Reclamation...... reloaded!!

This blog was supposed to be about reclamation. And after nearly three months of inactivity, I did reclaim something today. Just the stimuli I needed to get back to this outlet. Ever since I developed some sort of a social conscience (I'd say, around middle school), environmental issues were the prime tongs that poked it time and again, fiercely, strongly. It's not like I was a great crusader for Mother Earth, or lived my life only to serve the cause. I did just whatever was "convenient" for me. I participated actively in the school nature club, went on plantation drives, recycled paper (only as an assignment to make paper mache though!)and primarily used the strongest weapons at my disposal to get my passion across - the pen, and the mouth. I wrote articles, spoke in the school assembly about deforestation and everything else my inexperienced (though in hindsight, much more committed and dedicated) brain could fathom as the boundaries of the massive environmental crisis. How was I to know ,that what I envisaged the problem to be, was not even an iota of the reality back then? But I was passionate - the keyword here- and ready to do what ever it took on my part (of course, within my limits of convenience)to make a difference. And the response to those articles and speeches did make me feel that I was doing something significant. I did eventually realize the gravity of the whole situation as I grew up in its true proportions. But as you grow up, the realms of life expand beyond your control. Though my understanding of the whole issue was deeper now, the dual conflict of anger and helplessness it stoked within grew stronger, the barbs at the conscience grew sharper, the will and the passion to contribute, to make a difference became smaller. Convenience took more of a precedence, everything else, education, career, friends, became more important. My "contribution" was limited to the occasional use of the pen, plenty of heated discussions with like-minded friends, and keeping abreast of the situation.... both as a concerned citizen, and an aspiring biologist. The situation did not change much in college. Though I became more aware of the issue, my understanding of the problems acquired a deeper, scientific basis, and more importantly I was thrown in the company of a couple of individuals whose commitment, passion, and will was far greater than mine. Instead of being inspired to take more effective strides further, I was content with the heated discussions, putting up opinions and ideas, and doing whatever was convenient to me, using public transport by choice, saving water blah blah....., but in some way, I was still involved - still concerned. That tiny shred of involvement went away as soon as higher studies came into the picture. It was all a clean slate. I was a couple of steps away from pursuing my higher studies in wildlife and conservation biology, or even environmental studies. I was about to make a career out of my passion. But, conventional wisdom got the better of me, and steered away from the course (its a different story altogether that the road I chose from thereon was not anymore conventional than the one I left).

Its been roughly three years now since I faced that fork. In these three years, everything has changed. There is no more passion for what used to be THE CAUSE of my life, what I was meant to do. The barbs on the conscience became infrequent as opposed to constant, and conversations with those like minded individuals would make me wonder "whatever in the world happened?". Though this change also coincided with my stint in Pondy, I would not blame that place for it, as I very willingly did in my very first post here. But today, an iota of that concern, that passion, that anger, that will came back. And ironically enough, what brought it back was watching an episode of Save India's Coasts Campaign on NDTV set in...... of course, Pondicherry. I was aware of the campaign for some time, came across episodes while channel surfing, but never really stopped to watch until today.

This post was actually supposed to be on that issue - India's Coastlines and the neglect. NDTV has once again picked up something that needed URGENT attention, and kudos to them. But as I started writing, narcissism sunk in, and this whole post became just another sob story of my reclamation. But I will get to the actual issue in the next post, because now that a bit of that spark is back, the only tool I have at my disposal even now is the pen (or rather... the keyboard now actually). Till then, do check out the campaign if you are concerned.

Some Things Never Change

When life seems to be caught in a picture frame, utterly static, refusing to budge, one often finds oneself turning the pages back, trying to relive or recreate the bright spots etched in the past. In one such exercise, I recently tuned into the Wicked Hour, the western music late-night show (1 a.m.) on AIR FM Rainbow. It was an integral part of my daily routine a few years back, and very often, I found myself staying up only to listen to that entire show. Or even if the lights were out, I'd still have my earphones and cell phone ready in bed. I couldn't imagine going to bed without listening to it. Now it seems like ages have gone by since then. I don't tune in to any western music show on AIR now, while not so long ago, they were...........

Anyway, for as long as I can remember, the radio has been an integral part of my life. Even from the reserves of faded memories of childhood which one tends to retain (or build up in one's imagination), I can recall waking up to the sounds of old Hindi film classics, or classical music from the radio set, (which would now look out of place even in an antique-piece showroom, but is still safely tucked away beneath the piles of old quilts in my house), as my mother cleaned the house, gently humming along with it. Those were, I imagine, the a.m. days. Then skipping a few years in the limited reserves of memory, I arrive on the F.M. days, when following the footsteps of my teen-aged sister, I began to revel in the sounds of Whigfield, Boyzone, Backstreet Boys, Spice girls and the likes. This is when my long and memorable association with AIR FM began. This is when I first heard the sound of Shibani Kashyap's iconic jingle in English - "We got the music playing, night and day.......". Those were the days of pagers. SMS was still unheard of. I used to rush home from school, to maximize the amount of time I could spend listening to the 2-3 western music show, and not miss listening to "Words" by Boyzone, or "Sexy eyes" by Whighfield, again. Then at night, there was YAFI - You Asked For It". People used to send hand made cards and letters and what not to the RJs.

Then, as I grew up, the bond became deeper and stronger - some new artists, Shania, Savage Garden, Westlife and so on. The 2-3 show became Just For You, the pagers gave way for e-mail messages. I remember, my very first e-mail was in 9th standard from a cyber cafe, to this very show, a request for songs. The thrill of listening to my mail being read out by my favorite RJ (Meghna on Just for you), as soon as I walked into the house from school, and hearing my request being played, was no less than Halle Berry's Oscar moment! Soon, the number of shows increased - take off and time out in the morning were the reason I used to get out of the bed SHARP at 8 even on weekends. Then different shows everyday from 5-6, 8-9 and 10-11. LiveWire on Sundays was a must - thanks to my sister again. Each RJ was liked or loathed with sincere intensity. I don't exactly remember when I started listening to the Wicked hour, but I know that it became the most awaited hour of the day during my college days. Musical tastes improved, sources for western music diversified with the advent of other FM channels and cable television at home, but my loyalty to AIR was unflinching. Somewhere down the line, it became AIR FM RAINBOW, but as long as Shibani Kashyap's voice continued to entreat you to listen to the station, all was well with the world.

The world moves with the times, but not AIR FM RAINBOW. At least the western music section. The RJs, at least till the final year of my college were mostly good, and the music was, well, a mixed bag. Plenty of other channels cropped up, but they were all (and still are!) so similar that it became difficult to distinguish one from another. But AIR retained its old world charm. RJ's still continued to speak over the songs according to will, describing the merits of the song and only stopping when half of the song had already played out. Belinda Carlisle's "heaven is a place on earth...." still played out day in and day out on each and every show. Celine Dion was still the queen, though the world may have forgotten her, and "Nothing's gonna change my love for you....." was still the lovers' anthem. AIR was like a stubborn kid, which had to be different from all the other kids in class, and refused to move on to the next grade, happy and comfortable with familiarity of the old. And who would blame them, the saccharine coated messages from devout listeners (yes, SMS had arrived by now), continued to pour in, and Enrique's Escape was still requested at least 100 times a day. A few good RJs who were a breather, and gave a chance to Coldplay, Nirvanna, Alanis and others, slowly started drifting away to other lucrative assignments on th newer crop of FM stations. But the Belinda Carlisle fans refused to budge from the studios of AIR. Still, people like me were also there, staying up entire nights listening to them, living their lives along with the station, and forming bag-full of memories.

Then I went to Pondy, and not being such a big fan of the Tamil music on the local radio station, radio was replaced by my mp3 player and computer. And now, there is no more take off or time out, there is no Just for you, no more Meghna, no more Lokesh, no more Dr. Feel Good (doing quite well on another channel though). It seems AIR western music section has vowed not to budge an inch. And as I discovered the other day, Wicked hour is still there, the annoying RJs with fake accents who apparently have sworn to speak over every song innumerable times are still there, the faulty players and CDs which get stuck are still there, Shibani Kashyap still sounds as fresh as ever, heaven is still a place on earth for AIR (long live Belinda!!) .......... and all the memories, of course, still are there. As they say, somethings never change.

Filmy Dilli!

Mumbai has always been known as the home of Bollywood, or rather the Indian Film Industry. Delhi, for some obscure reason, was never really a hot spot for filming movies. It surprises me, as with its ample open spaces, green boulevards, historical monuments, and remnants of old-world charm, it appears to me as a pretty darn good destination for the Bollywood moghuls. But recently, it seems Bollywood has woken up to Delhi in a big way. And being a hard core Dilliwalah, I'm lovin' it!!

A host of movies in recent past have had at least some parts shot in this gorgeous, ancient abode of Dil walahs. Though I must say, I had never really given much thought to this while I was here. Only when I became a NRD (Non-Resident Delhiite), and spent two years of life in Pondicherry, did I begin to appreciate even a slight glimpse of my city in the movies! I still remember, watching Love Aajkal for the second time, when it was screened as part of one of the regular film festivals at the University. As soon as that particular stretch shot in Delhi (lasting not more than a few minutes) came on, I was hooting and cheering (highly atypical of me, as people who know me will tell you) like a rockstar's groupie!! The metro, Delhi haat, the wide roads, green tree-lined boulevards, the Red fort stretch of ring road...... all these must have passed in a matter of few minutes, but for me the thrill of that entire movie was encapsulated in those moments. Can you imagine, what would have happened If I had made it to Delhi 6's screening!? I saw that one too when I was in Pondy, and I still feel it is one of the best representations of the city, along with Delhi Heights, and now apparently Band Baaja Baarat, even though most of it was shot in Jaipur!! In fact, it sounds lame now, but as soon as the train used to enter Delhi on my return trips from Pondy, I would set my mp3 player to only play these two songs - ye Delhi hai mere yaar (Dilli 6) and Dilli by Rabbi Shergill (Delhi Heights) - while I soaked in the sights and sounds of the city!!! Tried to create my very own Filmy moments there!

In fact, I was excited about seeing Break ke Baad and Band Baaja Baarat only because of the AIIMS flyover and the green CNG low floor bus in their trailers respectively. And when the latter turned out to be entirely set in Delhi, with Dilli almost like a character in the film, with the Dilli wali lingo, and Delhi University campus proving to be icing on the cake, I couldn't help but salivate and begin to listen to Ainvayi Ainvayi at least ten times a day! Still waiting for a chance to catch these two movies.

I always used to rue the fact that Delhi could not boast of an extraordinary ode to itself, unlike Mumbai which has such a beautiful, immortal song dedicated to it (ye hai Bombay meri jaan). The only two songs that even come close are ye Delhi hai mere yaar (Dilli 6) and Dilli by Rabbi Shergill (Delhi Heights). The upcoming movie, No one killed Jessica, also features two songs on Delhi, but they don't even come close in terms of an ideal tribute. Though I must admit that some of the lyrics in aali re, like "Dilli hai dil waalon ki par hoton pe to gaali re", are unfortunately true. Looks like I'll have to take up this responsibility of penning down an ode to this city of mine on my own shoulders! Anyone up for composing?



Some of the films in recent memory which have had the life of an average Delhiite at their hearts are Do dooni chaar, Dil Dosti etc., and Pyar ke Side Effects. I have heard that the first one beautifully tells the story of an middle class Delhi household and its aspirations, while Dil Dosti etc. is I guess, the first film with proper DU life as its background. I wonder why more film makers don't exploit DU? And how can I forget Aisha, Sonam Kapoor's showcase for the elite, rich, pretentious and snooty Delhi, which shops in DLF Emporio and Khan market, has a luxury car for each family member, and frequents art galleries and polo matches. And I believe the rest of India, sees Delhi usually with this perspective only.

Another face of Delhi, that movie makers have now and then loved to show in their films, is its old world charm, Purani Dilli, and the various monuments adorning the city thanks to the Mughals, Lodis and the British. While Fanaa packed in a sort of Dilli darshan in its first half, the song Bol na halke halke from Jhoom barabar Jhoom too brought out the beauty of Qutub Minar. In Kurbaan, Delhi and its wide open spaces were showcased when at their best, in winters! The foggy streets, winter clothes, Rajpath, Jama Masjid..... though Delhi did not get much screen time in the movie, it was enough to get me hooked! But I was left wishing that DU really has lecturers who look like Kareena Kapoor!! And Delhi does come out at its best in winters, though immortalized in a rather crass and vulgar fashion in the song Dilli ki sardi! But more on Delhi and its winters in another post.

Now, while writing this, I realize what a mammoth task I have taken upon in trying to chronicle Delhi's tryst with Hindi cinema. I still haven't even touched upon two of Hindi film Industry's biggest and most high-impact hits, both with the Aamir Khan stamp of quality cinema - Rang De Basanti, and 3 Idiots. While for RDB, Delhi provided the perfect setting for the portrayal of political activism, as well the exuberance and "Don't give a Damn!" attitude of today's youth (with IHC masquerading as DU!!), in 3 Idiots, it just played a titsy bitsy role, with a cameo by the iconic CP. In fact, RDB led to the first massive media-led movements for social justice, and brought the common man out on the streets in wake of the Jessica lal murder case (if I remember correctly). A unique case of life imitates art, and vice versa too, cuz now the highly anticipated film No one killed Jessica brings to screen that very same pioneering mass activism movement.

So before a myriad other films featuring Delhi start flooding my brain, I will wrap this up, hoping to catch Band Baaja Baarat and a simple request to the film-wallahs, ye Dil maange more of Dilli! And if you have Delhi in your film, you have my ticket!

Guzaarish

I had been pretty stoked about the fact that this year would see my favorite screen Goddess, Aishwarya, lighting up the silver screen four times! I had planned to watch all of these movies in a theatre, and today I almost fulfilled that vow, with Guzaarish. I had seen Raavan and Action Replayy both, and passed on Robot for obvious reasons. I dragged my mother for all the three ventures, and it was only the last and most recent one, for which she tagged along willingly. Though she did end up enjoying all of them, barring Raavan. Today, when we walked into Sangam, I got the shock of my life! You could count the number of people in both the Balcony and upper stall on your fingers!! I mean, there were more people for a 10 am show of Babel at PVR Priya in the dead of winters a few years back! People did start trickling in after a while, but still not challenging the count on fingers.

I won't go on for an elaborate elucidation of my thoughts on this movie, as I did for Raavan. All I can say is, it was truly, a great cinematic experience. I have always been a HUGE Sanjay Leela Bhansali fan (have even seen the much maligned Saawariya nearly 11 times), and there was no doubt in my mind that this movie would be anything less than spectacular. But I was wrong. It was not spectacular. It was a beautiful account of raw human emotions, expressed ever so subtly, making them all the more real.

There is no filmmaker as intelligent as SLB in contemporary Indian cinema. Every frame of the movie was enriched with metaphors, subtle sub texts. Dealing with a subject where it would have been very easy, and not even out of place, to indulge in melodrama, he preferred to let silences, stolen glances, expressions, cinematography do the talking, rather than words. The protagonist's immobility contrasted with constant motion around him, the curtains; the fly, every inanimate object around him seemed more alive than him. A person, who is looking to relieve himself of the misery of his existence, has no future to look forward to, is shown wearing rose-tinted glasses. Picking up on minute details like these enriched this cinematic experience.

The performances are definitely the finest you can see in Indian cinema, and I'm out of word to describe them. All I can say is, it is the first time that a movie pulled at my heart string so strongly to give me a lumpy throat. And this was during that one MAGICAL scene, where both the director and his actor show their mettle, when you see a hapless Ethan struggle at first valiantly, and then crushed, by the drops of water dripping on him constantly through the night from the ceiling. I was literally cringing in my seat, and thanking God (even though I confess to being an atheist), that I have my faculties working fine, and praying that I never become so helpless as he did. There are many such beautiful moments from this poet of pain (SLB), that you'll cherish long after you have left the theater. Aishwarya has once again given ample proof of her competence as an actress par excellence, and done things that I really don't think any other actress could have pulled off with half as much strength and dignity ( I wonder if they'd have done it at all!).

The music has taken a backseat again, not as much as in Black, but wherever it does come in, it lifts up the whole experience to a new level. The songs have been brilliantly woven into the screenplay. Sau gram zindagi, tera zikr, and Udi all have there appeal enhanced tremendously when experienced in context of the movie.

Of course, its not all hunky dory. The flow of the film is not smooth and does appear to jerk in parts. Occasionally the characters seem slightly under-developed.My biggest complaint is that most of the crucial gems of the movie were already shown in the numerous promos and trailers, and the surprise element was a bit lacking while watching the movie.

But all said and done, it was a mesmerizing, and unique cinematic experience. Just two hours long, I wish it had gone on for a bit more. But then, "Zindagi bahut khoobsurat hai, chahe woh saat, sava saat pound ki ho, ya fir sau gram ki"....

The Commonwealth Saga

I know I'm trying to hop onto a bus that is already gone..... But I had to! Would have felt incomplete without it. How could I not write about something that left such an indelible impression on me? Plus, it possibly is THE moment, which will be mentioned every time the love of my life is mentioned anywhere in the world, meri pyari Dilli!! For close to a fortnight, Delhi was the quintessential bride, all decked up in glory, each flaw carefully hidden, a picture of calm n poise, but a thousand storms brewing within, being, watched, observed and judged by everyone. Did she pass the test? Barely, as we all know.

So much has been written and said about the Commonwealth Games Delhi 2010, that there is no point in reliving them. We are all aware of the scams, the corruption, the mess, the collapse, the 6000 Rs. Toilet roll, the miraculous turn around, the jaw dropping, heart pumping, Awe-inspiring, pride-inducing opening ceremony, the ALMOST smooth conduct of the games, Expectedly empty stadiums which miraculously filled up with screaming, dancing, "monkeys" (as one of our esteemed guests put it), and the highlight - the 101 medals in our kitty, and the slightly disappointing closing ceremony. We have all read it, seen it, heard about it, mostly through the now-devil, now-angel Desi media, and the ever condescending, nit-picking, and at best patronizing firangi media.

So what do I write about? The fact that it got people, Indian people, that too Delhi people, who consider it too much of a bother to even wave their hands at a concert, to come out of their homes, at 8, 9 even 10 in the night, on weekdays, to watch sports like Badminton, Tennis, Rugby 7's, wrestling, boxing and so on. The fact that it got millions of Indians hooked onto Doordarshan again. I was extremely amused, and perplexed to find myself and my mother hooked onto DD Sports from 6pm to 10 pm straight everyday, watching things like wrestling, boxing, hockey, squash, table tennis, athletics, even Lawn bowls for God's sake (still no idea what it is all about). I fell in love with Delhi all over again, watching the cyclists sweat it out for more than three hours on the deserted, but beautiful boulevards of Central Delhi, the aerial shots of Lutyen's Delhi taking my breath away.

But most important of all, I think what deserves to be written about it, is the look in the eyes of the athletes, who did our country proud, when after their win (or even loss), they looked up in the stands to find hundreds of compatriots cheering and yelling for them. The look in their eyes (and tears) while standing on the podium with the medal in their hand, mumbling the national anthem, and staring at the tricolor being hoisted. The moving image of Sarath Kamal bawling with emotion after the Gold in men's doubles on the podium when the national anthem played instantly comes to the mind. Unknown names, and faces, suddenly became the topic of discussion at water-points and dinner tables. Those who would have been unknown to the neighborhood subziwallah a few days back, had small children gunning for their autographs, looking upto them with respect and awe, wanting to be like them, and cheering in the stands waving banners with their names written. For players like Deepika Kumari, the archery gold medalist from Jharkhand, years of living in abject poverty and anonymity, the worth of those years was realized in that one moment, which DD captured in a beautiful manner in the shot for each podium winner - with their emotion filled faces looking up at the flag while singing the anthem in one half of the TV screen, the Tricolor being hoisted in the other half, and their sport represented at the bottom of the screen by a shuttlecock, or ball, or bow etc. Images that will not be forgotten (hopefully) for a long time. These games mean so much more to these athletes than we can imagine, and should be the answer to the skeptics who wondered whether it was worth spending the thousands of crores on a "party" (as Chetan Bhagat put it), when it could have been used for "development". Was this not development? And are people really naive enough to believe that if the games had not been organized, that money would have ever actually gone to the poor? Anyway, not the things I want to focus on. For me, the legacy of the games was what I mentioned above, and it truly was, a coming out event, in more ways than one.

And before I forget, a BIG Shout out to the voulnteers of Delhi United (including my friends, Anirudh and Isha), who, as everyone has acknowledged, were a major force behind the successful conduct of the games. I really feel that I missed out on a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Eminem - Love The Way You Lie ft. Rihanna

Janmashtami ...... A lot of Childhood Memories!

One of the things I love about our country is the myriad of festivals we celebrate. Janmashtami is one such festival, with which some of my strongest childhood memories are associated. I was kind of excited today in the morning for I was in Delhi on Janmashtami after two years. But as soon as I ventured out of my house, the excitement faded away. There were no kids running around the street digging up roadside mud to carve out a beautiful village scene with a river cutting through it, and mountains in the background. And where would they I wondered, for every inch of free earth on the roadside had been covered up with concrete tiles in the name of beautification. On my way to the market I saw this was the case in all the streets. Only in the market and the central park did I finally see a couple. And these were the big commercial ones, sponsored by the RWAs or shopkeepers' associations etc.

That old feeling was missing. During my childhood, Janmashtami was a big deal for us kids. The preparations started weeks in advance. It was a well co-ordinated exercise, with groups made for different activities, like collecting the red sand (bajri), digging up and landscaping the village scene, buying and collecting the idols of Lord Krishna and Radha, along with the gopis, the iconic image of Vasudeva carrying baby Krishna over his head through the swelling Yamuna river, supposedly trying to touch the Lord's feet, and various other idols depicting events from his life, etc. The adults pitched in, with their contributions towards preparing the prasad and setting up the lighting etc. Every year one of the moms would donate a few of her old, tattered dupattas and other rags, which we would then completely smear in roadside wet mud (keechad), so that it becomes all brown and earthy. Then sticks and rods of varying length were scavenged laboriously, and arranged methodically. The cloth was draped on them, sprinkled with chalk dust, blue powder, and other colors to re-create the beautiful Himalayan range, and specifically the abode of Lord Shiva, Kailash parbat. The Sacred Yamuna would flow from the foot hills of these mountains and into our make-believe villages of Brij, Mathura. Quaint little mud huts topped with hay roofs, and various events from Krishna's life being palyed out by the idols. Gopis crossing over mud bridges on the river yamuna, baby Krishna stealing butter on one end, young krishna dancing on top of the seven-head snake demon in the river, adolescent Krishna playing the tunes of love to Radha under a Mango tree with his beloved cow-herd grazing nearby, and the same Krishna killing demons and his evil uncle at the other end.

For those 3-4 days, nothing else in life mattered. As soon as school was over, we rushed back home, forced our meals down and rushed down to get our depictions perfectly right. After all, it was a matter of pride. Our group had to be the best in the street. This element of competition, of presenting the grandest, most beautiful and well - crafted Jhaanki of the Lord's life in the street, or maybe even the whole sector was the driving force behind the dedication. And of course, it would be accompanied by the childhood politics of copying ideas, guarding your designs, deflection of members from one group to another at the last minute, along with their prized idols. It all seems so simple and stupid now, but then, it'd be something you would lose sleep over, as if nothing worse could happen in the world. Except for one thing, the dreaded rain, which made it a point to always show up on this holy day. It was a sign that the Lord is happy and observant. But it meant a disaster for our presentations. But somehow the rain never spoiled it. And with all the roadblocks, every year we were successful and by 7 pm were ready with our jhaanki, our plates of prasad, and the donation box! Yes, that's how it was decided which group won - the one that managed to collect the maximum amount of money from the people who came to visit and admire our work and seek the blessings of the Lord. Granted, most of the contributions would be from the parents of the participating children, but the praises which came our way for our hard work from random strangers were the most valuable. They made us feel worthwhile and proud of having pulled off a remarkable feat!

Now that I think of it, even though there may not have been a lot of devotion behind our endeavours, they still were such a great exercise for us as children. An amazing outlet for expression of creativity, it was a great exercise in team work, management, leadership skills, as well as crisis-management. It made us work together, investing our pocket-money, time, efforts in it. And the collective rewards we reaped were much greater the party of pastries and chocolates we had from the money collected. Once we grew up and "got too old for such things", the younger crop, who would observe us all these years from the sidelines took over, just as we did from our elder siblings....... I wonder if the kids of the coming generations will get to experience these things or will their childhood memoirs consist of odes to video games, TV and Facebook???