic films too and championed optimism rather than defeatism. In his production Baazi, he made the cabaret dancer tell Dev Anand that if he had faith in himself, he should play the game of his life (at a poker table) and change his bad destiny to good destiny (apne pe bharosaa hai to ye daav lagaa le).  Just a couple of years before the depressingly classic Pyaasa, Guru Dutt produced CID (1955), a film starring the debonair  Dev Anand, which had a popular foot-tapping hit filmed on the comedian Johnny Walker and his muse, riding on a tonga (horse carriage) on Mumbai’s Marine Drive. It is sung to the tune of O my darling, O my darling, O my darling Clementine, but with more zip.

Aye dil hai mushkil, jeena yahan
jara hat ke jara bach ke, yeh hai bambai meri jaan

(O my love its difficult to live here;
mind your step, be alert, this is Bambai my dear)

Kahin building, kahin tramein, kahin motor, kahin mill
milta hai yahan sab kuchh, ek milta nahi dil
insaan ka nahi, kahin namo nishan
jara hat ke jara bach ke, yeh hai bombay meri jaan
ae dil hai mushkil – -

(Somewhere Buildings, somewhere trams, somewhere motor cars, somewhere factories,
here you get everything, one thing you don’t get is a heart
there is no sign of a human being anywhere
Mind your step, be alert, this is Bambai my love…)

kahin satta kahin patta, kahin chori kahin race
kahin daaka khain faaqa, kahin thokar kahin thes
bekaaro ke hain, kai kaam yahan
jara hat ke jara bach ke, yeh hai bombay meri jaan
ae dil hai mushkil – - -

(somewhere speculation, somewhere cards, somewhere theivery,  somewhere races
somewhere dacoity, somewhere bluster, somewhere you trip, somewhere you fall
worthless people have lots of work here
Mind your step, be alert, this is Bambai my love… )

Beghar ko aawara, yahan kahate hans hans
khud kaate gale sab ke, kahein is ko bizness
ek cheez ke hain, kai naam yahan
jara hat ke jara bach ke, yeh hai bombay meri jaan
ae dil hai mushkil – - -

(People) Here derisively call the homeless as tramps
They cut the throats of everybody and call it business
The same thing has lots of names here
Mind your step, be alert, this is Bambai my love…

and so on…

Bombay, or Bambai, or Mumbai, was even then, 5 decades ago,  the city of opportunity, where people were sure to be rewarded for their hard work and enterprise, but it would not be easy, life would be difficult.

The heroine replies to Johnny Walker in the closing stanza of the song thus:

Bura duniya ko hai kahata, aisa bhola to na ban
jo hai karta woh hai bharta, hai yahan ka yeh chalan
yeh hai bombay yeh hai bombai, yeh hai bombai meri jaan

((You are ) calling the world as bad, don’t be so naive
“As you sow, so shall you reap” is the ethos of this place
This is Bambai, this is Bombay, this is Bombay my dear)

Beneath the new acquired trappings  of modern living, it is still the same, isn’t it?

As a popular ’70′s Bob Seger number goes ”Still the same, still the same, everything is still the same”.

Moonlight Sonata on the Brahmaputra

I must be truly blessed! To watch the sun set and a full moon rise from a motor boat ferrying locals over the mighty Brahmaputra river of India. Even the local people who regularly commute over the river fell silent, taking in the moment. It was a moving experience, very private, very mystic.

Visuals from many a famous river scenes set in the Bengal milieu, like Saratchandra’s Khushboo, and Bimal Roy’s Bandini, are like frozen frames in memory. I recalled images of Uttam Kumar standing at the bow of a motor launch, pondering over his fate in the film Amanush, and here I was, standing on the bow of a boat on the Brahmaputra, staring at the expansive river at Majuli, world’s largest river island, near Jorhat in Assam state of India.

That I have also been to the source of this awesome river made this day on the river special for me. That was in 1984, in the first year that China allowed Indians to visit Mansarovar Lake and Mount Kailash in Tibet by trekking route through Kumaon and the Lipu Lekh pass. The Brahmaputra trickles as a stream from Mansarovar lake at 4,500m altitude.

The Brahmaputra is very severe and also very bountiful. On one hand, it lords over the Assam plains often causing havoc, death and destruction. On the other, it rejuvenates the region with enormous tonnes of fresh soil every year.

Beethoven or Hemant Kumar?

I had captured the scene in a video. To this I added

1.  Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata Opening Movement to create a 3-minute audio-visual film that will fill you with the magic of Johann Strauss’ Blue Danube.  Turn on your speakers, and click http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVkSF8MVeHI.

2. Hemant Kumar’s “O Nodi Re” to create another video that will bring you the river culture and whiff of rural Bengal. Turn on your speakers, and click http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=77X1C2N7qXE.

Listen to both videos at a quiet, peaceful time. In both versions, you will feel the serenity, the spirituality and the becalming effect of the moment. Vote for the version which gave you more pleasure by participating in the poll below.

May the tranquility be with you.

Sunset on the Brahmaputra on one side of boat

Full moon rise on other side of boat

Father of the Bride

Father of the Bride

The Father of the Bride is a funny movie in which Steve Martin plays the title role to perfection. He finds himself on the fringes of the wedding preparation, generally ignored by the bride-to-be daughter, the wife and the various vendors in their enthusiasm and frenzy of activity. He watches the to-do from the sidelines. He is left out of the planning, feels lonely, waits for the time when the family will have the time, and keeps paying  the bills. In one tender scene, on the night before the wedding, father and daughter shoot some baskets in their courtyard as the girl wishes to relive one of the precious moments of her childhood home and freeze it in memory.

An acute bout of melancholia inflicts itself after a daughter’s wedding. A Gujarati poet who wrote under the pseudo name of “Daad”, in his poem named “કાળજા કેરો કટકો ગાંઠ થી છૂટી ગ્યો”  (“kaaljaa kero katko, gaanth thi chhoti gyo” – Part of my heart snatched from of my soul), says, “લૂંટાઈ ગ્યો મારો લાઙ ખજાનો, અને ‘દાદ’ હુ જોતો રહ્યો” (“lootai gyo maaro laad khajano, aney Daad hu joto hryo” – I was robbed of my dear treasure, and Daad, I could just watch). In a line from the poem, he says that when the bride crosses the doorstep of her house, she finds “ઙૂંગ્રા જેવો ઉંબરો” (“doongra jevo oombro” – crossing the doorstep is like climbing a mountain). The poem ends with the father surveying the wedding shamiana, which was bursting with people and activity, now empty, calls it “હું તો સૂનો માંઙવઙો“  (“hu to soono maandavdo” – I am like this lonely wedding mandap). http://tahuko.com/?p=587

There are 3 defining moments and enduring images from the wedding that are permanently etched in the mind can be replayed all through life:

• The first, when the girl steps out of the parents house (which the poet Daad calls the mountain-like doorstep);
• The second, when the bride enters the mandap, looking like a fairy, shimmering as she walks towards her waiting father and the groom, perhaps the longest journey of her life;
• The third, when the bride and groom, now husband and wife, walk off from the mandap, while all along the aisle, family, relatives and friends bid a tearful farewell.

Back in the house after the wedding, the guests have gone back to their homes; the decorations cheer for no one, like a guest at an event where no one has turned up; the shelves and drawers that the girl has emptied stare accusingly; the decorative lights are off, tomorrow they will be brought down; hired staff will be retired, and family will resume professional and routine activity.

Isn’t it remarkable that preparations leading to a much-awaited event take 3 months, while it takes just 3 days after the event to relegate it to history?

I go to my piano and play “… bring back, oh bring back, oh bring back my bonnie to me”.

Ardh-aang-ini, a tribute to all women

She was crying, clinging to her dad as if some unknown force was trying to snatch her away. She clutched at his shirt, unwilling to let go.

Eventually, she did step into my car, and we embarked on a journey together, which has not stopped for 30 years this day.

She came crying into my home and into my family, she put her trust in me and her destiny, and today she is in charge of my heart, my home, my family and all the keys!

It would belittle her to say that I love her – the phrase sounds so hollow, so juvenile - for that would mean she is someone else, external to me, while actually she is part of me; she is me, what is known in the English world as the better half, or in India as ardh-aang-ini.

Footloose in Egypt

Egypt has only recently come on the radar of  Indians who are on an overseas holiday splurge. These days however, Egypt is in the news for all the wrong reasons.

The daily headlines on Egypt remind me of the time when I, as a vagabond on the way home after a couple of years in USA, was in Egypt. I had been on the road for 90 days, having traversed from the snow fields of the Arctic Circle to the desert sands of Egypt. I found myself at a dead-end in Cairo, surveying my assets: one suit case, US$40 and a stand-by ticket to Mumbai.

$40 could not last me much, even in inexpensive Egypt. I was accosted frequently by foreign currency touts and I finally decided to answer one of them, thinking that I might make enough profit to let me stay a couple of days more. The tout took me through a labyrinth of alleys in a Cairo slum and in the end, presented me to a regal looking person seated in a chair with 3-4 people standing around him: he was a local don. The tout told him, “This young man would like to exchange some dollars”.

The don asked me “How much?”

By now I had realised my stupidity. I replied, sheepishly, “Er… ten dollars?”

The don stared at me for a couple of minutes. The silence was palpable. Finally, possibly concluding that I was a simple kid, he told the lout to see me to the main road, and dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

* * * *

So now, I had to head home. I had a stand by TWA ticket that I could use on any airline. On a standby ticket, I would have to wait till the last passenger had checked in and then try my luck. So I left the youth hostel in the evening and reached the airport. I found that there were no flights between Cairo and Bombay as there was a dispute between Air India and Egypt Air. I remember going over to an Arabic airliner which was going to Jeddah, hoping to get a connecting flight, but was turned away by the airline.

That night, I checked my bag in the cloak room, and slept on the floor of the Cairo airport.

* * * *

I went to Tahrir Square  - yes the famous Tahrir square which these days is host to  a million (!) protesters – to the office of Pakistan International Airlines (PIA). It was afternoon, and I was clueless, hungry and sleepy. The middle-aged Pakistani lady was very kind. Those were the days when the airline office would send a “telex” to the head office and wait for confirmation. While sitting at the counter waiting for the return telex, I actually slept face down on the counter and the lady let me. When I opened my eyes, she greeted me with the news that my ticket was confirmed from Cairo to Bombay with a stopover at Karachi in Pakistan. I thanked her, but wondered at the irony of travelling by the carrier of an enemy country, and the prospect of stopping over in that hostile country.

* * * *

Pravin Gandhi and Abdullah at the Giza Pyramid

There were (at that time) several youth who would hang around Tahrir Square, mostly the educated unemployed. I met one such young man at one of the innumerable cafe’s where people spend hours drinking thick, strong, black tea and playing backgammon. Abdullah, his name was, I think, and I would be right 5 times out of 10. He accompanied me all day while I walked around the Sphinx and the pyramids. I could not shake him off, but he was a very helpful guide too. And he was not doing it for money. Actually he was a nice young man, educated, intelligent. When we parted, he gave me a kiss on both cheeks! I put it to the Arabic custom.

* * *

I travelled to Luxor, more famous now for Bollywood songs shot there rather than its heritage. I am sure Indian tourists would not marvel at the the grand temples and treasures and the Nile river, but would be more excited that Akshay Kumar and Katrina sang “Ji Karda” here. It was an overnight journey from Cairo railway station. The unreserved coach was full and I sat on the floor along with several other locals, who were very warm and loquacious. Everybody chatted through the night, and I didn’t sleep a wink.

Pravin Gandhi and Belgian fellow vagabond at Luxor, Egypt

On the return journey, I took a first class ticket, using up a few dollars. The first class coach had a few cabins. I got a coupe, which is a unit of 2 bunks, and I had the upper bunk. For a while, I was seated at the window, chatting with the other passenger in a dark brown suit. After a while, he took out a bottle of wine, and poured a glass for me. After a few polite refusals, and not willing to pass off any freebie that came my way, I accepted. When we were done, he suddenly grabbed me! I pushed him away and said something to him, after which he became very quiet. I went up to my bunk. I didn’t find him in the coach in the morning when the train rolled into Cairo.

* * *

Pravin Gandhi at the Suez Canal

I was in Port Said, at the mouth of the famed Suez Canal. It was a smuggler’s paradise. I bought some cologne  (Lancombe or something) for my elder brother, who wanted a perfume called “Worth”. My brother would quietly take it but would be disappointed, so fond was he of that brand, but it cost several dollars. I felt sorry about it. Then, I watched the Suez Canal, and the ships passing through it, marvelling at this ingenious piece of engineering and the-then British political + economic wisdom which cut tens of thousands of miles of sea route. Those were the days, when nothing required any security, and I could stand right there, walk along the canal, undisturbed.

Post Said is about a 3 hour drive from Cairo. I took a share-a-cab Peogeot taxi with 3 other locals, who were – you guessed it – chatterboxes. I remember expressing that I wanted to see an oasis in the desert, and voila, we did stop at a palm-fringed Oasis and ate some dates.

* * *

Looking back, I might have been living dangerously and travelled with brigands. I could have been robbed, mugged, or worse,  abused. But I hadn’t felt unsafe at all and found the people extremely friendly. In fact, I feel enriched, as I always do, when I mingle with the local scene in my travels.

* * *

I went to the main post office and booked a call to home. When I was connected, someone from my family at the other end gasped, “Where are you, we are so anxious!!!” I said quietly, “I am coming home” and gave him the flight details.

The prodigal son was returning home.

* * * But that little journey was also eventful. But that is another subject, for another day.

Mehndi Hai Rachne Wali

Mehndi hai rachnewali
Haathon mein gehri laali
Kahey sakhiyaan, ab kaliyaan
Haathon mein khilne wali hain
Tere manko, jeevan ko
Nai khushiyan milne wali hai

(regret that translation is impossible: there is more feeling than words in the above lines)

If there is anything that can bring a tear to a father, it is this.

When father’s little girl shows the picture and profile of a young man and informs her desire to make him her life partner, a wide spectrum of emotions sweeps over him. A moment-by-moment account:

That first magical moment:  taken by surprise which transforms to elation like a bud blooming into a flower in fast-forward; numbness at the sudden and abrupt full-stop to a process of searching for a suitable groom. Giggling siblings secretly film this moment.

Next moment, when realisation dawns that indeed, she has made an appropriate, mature choice, actually an excellent choice, one feels admiration, pride, a mental admission that she has done better than her parents could have; a grudging admission that daddy’s little girl has become a woman.

In the next moments, it is how, when, where, with much laughter and rolling of the eyes over the wooing and the marriage proposal.

Next moment: Relief! 1 down. A mountain lifted from the shoulders. A warm feeling of relaxation fills the body like a sip of neat brandy. The tiredness drains from the body like water when the lid is lifted from the sink.

Next: One starts to visualise the to-do over the next few months: there will be new relationships to be made, much giving and receiving, making bookings, shopping; the house will be full of family and friends,singing and laughing, decorating and arranging, informing and inviting. One thinks of Madhuri Dixit and recalls scenes from Hum Aap ke Hai Kaun. One also recalls the father Steve Martin in the film Father of the Bride. There would be long-awaited celebrations.

Next moment, however, in mock sternness, the father tells the girl, “Well, he will have to talk to me first”.

Life @ 70%

Work-life balance

At least the man has a choice!

There are some who do not have the luxury of choosing: emburdened by expectation and responsibility at any stage of life.

Some make a mental note to pursue their favourite, latent wish “some day”, and drive on.

(I remember the popular song, in which a fetching Zeenat Aman, in a wet, clinging sari, dancing in a garden in the rain, inviting a Manoj Kumar who is standing under a shelter on his way to a work interview, to join her. The words are

Hai Hai Ye Majboori                                 Woe to your helpnessness
Ye mausam aur ye doori                         (Why) This distance in such an ambiance
Mujhe pal pal hai tadpaaye                     Every moment I wonder
Teri do takiyaa di naukri                         Your two bits worth of job
Mera Laakho kaa saawan jaaye            While my millions worth of romance fritters away

You can see the song sequence at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6T2mVXFPT8 The sequence might look a bit corny by today’s standards, but Zeenat Aman of 70′s vintage still sizzles without being daring compared to today’s sirens).

****

There are some firmly entrenched in one of the two worlds, seemingly not caring for the other. They have already made the choice.

And then there are some who have the best of both worlds, who do not need to make a choice.