Reflections of Passions

‘I am late, I am late. Excuse me, please give me way, I’m late,’ I murmured while running for my life. ‘I am really late,’ I kept murmuring as I kept pushing against people, trying to find space to board the Howrah Mail. I boarded my coach, on time even as the engine gave a sharp hoot indicating departure. I noticed the time on my watch 22:00 pm sharp. The summer vacations were coming to an end and I was returning to Mumbai. I occupied my seat and I plugged in my headphones to drown out the noise and pretended to sleep in the upper berth. I woke up the next morning when the train reached Mughalsarai. My co-passenger was reading a newspaper while I was reading ‘The Overcoat’ by Nikolai Gogol. When the train reached Manikpur, a book seller boarded the coach and I was overjoyed. It was a pleasure to browse through his collection. I tried my hand at attempting small-talk. ‘Manohar,’ he announced his name. Finishing his evening tea, Manohar flung the paper cup out of the window with a...

The vacations were coming to an end. Savitri finally felt a sense of fulfillment and she was pleased with herself. Her application as a lecturer at S.V. College had been accepted and she was radiant. Her six years of hard work: balancing home and her work had paid off very well. She had worked hard to secure her postgraduate degree in Economics with the help of a scholarship. ‘My father is coming to spend his time with Vivek,’ she announced with a sense of pride. Her husband Harish was not very happy to hear this but still smiled. He was the district collector. Though he had his reservations about her job, he supported his wife. She was going to be teaching at the same Economics department where she was once a student, seven years ago. Savitri’s father Devdutt arrived by the train early morning on Sunday. She hugged him and prostrated at his feet when he along with Harish reached home in the car. Savitri left early for college on Monday as she had to submit her project report....

June 26, 2010. I was resuming work after a year. I had not noticed her on the first day, nor on the second, or the third and for quite some time in the 9:14 Vashi local to Mumbai CST. I noticed her a week later. She sat opposite me by the window and snoozed while keeping her copy of Midnight's Children on her lap. The journey to Mumbai CST is nearly 35 minutes long and it always feels nice when a familiar face travels along.  The First Class compartment was jam-packed and I had not landed a seat as usual. I stood sandwiched between a man and a young girl. Travelling since 1999 had made me a veteran and a self-proclaimed expert in commuting. I was quite used to being crushed by other passengers, just as every Mumbaikar who has ever travelled by a local train is.  The train now halted at Tilaknagar where three ladies and a young boy in tattered clothes got in. The boy had a lot of confidence despite most of the commuters passing cringed looks. He moved around the compartment ...

It was nearing 16:40 pm and the sun's rays were shifting towards the west. I was on platform nine staring at people running to catch the much-desired window seats of the Thane slow and the Asangaon Fast. My attention was diverted due to blaring horns of a diesel engine that was shunting in the rakes of the Mumbai--Pune Deccan Queen Express from the yard. Regular commuters, travelling back to Pune, were waiting below the indicators marking the coaches.  My ticket read: "Coach D3, Seat: 99" and I occupied my seat. The clamour for seats in this train was always high. Thankfully, I had occupied my seat well in time. In an attempt to drown out the noise, I pretended to sleep which was often rendered futile due to the noise. Announcements were made about the train being ready to depart from platform number nine of Mumbai CST and I noticed the time on my watch 17:10 p.m. sharp.  As the train slowed down at Thane, I decided to take a short walk in the compartment. Surprisingl...

Vikram Kapur The Hindu When we revisit favourite songs, books and movies we encounter our earlier selves and experiences. I was watching a video of Paul McCartney singing ‘All my Loving’ in a recent concert on Youtube on my computer. Little more than a minute into the song, the camera froze on a member of the audience. This guy, who looked to be in his fifties, was practically sobbing. Songs don’t make grown-up men cry like that, I reasoned, and examined the comments section of the page to see if I could find out why he was crying so hard. One comment informed me that he had lost his wife recently and ‘All my Loving’ brought her memory back because it was their favourite song. That episode set me thinking of the role art plays in our lives. As we age, our favourite songs, books and movies become a repository of our memories. When we revisit them, we encounter our earlier selves, the people we knew then, the experiences that shaped us... Since I have spent a good part of m...

I was recently at a poetry workshop and I must admit I was fairly embarrassed at myself. I lack the wisdom and expertise to rate or write a good poem. I had been to the library the other day and I came across this lovely poem called "Father In A Dream" by acclaimed painter and poet Ghulam Mohammed Sheikh. It has been translated from Gujarati by the poet himself and Saleem Peeradina. It is sourced from an anthology "Signatures" which has translations of 100 Indian poets. Father In A Dream Father I saw you again, yesterday thousands of miles away from home, here on the shore Of the Baltic where I lie asleep. You stood by my bed in this strange land in the same patched, wrinkled coat you wore when you reconciled quarrelling brothers. On grandfather's death you must have stood exactly like this holding the lonely old man's shrivelled hand. When did you migrate from Kathiawar to join the refugees of Crimea? Leaving behind the Bhogavo river, crossin...

Arundhathi Subramaniam This poem "To The Welsh Critic Who Doesn't Find Me Identifiably Indian" takes on the West's demands for ethnic authenticity with a rhetoric that's just about as rustic as a mouth-freshened global village. To begin with, the poem itself is a surprising display of wit and ire. Drawing on her experiences, Arundhathi describes her poem in the following words: "This is a poem addressed ostensibly to a Welsh critic but he's just a peg to talk about. A pet peeve. This is really a poem to all those voices telling us how to belong. How to be post-colonial, how to be South Asian, how to be modern, how to be contemporary, how to be Hindu, how to be woman."  To The Welsh Critic Who Doesn't Find Me Identifiably Indian: You believe you know me, wide-eyed Eng Lit type from a sun-scalded colony, reading my Keats--or is it yours-- while my country detonates  on your television screen. You imagine you've cracked my deepest ...

`   Indian spiritual wisdom has come down to us in its value and content. Just as the river Ganga flows down from the heights of the Himalayas, the knowledge or Jnana Ganga too flows from time immemorial to benefit all, irrespective of caste, creed, colour, race and nationality. A new television serial "Upanishad Ganga" directed by eminent filmmaker Dr. Chandraprakash Dwivedi (of Chanakya fame) launches on Doordarshan's satellite channel DD India on Sunday, May 19, 2013 at 13:30 p.m. and repeat telecast at 04:30 a.m. on Monday mornings.  Upanishad Ganga consists of 52 episodes which depict the essence of Upanishadic teachings as well as the hoary cultural, intellectual and knowledge traditions of India. Upanishad Ganga is a mammoth effort covering the entire gamut on Indian culture, heritage, philosophy and wisdom which spans for more than 5000 years. In this serial, the knowledge of Upanishads is explained in a modern context through stories. The episodes a...

"Eviday Shaanti Theerum" is a poignant music video filmed for BBC World News. It is one of the rare television commercials made by the BBC which did not get a commercial release. The video features the anguish of sailor Biju Jacob's mother who has started praying more often now since Somalian pirates attacked another merchant vessel. The music video drives home the point that most of us ultimately want the world to live in peace. The mother is asking certain questions through the jingle sung by Hamsika Iyer which goes like when will there be peace, when will a choir sing a positive song? Towards the end, the news presenter from BBC declares that many local stories have global connections.  The next time you see this ad, spare a thought for the sailors who might be captured and held hostage by the Somalian pirates. Of course, not every story related to the pirates is picked up the media hence sailor Biju Jacob's mother might still be praying somewhere for the w...

The living room was slightly dark. Things were visible in their outlines but for 56 year old Nancy, it was difficult to see her reflection in the mirror. There was nothing wrong in her eyesight; she just did not wish to recognize her face. With the passage of time, she turned her back on her previous self when she landed up in an old age home. During the last one year, everything had been wiped off almost like the way a line drawn with a white chalk is wiped off a slate. Similarly, Nancy too had scratched her old memories alive and forced upon her an awareness of her old identity.  It was on a Monday afternoon, a year ago, when her son and her daughter-in-law Diana informed her that they would be moving to Canada in search of better employment opportunities. Her son Ryan had smartly calculated his moves and made his mother to sign the legal documents of the house. He asked her to live in an old age home till the time they are settled there. It was due to this assurance that N...

As India celebrates its 63rd Republic Day, a new version of "Vande Mataram" was launched to infuse a feeling of patriotism. The new video has been composed by the tabla player Bickram Ghosh and the video has been directed by Girish Malik while the video has been conceptualized by J.K. Srivastava.  The new version of the national song brings in 21 eminent singers and musicians from different genres to create a fresh feel. The video infuses a feeling of patriotism as it features Sonu Nigam, Shubha Mudgal, Kaushiki Desikan and Ustad Rashid Khan, Amaan Ali Khan, Pandit Vishwamohan Bhatt, Niladri Kumar, Sunidhi Chauhan, Manoj Tiwari, Pandit Ajoy Chakraborty, Mahalakshmi Iyer, Indian Ocean, Roopkumar Rathod, Palash Sen, Kamal Sabri etc. The video also features Bickram Ghosh playing the tabla, kanjira and percussions.  India has one of the world's largest population of young people. The new video is an ode to India as a dynamic, vibrant nation and the India of the tim...

"Marathi Abhimaan Geet" is a song written by noted poet-lyricist the late. Suresh Bhatt and composed by Kaushal S. Inamdar. The idea behind creating the "Marathi Abhimaan Geet" was due to the diminishing respect for Marathi in Maharashtra. When I met Mr. Kaushal Inamdar at a college function, he mentioned two incidents which is why he took it upon himself to record this song. The first incident was about how he was ill-treated at a retail chain in South Mumbai because he chose to speak in Marathi. The second incident was when he was working on a jingle for a radio station and he asked the RJ why the station did not play Marathi songs. He was dumbfounded when the RJ replied that the radio station considered it "downmarket" to play Marathi songs. Thus began the concept of creating this music video in October 2009. The video consists of nearly 450 accomplished singers with 112 professional singers like Ravindra Sathe, Suresh Wadkar, Sadhana Sargam, Arati A...

Chinua Achebe  Michael Obi's hopes were fulfilled much earlier than he had expected. He was appointed headmaster of Ndume Central School in January 1949. It had always been an unprogressive school, so the Mission authorities decided to send a young and energetic man to run it. Obi accepted this responsibility with enthusiasm. He had many wonderful ideas and this was an opportunity to put them into practice. He had had sound secondary school education which designated him a "pivotal teacher" in the official records and set him apart from the other headmasters in the mission field. He was outspoken in his condemnation of the narrow views of these older and often less-educated ones.  "We shall make a good job of it, shan't we?" He asked his young wife when they first heard the joyful news of his promotion. "We shall do our best," she replied. "We shall have such beautiful gardens and everything will be just modern and delightful ..." In...

"Jana Gana Mana" is the National Anthem of India. The National Anthem is set primarily in Bengali, it is comprehensible to almost every Indian because of its strong Sanskrit flavour. While it is well known that the first stanza is a tribute to the astonishing geographical diversity of India, the second is a tribute to its multiple communities and the remaining are a salutation to India's undying spirit. Jana Gana Mana was first sung at the Calcutta session of the Indian National Congress on December 27 1911. Yes, you read that right, our National Anthem is 100 years today!! Jana Gana Mana was officially adopted by the Constituent Assembly as the Indian National Anthem on January 24 1950. To commemorate the 150th birth anniversary of Sri. Rabindranath Tagore in 2010, the leading English newspaper The Times of India had launched a campaign called "Jaya Hey". The truth it is that not many know of the remaining four stanzas that make up the National Anthem. The...

The song "Nee" is certainly one of the well-composed non-film songs in recent times. The lyrics for the song have been written by Aisoorya Vijayakumar and sung by my childhood friend Jaya Vidyasagar, a talented and classically trained singer from Mumbai who has lent her voice for this song. It has been composed by Rishi S. for an independent music label called "Sonore Unison". I imagined the song as an expression of a young girl waiting by the window as she was disillusioned and depressed since the boy whom she was in love with had moved to the city for higher studies. However, it was on a rainy morning, when her lover returned as a true gentleman from the city, it was as though the young girl almost received a new lease of life. On the joyous occasion of his arrival, she breaks into this song and sings it as tears roll down her eyes as she welcomes him back into her life. The song is a wonderful tribute to her lover's arrival back into her life. The rough mean...

Ritika Narayanan I've heard it whispered, I've heard it said aloud, I've heard it passed around a thousand times. I've heard it in my mind, Dissolving all sense of reality. I've heard it repeated, Echoing hollowly. The subject ceased existence. It hurt me, every time I heard it. It hurt me more, when I feigned relaxed. Gut-wrenching pangs, not of grief nor anger, Hurt me every time I remember That sweet face that now sleeps tranquil. But my pain is second-hand -it doesn't belong to me- It's owner and bearer Is hurt more than I can imagine. I have tried and failed to imagine, though. I do wish this pain had never come, Not to the bearer, nor to the sharer. (And may it not happen to the sharer in actuality.) Coward, I am, who cannot face the fact Of death, all pervasive intruder Into normalcy. Though I grieve as the one no more was one of my own, Nothing could compare to the grief of the one Who grieves because it was one's own. My grief is second-hand as ...

Rabindranath Tagore Nobel Laureate The emerald became green in the hue of my consciousness. The ruby became red. I opened my eyes to the skies. And light broke from East to West. I looked at the rose and said, "How beautiful". And the rose became beautiful. You will say, "These are philosophical truths, These are not the poet's speech." I say, "These are truths, And what is poetry but truth?" My conceit is here, A conceit on behalf of mankind; On the canvas of man's conceit is drawn the masterpiece of universe-- The creation of the Artist. The philosopher reiterates at every breath Counting his rosary "There is no emerald, no ruby, no light and no rose, Neither you nor me', While He who is infinite came to realize Himself Within the boundary of man, And this is named "I". In the density of that "I", a conflict arose Between shadow and light. There appeared form, the awakening of sap. The "no" became "yes...

Go, fly bird sing, breezes blowing Misty the window's glass... Have I lost me or could it be A fairy tale at last? Here and there fireflies spark, Golden moon lost in waters dark. In the window, piled clouds above. Go cloud go, keep an eye on my love... Go, fly bird sing, breezes blowing Misty the window's glass Have I lost me or could it be A fairy tale at last? Here and there fireflies spark Golden moon lost in waters dark In the window piled clouds above Go cloud go, keep an eye on my love... Go, fly bird sing, breezes blowing Misty the window's glass Have I lost me...?

Night, O ambassador of black, Night, O envoy of dark. The moon's mate, O night, You come to me forlorn. An era has passed and yet, You come to me alone? The mood is solemn... ... Only the crickets mourn. The moon's mate, O night, You come to me forlorn. Where is your friend, the elusive moon? Why do you come alone? Extinguish the twilight, eclipse the dark... ... I only wish to speak To the pitch in black. The night is sad... ... It's heavy with grief... .... Sitting in its own dark shadow. The moon's mate, O night, You come to me forlorn. An era has passed since we met last, And yet, you come alone? Extinguish the twilight, eclipse the dark... ... I only wish to speak... ... To the pitch in black. The darkness is maddening Opaque and dense. It pricks, it stings; It's a welcome offence. I seek its lap, To end my day... ... I join its embrace... ... To veil my dismay. Like my black renegade kohl, It streams down my face. The moon's mate, O night, You come to me f...

It was Wednesday, the thirteenth of February, which marked the eleventh anniversary of Mahesh and Divya. Since morning, Divya had been extremely busy at home so much so that she didn't even have time to pause and wipe off the perspiration from her face. Divya, dressed in a modest maroon night gown, her hair tied up like a bun, her make-up all smudged was busy ticking off items in a long list clipped on the door of the refrigerator. By five, she had succeeded in putting some kind of order into the arrangements. Chairs, tables, napkins, flowers, they were all there on the verandah, neatly arranged. Mahesh had come home much earlier than usual and was pleasantly surprised to see the arrangements she had made for their eleventh anniversary. It was nearing nine when Divya started laying the table for dinner. As she was laying the table, there was a sudden power cut. She rushed to the kitchen and got a packet of birthday candles lying in between the Bru coffee packets above the refrigera...