Q. Define the word "ubiquitious".
A. Ubiquitious (n).Meaning : Noorjehan on PTV.In the Nineties.
My little sister,she's almost 12 years younger than me.I lament the fact that she won't be in the same cultural sphere,if that's the term I want to use,as I am.She won't know Mr. Rogers and his red cardigan,she won't get to see the 6th September waala dramas on PTV.She won't know who the hell Mohammad Jumman was. But most of all I lament her not being there when Noorjehan used to be on PTV.
At least twice,no thrice a day,Her Royal Highness would grace us with an audience.In glitzy saris,the matching neckscarves,the gaudy make-up and the impossible jewelry she still didn't look,how shall I put it,brazen. There would be kooky camera effects,multiple close-ups,kaliedoscopic whirligigs and what not.And then there would be the strangely enticing singing rituals....the sideways-glancing,knowing-eyed coquettish nods,the rolling of the lips,the strange conjuring hand movements...
It was a strange contrast that Noorjehan presented to the other great voice of the subcontinent,Lata Mangeshkar.While Noorjehan was a riot ofcolor even to her last days,Lata remained demurely shrouded in the white sari,the saffron bindi and no makeup to speak of.
When it comes to voices,I was never as great a fan of Noorjehan's as I am Lata's.Noorjehan's voice,especially since the mid-seventies had coarsed down to a scale,that sounded at times a bit too earthy,a bit too blase.That was until 25 minutes ago.
What I have in my hand is a CD.A noorjehan CD of pre-partition tracks.I had been looking for one specific track,"Tu Kaun Si BAdli Main" from the 1942 film Khandan.It's a haunting,hair-raising tune,and the young Noorjehan sings it like nobody's business.I had searched the old songs archives on every goshdarned website there was,to no avail.And then I found this CD.As i put it in,I got a shock to the system.Not one,not two,but twenty of the most otherworldly things my ears have ever heard,and they have heard their fairshare of otherworldly stuff.
I sit here totally mesmerised,my viewpoint totally altered.I used to consider the '50s as the true beginning of the golden age of Bollywood music,with the 40s a preamble,filled with nautch-girl ditties,Saigal nasal intonations and the such.But this music has opened my eyes.The surprisingly intricate arrangements,the jazz and swing infusions and the ethereal singing have made me revise my date by at least ten years...
So,now the image in my mind has altered.Noorjehan is still there,but she's this precociously talented young girl who's got the goshdarned brilliantest voice of her era.I sure wish my sis can join me,as I set out anew on the voyage in search of Noorjehan...
Song Of The Week,"Na Milta Gham",Lata
Movie Of The Week,"Starngers On A Train"
Discovery Of The Week, Noorjehan !!!
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Sunday, September 9, 2007
...Of Me And The Greatest Singer In The World
Pavarotti died last week,aged 71."Big Luciano" was the greatest living singer in the world,they said.A gentle giant,the "Man OfThe High Cs" had delighted audiences around the world with his operatic feats.They called him the liberator of the opera,Caruso for the masses,the greatest singer you'll ever hear..
The greatest singer I'll ever hear ??
Can't agree with that one.I have heard a greater singer,but only one...
Roy Orbison....close.
Billie Holiday....hmm.
Elvis Presley....near.
Mehdi Hasan....almost there.
Dylan...no,serously ?
Nope,it isn't one of these spellbinding crooners,it's a barber's son from the Punjab,and his name is Rafi.
Mohammad Rafi,to be precise.The greatest singer I've ever heard,and ever expect to hear for that matter.
The first time I heard him ??
Can't remember,probably waaay back when God was stuffing my oversized soul (if you can call it that) in a body (a very loose way of describing it) three sizes too small.For as long as I can remember,Rafi's been the ONE SINGER for me.As I sit here listening to him,faint memories appear.Me singing "Chaudhvin Ka Chand" as I come out of the loo and the whole family gaping at this towsled,nine year old Son of Belial,their minds filled with the thoughts of the horrible excesses to come.Sixth grade,school bus,kids laughing themselves silly as I try to do a "Shammi Kapoor Shake",singing "Baar Baar Dekho".
Everywhere,in my house,in the orange groves back in Sargodha,in hospitals,on deathbeds,in my hostels(as my long-suffering dorm mates can testify),I've had Rafi songs on my lips.What is it about this man,short,slightly dumpy,bowlegged and balding,that's ruled my mind for ages and ages...
Well,for one thing,it's the person behind the voice.
Born in 1924 to a barber in Amritsar,he was discovered singing,as the apocryphal story goes,while cutting hair in front of Government College Lahore.Whatever the truth may be,he was one helluva discovery.From his debut in 1946,Jugnu I think it was,or Anmol Ghari maybe,he was immediately noticed.As the forties rolled on to the fifties,he slowly gained clout in a very competitive field of Playback singers.There are six giants in the field of male Playback singing in the golden days of Indian cinema;Talat Mehmood,Rafi,Hemant Kumar,Mukesh,Kishore Kumar and Manna Dey,each one a giant.As the decade started,it was Mukesh and Talat who ruled the roost.But by it's end Rafi had supplanted them,and was the undisputed King.
The sixties were HIS DECADE,with each and every film having at least two or three of his songs.The gems produced in this ten year span are impossible to count,each one better than the last.An innumerable number of music directors,actors and film makers got their breaks because of him.From O.P Nayyar's surprisingly modern scores to Naushad's towering classical compositions.From Shankar-Jaikishan's orchestral odysseys to Salil Chowdary's unbelievably complex tunes,Rafi's voice graced them all.Then there were the leading men,Shammi Kapoor,Dilip Kumar,Bharat Bhushan,Manoj Kumar,you can only think of them singing in Rafi's voice if singing at all.Even Raj Kapoor and Amitabh Bacchan,for whom the voices of Mukesh and Kishore Kumar respectively seemed tailor-made,have a couple of Rafi songs picturized on them,and his voice fits them perfectly.
As the sixties ended,a number of factors lead to a sharp decrease in Rafi's songs.The older heroes had aged,the music had changed,Kishore Kumar had found his element(and what element that was!).And there was a Hajj pilgrimage where he was told against singing so he went off to London for a rather long sabbatical.Whatever the reason,Rafi gradually faded from the scene,singing an occasional tune,until 1976.That was when he returned,his voice unravaged by the absence,instead,possessing a sharpness that hadn't been there before.There were new,younger leading men,the music was just right and the hits started flowing again.With songs like "Kya Hua Tera Waada","Chaand Mera Dil" and "Dard-e-Dil",he took India by storm yet again.And just as the comeback was kicking into high gear,he died.A massive heart attack and the great voice was silenced at the rather young age of 56.
As a person,well... Simple,pure-hearted,always with a smile on his face.Talking with a gentle rustic accent,this shy family man was almost too nice to survive in the cut-throat world of Indian cinema...
Rare Interview
The voice now.
How can one man sound drunk,giggly,heartbroken,sly,indifferent,pleading,appeasing,humble,proud and God-knows-what,almost at will ? That's what he did,over and over.With a voice in turns like a slow moving majestic glacier,a rowdy bar-night,a sharp sword point and a hundred other things.I once heard somebody describe is as "honey slowly flowing on the edge of a knife".The low notes,where an average singer's voice gets lost in his underthingies,Rafi just effortlessly glided past.And on the high notes,well that's a whole different story.
There's this story about the recording session for "O Duniya Ke Rakhwaale",the notoriously difficult Naushad masterpiece from "Baiju Bawra".It has some pretty high notes in some very unconvenient places,and in the end is the big lollalpaloosa.A long C-note that would give any singer a rupture that would put to an end any hopes he might have had about raising children (recurring topic,ain't it Dr. Freud?).The story goes that when Rafi hit that final note,Naushad had to put a hand to Rafi's throat for fear he might injure it.
And here's the truly amazing part,I've seen performances of that,and many other songs (god bless youtube!).There's Rafi,Sherwani-clad,holding the lyrics in his left hand,a smile on his face,singing almost effortlessly.And when the high-notes come,the only indication of their presence is a raising of the eyebrows,and that is all.Amazing,truly amazing.Hope I can put up a couple of links on youtube,judge for yourself.
Suhani Raat Dhal Chuki
O Duniya Ke Rakhwaale
Madhuban Main Radhika Naache Re
The most important thing in singing,besides a voice,(not such a simple thing,as Simon Cowell will gladly tell you),is Range.And range was Rafi's middle name.From ghazals,riding songs,Beatles 'inspired' guitar ditties,Elvis style rockers,classical compositions to the truly haunting free verse pieces in Guru Dutt's Pyaasa,he sang them all.And with such elan that it takes your breath away...
Now I'm not a singer,not unless warbling in front of your class on a Coke high counts as singing,but Rafi songs are my forte.They take it out of you,i know.But the pleasure of singing,and better still,singing along is one I would not trade for anything.Sometimes,when my throat's in a good mood and it's been at least three weeks since my last bout of Pharyngits,I can sing a Rafi song like it should be sung.And that's all it takes to make my day....
Song Of The Week,"(Most Likely)You'll Go Your Way,Bob Dylan remix by Mark Ronson.
Movie Of The Week,"The Departed"
Book Of The Week,"On The Road",Jack Kerouac.
The greatest singer I'll ever hear ??
Can't agree with that one.I have heard a greater singer,but only one...
Roy Orbison....close.
Billie Holiday....hmm.
Elvis Presley....near.
Mehdi Hasan....almost there.
Dylan...no,serously ?
Nope,it isn't one of these spellbinding crooners,it's a barber's son from the Punjab,and his name is Rafi.
Mohammad Rafi,to be precise.The greatest singer I've ever heard,and ever expect to hear for that matter.
The first time I heard him ??
Can't remember,probably waaay back when God was stuffing my oversized soul (if you can call it that) in a body (a very loose way of describing it) three sizes too small.For as long as I can remember,Rafi's been the ONE SINGER for me.As I sit here listening to him,faint memories appear.Me singing "Chaudhvin Ka Chand" as I come out of the loo and the whole family gaping at this towsled,nine year old Son of Belial,their minds filled with the thoughts of the horrible excesses to come.Sixth grade,school bus,kids laughing themselves silly as I try to do a "Shammi Kapoor Shake",singing "Baar Baar Dekho".
Everywhere,in my house,in the orange groves back in Sargodha,in hospitals,on deathbeds,in my hostels(as my long-suffering dorm mates can testify),I've had Rafi songs on my lips.What is it about this man,short,slightly dumpy,bowlegged and balding,that's ruled my mind for ages and ages...
Well,for one thing,it's the person behind the voice.
Born in 1924 to a barber in Amritsar,he was discovered singing,as the apocryphal story goes,while cutting hair in front of Government College Lahore.Whatever the truth may be,he was one helluva discovery.From his debut in 1946,Jugnu I think it was,or Anmol Ghari maybe,he was immediately noticed.As the forties rolled on to the fifties,he slowly gained clout in a very competitive field of Playback singers.There are six giants in the field of male Playback singing in the golden days of Indian cinema;Talat Mehmood,Rafi,Hemant Kumar,Mukesh,Kishore Kumar and Manna Dey,each one a giant.As the decade started,it was Mukesh and Talat who ruled the roost.But by it's end Rafi had supplanted them,and was the undisputed King.
The sixties were HIS DECADE,with each and every film having at least two or three of his songs.The gems produced in this ten year span are impossible to count,each one better than the last.An innumerable number of music directors,actors and film makers got their breaks because of him.From O.P Nayyar's surprisingly modern scores to Naushad's towering classical compositions.From Shankar-Jaikishan's orchestral odysseys to Salil Chowdary's unbelievably complex tunes,Rafi's voice graced them all.Then there were the leading men,Shammi Kapoor,Dilip Kumar,Bharat Bhushan,Manoj Kumar,you can only think of them singing in Rafi's voice if singing at all.Even Raj Kapoor and Amitabh Bacchan,for whom the voices of Mukesh and Kishore Kumar respectively seemed tailor-made,have a couple of Rafi songs picturized on them,and his voice fits them perfectly.
As the sixties ended,a number of factors lead to a sharp decrease in Rafi's songs.The older heroes had aged,the music had changed,Kishore Kumar had found his element(and what element that was!).And there was a Hajj pilgrimage where he was told against singing so he went off to London for a rather long sabbatical.Whatever the reason,Rafi gradually faded from the scene,singing an occasional tune,until 1976.That was when he returned,his voice unravaged by the absence,instead,possessing a sharpness that hadn't been there before.There were new,younger leading men,the music was just right and the hits started flowing again.With songs like "Kya Hua Tera Waada","Chaand Mera Dil" and "Dard-e-Dil",he took India by storm yet again.And just as the comeback was kicking into high gear,he died.A massive heart attack and the great voice was silenced at the rather young age of 56.
As a person,well... Simple,pure-hearted,always with a smile on his face.Talking with a gentle rustic accent,this shy family man was almost too nice to survive in the cut-throat world of Indian cinema...
Rare Interview
The voice now.
How can one man sound drunk,giggly,heartbroken,sly,indifferent,pleading,appeasing,humble,proud and God-knows-what,almost at will ? That's what he did,over and over.With a voice in turns like a slow moving majestic glacier,a rowdy bar-night,a sharp sword point and a hundred other things.I once heard somebody describe is as "honey slowly flowing on the edge of a knife".The low notes,where an average singer's voice gets lost in his underthingies,Rafi just effortlessly glided past.And on the high notes,well that's a whole different story.
There's this story about the recording session for "O Duniya Ke Rakhwaale",the notoriously difficult Naushad masterpiece from "Baiju Bawra".It has some pretty high notes in some very unconvenient places,and in the end is the big lollalpaloosa.A long C-note that would give any singer a rupture that would put to an end any hopes he might have had about raising children (recurring topic,ain't it Dr. Freud?).The story goes that when Rafi hit that final note,Naushad had to put a hand to Rafi's throat for fear he might injure it.
And here's the truly amazing part,I've seen performances of that,and many other songs (god bless youtube!).There's Rafi,Sherwani-clad,holding the lyrics in his left hand,a smile on his face,singing almost effortlessly.And when the high-notes come,the only indication of their presence is a raising of the eyebrows,and that is all.Amazing,truly amazing.Hope I can put up a couple of links on youtube,judge for yourself.
Suhani Raat Dhal Chuki
O Duniya Ke Rakhwaale
Madhuban Main Radhika Naache Re
The most important thing in singing,besides a voice,(not such a simple thing,as Simon Cowell will gladly tell you),is Range.And range was Rafi's middle name.From ghazals,riding songs,Beatles 'inspired' guitar ditties,Elvis style rockers,classical compositions to the truly haunting free verse pieces in Guru Dutt's Pyaasa,he sang them all.And with such elan that it takes your breath away...
Now I'm not a singer,not unless warbling in front of your class on a Coke high counts as singing,but Rafi songs are my forte.They take it out of you,i know.But the pleasure of singing,and better still,singing along is one I would not trade for anything.Sometimes,when my throat's in a good mood and it's been at least three weeks since my last bout of Pharyngits,I can sing a Rafi song like it should be sung.And that's all it takes to make my day....
Song Of The Week,"(Most Likely)You'll Go Your Way,Bob Dylan remix by Mark Ronson.
Movie Of The Week,"The Departed"
Book Of The Week,"On The Road",Jack Kerouac.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
....Of A Strategically Placed Kick Versus A More Humane Treatment
"....And that,doc is why my brain's frozen up.I can't seem to write anything,my life's full of ennui and my football team's got just about as much chance of winning as a blind man in a dark room trying to shove a pound of melted butter in the ear of a wildcat with a red hot darning needle !!"
"Aah,jus,I can see the sypmtoms quite clearly my child.Eet ees a vairy common malady,but one that ish easily cured.Yes..."
"Oh thank heavens doc,what's the treatment?"
"Very simple,dear child.I will administer what we call in medical terms,a "Kick up the nargles!!"
"A WHAT ??"
" A kick up the nargles,my child.Simple yet effective."
"But wouldn't that hurt,and what about the damage to my err,you know what I'm referring to."
"Aah,yes.It's not all pleasant,as several of my patients tell me.But that's the whole point.And as for the damage.Well you don't have to worry about that,we both know that all those years of listening to Dylan have left you sterile already.So vee cannot do any more damage,hein.."
"Are you sure doctor there isn't any other cure ?"
"No mein child,it iss ze only way."
"Aah well,what's gotta be done's gotta be done.Hoof away doc."
"Excellent mein child,excellent. Now if you would just bend over.A little more.Just a little more.There,that's perfect.
And ze one ,and ze two and ze......"
No such luck,dear reader,it was just a dream.Too bad,you say.You would have liked to see me kicked up the nargles,wouldn't you? I'm sure you would.But thankfully that didn't happen.Unlike the good doctor,I found a more humane means of relieving my symptoms.It's called a Big Weekend !!
A series of unfortunate events had prevented me from coming home last week,and that had ripened my already magnificent grouch to a finer vintage.I felt that it was time matters were taken into my own hands,and an escape was plotted.A slightly fictitious excuse,and voila ! I had an extra day's leave along with the weekend.Another excuse once I got home,and I barely escaped going to a wedding in Lahore with my folks...
Finally,HOME ALONE !!!!
I had prepared well,a whole horde of movies including one that I had been waiting eighteen years for.Well not me personally,but you know what I mean.There was food in the fridge,comfort food! And the weather was as perfect as it could ever be.
Did it work ? By Golly It Did !!
Just to test if my brain had been de-barnacled,I sat down to write a synopsis-precis to a story a friend had sent me.I was hesitant,wondering if anything would click into place or not.It took work.And coffee.And frequent trips to the loo.But finally the gears started clicking,and there I was...
If anyone else has the same problem,here's the prescription.See if it works,otherwise the good doctor's foot is always an option...
Rx
The Simpsons Movie - Single Dose
The Clockwork Orange - Single Dose
High Fidelity - Two doses.King Size.
The 40 Year Old Virgin - Liberal Doses
Smiles Of A Summer Night - Single Dose,Stat.
The Lavender Hill Mob - Single Dose,taken slowly and luxuriantly
Ray Charles - No less than three albums
Beethoven - The Third,Fifth Seventh and Ninth Synphonies
Stephen Lynch - For symptomatic relief,as needed.
Perfect weather,if available...
There,try it.And do come back for follow-up.That'll be nine hundred rupees.Please pay the receptionist on the way out.
Thankyou for coming.....
Movie Of The Past Few Weeks,"The Lavender Hill Mob,(1951)
Songs Of The Past Few Weeks,If I Were Gay,Stephen Lynch.Sun Le Tu Dil Ki Sadaa,Rafi.Slow Train Coming,The Groom's Still Waiting At The Altar,Bob Dylan.
Books Of The Past Few Weeks,"Irmeghan-e-Hijaz",Iqbal."WLT",Garrison Keillor."Leaving Home",Garrisson Keillor
"Aah,jus,I can see the sypmtoms quite clearly my child.Eet ees a vairy common malady,but one that ish easily cured.Yes..."
"Oh thank heavens doc,what's the treatment?"
"Very simple,dear child.I will administer what we call in medical terms,a "Kick up the nargles!!"
"A WHAT ??"
" A kick up the nargles,my child.Simple yet effective."
"But wouldn't that hurt,and what about the damage to my err,you know what I'm referring to."
"Aah,yes.It's not all pleasant,as several of my patients tell me.But that's the whole point.And as for the damage.Well you don't have to worry about that,we both know that all those years of listening to Dylan have left you sterile already.So vee cannot do any more damage,hein.."
"Are you sure doctor there isn't any other cure ?"
"No mein child,it iss ze only way."
"Aah well,what's gotta be done's gotta be done.Hoof away doc."
"Excellent mein child,excellent. Now if you would just bend over.A little more.Just a little more.There,that's perfect.
And ze one ,and ze two and ze......"
No such luck,dear reader,it was just a dream.Too bad,you say.You would have liked to see me kicked up the nargles,wouldn't you? I'm sure you would.But thankfully that didn't happen.Unlike the good doctor,I found a more humane means of relieving my symptoms.It's called a Big Weekend !!
A series of unfortunate events had prevented me from coming home last week,and that had ripened my already magnificent grouch to a finer vintage.I felt that it was time matters were taken into my own hands,and an escape was plotted.A slightly fictitious excuse,and voila ! I had an extra day's leave along with the weekend.Another excuse once I got home,and I barely escaped going to a wedding in Lahore with my folks...
Finally,HOME ALONE !!!!
I had prepared well,a whole horde of movies including one that I had been waiting eighteen years for.Well not me personally,but you know what I mean.There was food in the fridge,comfort food! And the weather was as perfect as it could ever be.
Did it work ? By Golly It Did !!
Just to test if my brain had been de-barnacled,I sat down to write a synopsis-precis to a story a friend had sent me.I was hesitant,wondering if anything would click into place or not.It took work.And coffee.And frequent trips to the loo.But finally the gears started clicking,and there I was...
If anyone else has the same problem,here's the prescription.See if it works,otherwise the good doctor's foot is always an option...
Rx
The Simpsons Movie - Single Dose
The Clockwork Orange - Single Dose
High Fidelity - Two doses.King Size.
The 40 Year Old Virgin - Liberal Doses
Smiles Of A Summer Night - Single Dose,Stat.
The Lavender Hill Mob - Single Dose,taken slowly and luxuriantly
Ray Charles - No less than three albums
Beethoven - The Third,Fifth Seventh and Ninth Synphonies
Stephen Lynch - For symptomatic relief,as needed.
Perfect weather,if available...
There,try it.And do come back for follow-up.That'll be nine hundred rupees.Please pay the receptionist on the way out.
Thankyou for coming.....
Movie Of The Past Few Weeks,"The Lavender Hill Mob,(1951)
Songs Of The Past Few Weeks,If I Were Gay,Stephen Lynch.Sun Le Tu Dil Ki Sadaa,Rafi.Slow Train Coming,The Groom's Still Waiting At The Altar,Bob Dylan.
Books Of The Past Few Weeks,"Irmeghan-e-Hijaz",Iqbal."WLT",Garrison Keillor."Leaving Home",Garrisson Keillor
Monday, August 13, 2007
...Of Me And P.G. Wodehouse...
(This is an older post,but one that can fit into this series of touchstones.I didn't have anything to add,so I'll put it here in its entirety)
In our farmhouse,there's this big red trunk.It is full of my father's bibliomaniacal treasures.Scores upon scores of books,of every description,size and shape.some of the best hours of my village visits are spent browsing through it,and each expedition brings forth new gems.As I grow older,my finds have ranged from Huckleberry Finn to Ben Hur to Bertrand Russel to Rousseau.But there is one find that I count among the best things that ever happened to me,truly a liofe changing experience..
It was eight years ago,as far as I can recall.Having derived all the possible pleasure out of watching a bunch of supercillious cows,I decided to rummage the big red trunk.I climbed up to the top of the storage room,opened it up and started digging.After about half an hour of dilligent mayhem,I chanced upon a funny looking book.It was "The Girl On The Boat",by one P.G. Wodehouse.so,I took it out,lay on the bed and started reading.
It was five minutes into the read that something happened.Something strange.Suddenly,I was laughing,uncontrollably,hysterically and violently.Lolling around on the bed,with tears in my eyes,trying to stop my guts from busting.I just couldn't stop,try as I might.My mother gaped at this strange apparition and ran to call my father just as I fell from my bed and tumbled to the ground,still guffawing like the dickens...My mom wrenched the book from my hands and anxiously showed it to dad,holding it ever so gingerly like it was a deadly poison or something.A look of apprehension gave way to comprehension,as an understanding smile spread on my father's face and he said,"Relax Farree(my mum's name),it's just Wodehouse !!
"It's just Wodehouse,talk about an understatement.From that moment on,I have been enthralled by the Master's works,lost in the beauty,intricacy and complexity of his language,and laughing my guts out at every other page.Once I got hooked,there wasn't any stopping me.Every library and bookshop I visited was with the sole intention of getting my grimy hands on some Wodehouse.It was a slow journey,and uptill four years ago,I had managed to get only five Wodehouse books.But that was before i got to ******(name protected for reasons of secrecy).As I entered the library,my jaw fell as I saw rows upon rows of Wodehouse books.Just lying there in a cold damp corner.
Over the next two years,I read each and every one of them again and again and again.Then it was time to move to some new place,but my wicked mind couldn't bear the thought of letting all these treasures stay behind.So in a feat worthy of Jesse James and Robin Hood,I did what any right minded collector would do.That's right,I STOLE THE BLOODY LOT !!!!!
Over the course of five days,I smuggled a total of thrty six books from thye library to my home and hid them.The only reason I'm not in a kaboos is that the library staff were so negligent that they didn't even know those books existed in the first place.So,I had a sizeable stash,but some were left behind,and there they lie to this day.And each day my heart bleeds at the thought of those that were left behind.But not to be outdone,I went there again this month.Just walked in with an airy nonchalance,nodded to the librarian,went to my old spot ....and shoved a couple more in my trousers.Then it was the walk back,again giving the librarian the most angelic of glances and walking gingerly so as not to drop my strategically placed load and I was out !!!
Now ,the Master wrote ninety books in total,and finally after years of collecting,I almost managed to break par yesterday.That is,I bought(didn't steal for a change) my 45th Wodehouse book.Almost,because belive it or not,just like in a Wodehouse story...somebody's stolen it !!!!
Song Of The Week,"Most Likely You'll Go Your Way,Bob Dylan
Movie Of The Week,"The Last Waltz
Book Of The week,"Sula",Toni Morrisson
In our farmhouse,there's this big red trunk.It is full of my father's bibliomaniacal treasures.Scores upon scores of books,of every description,size and shape.some of the best hours of my village visits are spent browsing through it,and each expedition brings forth new gems.As I grow older,my finds have ranged from Huckleberry Finn to Ben Hur to Bertrand Russel to Rousseau.But there is one find that I count among the best things that ever happened to me,truly a liofe changing experience..
It was eight years ago,as far as I can recall.Having derived all the possible pleasure out of watching a bunch of supercillious cows,I decided to rummage the big red trunk.I climbed up to the top of the storage room,opened it up and started digging.After about half an hour of dilligent mayhem,I chanced upon a funny looking book.It was "The Girl On The Boat",by one P.G. Wodehouse.so,I took it out,lay on the bed and started reading.
It was five minutes into the read that something happened.Something strange.Suddenly,I was laughing,uncontrollably,hysterically and violently.Lolling around on the bed,with tears in my eyes,trying to stop my guts from busting.I just couldn't stop,try as I might.My mother gaped at this strange apparition and ran to call my father just as I fell from my bed and tumbled to the ground,still guffawing like the dickens...My mom wrenched the book from my hands and anxiously showed it to dad,holding it ever so gingerly like it was a deadly poison or something.A look of apprehension gave way to comprehension,as an understanding smile spread on my father's face and he said,"Relax Farree(my mum's name),it's just Wodehouse !!
"It's just Wodehouse,talk about an understatement.From that moment on,I have been enthralled by the Master's works,lost in the beauty,intricacy and complexity of his language,and laughing my guts out at every other page.Once I got hooked,there wasn't any stopping me.Every library and bookshop I visited was with the sole intention of getting my grimy hands on some Wodehouse.It was a slow journey,and uptill four years ago,I had managed to get only five Wodehouse books.But that was before i got to ******(name protected for reasons of secrecy).As I entered the library,my jaw fell as I saw rows upon rows of Wodehouse books.Just lying there in a cold damp corner.
Over the next two years,I read each and every one of them again and again and again.Then it was time to move to some new place,but my wicked mind couldn't bear the thought of letting all these treasures stay behind.So in a feat worthy of Jesse James and Robin Hood,I did what any right minded collector would do.That's right,I STOLE THE BLOODY LOT !!!!!
Over the course of five days,I smuggled a total of thrty six books from thye library to my home and hid them.The only reason I'm not in a kaboos is that the library staff were so negligent that they didn't even know those books existed in the first place.So,I had a sizeable stash,but some were left behind,and there they lie to this day.And each day my heart bleeds at the thought of those that were left behind.But not to be outdone,I went there again this month.Just walked in with an airy nonchalance,nodded to the librarian,went to my old spot ....and shoved a couple more in my trousers.Then it was the walk back,again giving the librarian the most angelic of glances and walking gingerly so as not to drop my strategically placed load and I was out !!!
Now ,the Master wrote ninety books in total,and finally after years of collecting,I almost managed to break par yesterday.That is,I bought(didn't steal for a change) my 45th Wodehouse book.Almost,because belive it or not,just like in a Wodehouse story...somebody's stolen it !!!!
Song Of The Week,"Most Likely You'll Go Your Way,Bob Dylan
Movie Of The Week,"The Last Waltz
Book Of The week,"Sula",Toni Morrisson
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
...Of Me And John Denver...
You always remember what you were doing when you found out that Kennedy had been shot.That was way before I was born (but still a part of my memories though,as a previous post explained),but there are a lot of such momentous events that leave an imprint on your mind,like a sort of a time capsule,filled with all the sights and sounds and scents of that particular point in time.
October 13,1997.The day was a Friday,the old holiday,and the friday paper was in my hand.We were in Murree,the cold sunshine nipping through the trees.I was glancing through the paper when I saw the headline ,"John Denver's Travels Down Country Roads Come To Tragic End".I still remember my shock,and my wildly thumping heart as I showed the news to my dad.John was,as far as I know,the only english singer he ever listened to (to this day,alas),and he was terribly sad.It was more like a family tragedy like anything else..
Back when CDs weren't the ubiquitious little varmints they now are,and downloads were still something too frightfully distant to comprehend,artists like John weren't that easily available.I've still got those two bootlegged cassettes that one used to get from Bombeat Rawalpindi,the ones they used to record themselves.The green-sleeved one was the Greatest Hits Vol.1,and the red-sleeved Vol.2 These two little plastic contraptions were,the only english music I heard for the first 12 years of my life.
And the place to hear them was the car stereo.We are a family of road-trippers,heading off everywhichway for no apparent reason at all.And the musical accompaniement was to me (as explained in a previous post) the most important part of the trip.Driving along the roads,with Annie's Song playing is one of my clearest memories.Another one is bathing at the tube-well,with the sun blazing down,and me meditatively humming "Sunshine On My Shoulders".
Now,I have a thing with songs,that is I can learn 'em with just a listen or two (something I wish I could emulate with my studies).And John's songs were the first ones in my repertoire.My dad listened to him because he was melodic,infact something more than melodic.He gave you what the Eagles called the "Peaceful,Easy feeling".But I took a liking to him for something else,the words.The mountain ballads,the Colorado songs,the intimate dirges,all these are what started my love for singer-songwriters.
I only really "get" people after they're dead.In some cases because,well they died before I was born,and in others because that's when I first begin to get intrigued about them.That was the case with JD too.It was much later that I came to know of his other life.The fact that he was a trained,certified jet-pilot with over 7500 flight hours.The fact that he was the first western performer to be allowed inside Communist Russia and China.The fact that he was the Poet-Laureate of Colorado.The fact that he changed his name to the state capital.These facts,important in their own right,are mere embellishments for me.Embelishments on the many many hours of pleasure that I derived and continue to derive.
There's a couple of songs that I call my "life songs".Among them is the gem,"Leavin'On A Jet Plane".Released when John was part of the Chad Mitchell Trio in the sixties,it gave him his first songwriting creds.It's been covered (mauled) by many an artist.It is one of the most ironically poignant songs ever,considering the unfortunate deaths of both John and his first wife Annie in jet-plane crashes.They say music is prophetic of times to come.If that's true,then what an epitaph John wrote for himself...
October 13,1997.The day was a Friday,the old holiday,and the friday paper was in my hand.We were in Murree,the cold sunshine nipping through the trees.I was glancing through the paper when I saw the headline ,"John Denver's Travels Down Country Roads Come To Tragic End".I still remember my shock,and my wildly thumping heart as I showed the news to my dad.John was,as far as I know,the only english singer he ever listened to (to this day,alas),and he was terribly sad.It was more like a family tragedy like anything else..
Back when CDs weren't the ubiquitious little varmints they now are,and downloads were still something too frightfully distant to comprehend,artists like John weren't that easily available.I've still got those two bootlegged cassettes that one used to get from Bombeat Rawalpindi,the ones they used to record themselves.The green-sleeved one was the Greatest Hits Vol.1,and the red-sleeved Vol.2 These two little plastic contraptions were,the only english music I heard for the first 12 years of my life.
And the place to hear them was the car stereo.We are a family of road-trippers,heading off everywhichway for no apparent reason at all.And the musical accompaniement was to me (as explained in a previous post) the most important part of the trip.Driving along the roads,with Annie's Song playing is one of my clearest memories.Another one is bathing at the tube-well,with the sun blazing down,and me meditatively humming "Sunshine On My Shoulders".
Now,I have a thing with songs,that is I can learn 'em with just a listen or two (something I wish I could emulate with my studies).And John's songs were the first ones in my repertoire.My dad listened to him because he was melodic,infact something more than melodic.He gave you what the Eagles called the "Peaceful,Easy feeling".But I took a liking to him for something else,the words.The mountain ballads,the Colorado songs,the intimate dirges,all these are what started my love for singer-songwriters.
I only really "get" people after they're dead.In some cases because,well they died before I was born,and in others because that's when I first begin to get intrigued about them.That was the case with JD too.It was much later that I came to know of his other life.The fact that he was a trained,certified jet-pilot with over 7500 flight hours.The fact that he was the first western performer to be allowed inside Communist Russia and China.The fact that he was the Poet-Laureate of Colorado.The fact that he changed his name to the state capital.These facts,important in their own right,are mere embellishments for me.Embelishments on the many many hours of pleasure that I derived and continue to derive.
There's a couple of songs that I call my "life songs".Among them is the gem,"Leavin'On A Jet Plane".Released when John was part of the Chad Mitchell Trio in the sixties,it gave him his first songwriting creds.It's been covered (mauled) by many an artist.It is one of the most ironically poignant songs ever,considering the unfortunate deaths of both John and his first wife Annie in jet-plane crashes.They say music is prophetic of times to come.If that's true,then what an epitaph John wrote for himself...
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