Well, I'm Off

With due apologies to John Denver - both for toying with his lyrics and mangling the metre to satisfy the ryhme scheme. (Original lyrics)

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
My landlord's standing outside my door
I've paid the sweeper, car cleaner and the bai

It's coming on twilight, a new night is born
But the taxi's waitin', he's blowin' his horn
It suddenly seems too soon to say goodbye

Some'll miss me, or cry for me
But those who've heard a million jokes from me
Are probably glad to let me go :)

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
It'll be a year before I'm back again
Oh, I've waited so long to go...

I've grown to love this crazy town
Finally found my feet, achieved some renown
Suddenly, now, these don't mean a thing

Every place I go, I experience anew
Every sight I see, I find fresh too
When I come back, my heart will once more sing

The last kisses, and smiles I see
Hugs and back slaps aplenty
She holds me like she'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
It'll be a year before I'm back again
Oh, Gurgaon doesn't seem so bad anymore...

Now the time has come to leave India
And in spite of all said in the media
I can't wait to begin life in Sydney

I dream about the days to come
LOTS of travelling (and then some!)
And a whole new work culture awaits me

Oh, this confusing duality
This world that'll wait for me
And that one that's a distant land no more

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
It'll be a year before I'm back again
And my spirits swing high and low

And I'm leaving on a jet plane
It'll be a year before I'm back again
Oh, I'm off to foreign shores

Yes I'm leaving on a jet plane
It'll be a year before I'm back again
What the future holds, who knows...

Beautiful. Stirring. Moving.

A friend of mine recently introduced me to a song - Chalo Ek Baar Phir Se, sung by Mahendra Kapoor - and I instantly fell in love with it. It's from a 1963 movie called Gumraah, starring Sunil Dutt, Mala Sinha and Ashok Kumar. Before I tell you why I love the song, listen to it below.



The situation in which it appears, from what little I know of the movie, is a very interesting one. One that makes the song all the more poignant and moving. Mala Sinha is in love with Sunil Dutt, and they have big plans for their lives ahead. However, her sister dies suddenly and in keeping with the social expectations of those times, Mala Sinha is forced to marry her brother-in-law, Ashok Kumar, for the sake of his two children. Not very long after the marriage, Sunil Dutt visits their home... and they realise their love for each other has not abated. Yet they both know their love is doomed, and can never be revived...

The lyrics are perfectly pitched and suited to the situation, drawing upon the irony and the pain of the situation, while recognizing the impossibility of any hopes that were held for the future. The words sigh, they scold, they mock, they soar, they hint, they whisper, they caress, they plead... Simple yet stunning lyrics by Sahir Ludhianvi who apparently wrote the poem on which this song is based when he came across a ex-lover of his with her husband at a party.

Here are the lyrics:

Chalo ek baar phir se, ajnabi ban jaye hum dono -2
Na main tumse koi ummeed rakhoon dilnavaazi ki
Na tum meri taraf dekho galat andaaz nazaron se
Na mere dil ki dhadkan ladkhadaaye meri baaton mein
Na zaahir ho tumhaari kashmkash ka raaz nazaron se
Chalo ek baar phir se...

Tumhen bhi koi uljhan rokti hai peshkadmi se
Mujhe bhi log kehte hain, ki yeh jalve paraaye hain
Mere hamraah bhi rusvaaiyaan hain mere maazi ki -2
Tumhaare saath bhi guzri hui raaton ke saaye hain
Chalo ek baar phir se...

Ta'arruf rog ho jaaye to usko bhoolnaa behtar
Ta'alluk bojh ban jaaye to usko todnaa achchha
Voh afsaana jise anjaam tak laana na ho mumkin -2
Use ek khoobsoorat mod dekar chhodna achchha
Chalo ek baar phir se...

For those who don't get all the words, here's one Translation [Source]. (IMO, the English translation is nowhere near as beautiful as the Urdu/Hindi original, but still...)

Come, let us be strangers again, you and I.

I shall no longer hope for any favours from you
Nor shall you look upon me with eyes askance.
And my words shall tremble no more with my heartbeat
Nor the secret of your struggle be betrayed in a glance.

Come, let us be strangers again, you and I.

You too have hesitated to give yourself completely
I too wear disguises, or so I am told
The disgraces of my past are my constant companions
And you too are possessed by the nights of old.

When involvement becomes illness it is best forgotten
When a relationship oppresses it is best to break it
When the adventure you are embarked on cannot be completed
One must find a beautiful way out, and take it.

Come, let us be strangers again, you and I.

I find this among the most beautiful songs I've heard in a very very long time. For some reason, it strikes me very deep in an intensely emotional way. It almost moves me to tears every time I hear it. And I don't know why it has that effect on me.

Part of the reason is the sheer beauty of the lyrics - simple yet conveying a very deep message. And the situation in which this song is sung is very touching, as well. You can feel the pain, the desires, the confusion of the characters. Beyond just the context of the song, there's something undescribably sad about the thought and emotion of loving someone/something and losing that love that moves me. It's an emotion that links inextricably, though to varying degrees, to so many others - longing, obsession, loneliness, anger, lust, depression, despair. Emotions that are among those that lay the human soul most bare. Emotions that we often strive to hide from the world, but cannot help being tormented by within the tortured confines of our minds and our hearts.

The first few times I heard the song and went through the lyrics, I interpreted it as it appears on the surface - a song from a man who has to sacrifice his love and pretend it never existed. A song about the irony/helplessness of the situation and doomed love, as well as their need to move on from it. On repeated listening, though, an alternate interpretation struck me - one that's more suggestive. One where the man ackowledges the hopelessness of the situation, but also hints at the possibility of continuing the affair. I felt, in essence, that he was actually suggesting to her that she should leave her husband (or go behind his back) and reignite their love.

For example:
Tumhen bhi koi uljhan rokti hai peshkadmi se
Mujhe bhi log kehte hain, ki yeh jalve paraaye hain
Mere hamraah bhi rusvaaiyaan hain mere maazi ki
Tumhaare saath bhi guzri hui raaton ke saaye hain

I first thought this was in line with the whole let-us-get-over-it theme, but now I feel he's actually makng a case for their affair, talking about how they cannot and should not give it up. The peshkadmi mentioned seems to me a reference not to their (Sunil Dutt, Mala Sinha) romance, but Mala Sinha's forced marriage - he says she's unable to give herself completely to that life.

Also, the last stanza:
Ta'arruf rog ho jaaye to usko bhoolnaa behtar
Ta'alluk bojh ban jaaye to usko todnaa achchha
Voh afsaana jise anjaam tak laana na ho mumkin
Use ek khoobsoorat mod dekar chhodna achchha

This too, I earlier interpreted as a reference to their earlier love (the ta'arruf), but I now feel refers to her marriage. The afsaana jiska anjaam nahin hai is her marriage, not their affair. The bojh is her marriage, not their love. And the khoobsurat mod is him offering a way out.

Even the main line - Chalo ek baar phir se ajnabee ban jaye hum dono - seems to indicate not a closing of the door on their past, but refreshing, reigniting, restarting what was there earlier.

Several people I have spoken to - all with significantly greater appreciation of poetry and Hindi music than I have - have disagreed with this interpretation. I realise I'm probably wrong, twisting the words in a way they were meant to be twisted... but some part of me wishes there could be some hope, some possibility of success and mutual happiness in a situation such as this. And so that part of me will continue to believe in this point of view...


Many songs move me, some more significantly than others. Most that do, do so in a happy way, celebrating human emotion and bringing a smile to my face and a song to my lips, getting my feet tapping and fingers clicking. But Chalo Ek Baar Phir Se... it hits me in a wholly different way. And I feel all the richer for it.

[Update: Some lyrics corrected. Thanks, Sid!]

Sometimes, little things can make one happy...

...like watching a couple of really nice videos. Videos that are simple, beautiful, joyous, life-affirming. Here are a couple that have recently made me feel much better about life.

One

An old(ish) advertisement, one that warmed my heart and lifted my mood when I first watched it. I came across it again on Mercury's blog, and its effect was exactly the same. The catchy tune, the visuals, the sheer energy of the piece seeks to remind one that there is so much beauty in the world, so much to wonder and marvel at...



Two

This one brought an instant smile to my face. For almost the entire duration of the video, I watched, mesmerized, with a goofy grin on my face and thoughts of how beautiful life and happiness can be swirling through my mind. I wish life was filled with moments like these... or at least that I could be part of something so great, even if only as a spectator.

23rd March, 2009 began as a regular day at Antwerp Central Station. Trains came and went, people streamed in and out, and announcements droned on. Suddenly, as an announcement faded away, music began to play over the loudspeakers, taking all the commuters by surprise. Some were confused, some wondrous, some ignored it. And then...

Leap of faith, or jumping to a conclusion

Location: Phuket, Thailand
Height: 50m (165 feet)

Starter for Ten

I'm reading a really nice book at the moment. (Well, OK, not at the moment, you nitpicking doof. At the moment, I'm typing out this blogpost. But you know what I mean.)

It's Starter for Ten, by David Nicholls. I picked this up at a bargain from a roadside second-hand pushcart, for the sole reason that the story is set around a guy who wants to qualify for University Challenge. I have very fond memories of my times on the show, and hence the book.

I haven't finished reading the book yet, but it's very funny and very well written. It manages to grab the reader and drag him through the tumultuous, chaotic, confused life of the protagonist. All with very sharp wit and crackling humour. Definitely a purchase I'm glad I made.

The reason I'm putting up this post is not really to review the book, but to call out two passages from it that I really liked. 

The first talks about the protagonist's expectations from University life - how he hopes it will help him grow as a person and a man, opening his mind, eyes and soul to a world of new experiences, fresh knowledge and elevated culture. And although this is in a very British context (and in the context of someone completing his A-levels and off do study Literature), it took me back to my thoughts and hopes when I stepped into the world of higher education (particularly IIMA). Here it is:

...on this clear late summer night, looking up at the stars, with my best mates either side of me, it feels as if real life is beginning at last, and that absolutely everything is possible. I want to be able to listen to recordings of piano sonatas and know who's playing. I want to go to classical concerts and know when you're meant to clap. I want to be able to 'get' modern jazz without it sounding like this terrible mistake, and I want to know who the Velvet Underground are exactly. I want to be fully engaged in the World of Ideas, I want to understand complex economics, and what people see in Bob Dylan. I want to possess radical but humane and well-informed political ideals, and I want to hold passionate but reasoned debates round wooden kitchen tables, saying things like 'define your terms!' and 'your premise is patently specious!' and then suddenly to discover that the sun's come up and we've been talking all night. I want to use words like 'eponymous' and 'solipsistic' and 'utilitarian' with confidence. I want to learn to appreciate fine wines, and exotic liqueurs, and fine single malts, and learn how to drink them without turning into a complete div, and to eat strange and exotic foods, plovers' eggs and lobster thermidor, things that sound barely edible, or that I can't pronounce. I want to make love to beautiful, sophisticated, intimidating women, during daylight or with the light on even, and sober, and without fear, and I want to be able to speak many languages fluently, and maybe even a dead language or two, and to carry a small leather-bound notebook in which I jot incisive thoughts and observations, and the occasional line of verse. Most of all I want to read books; books as thick as a brick, leather-bound books with incredibly thin paper and those purple ribbons to mark where you left off; cheap, dusty, second-hand books of collected verse, incredibly expensive, imported books of incomprehensible essays from foreign universities.

At some point, I'd like to have an original idea. And I'd like to be fancied, or maybe loved even, but I'll wait and see. And as for a job, I'm not sure exactly what I want yet, but something I don't despise, and that doesn't make me ill, and that means I don't have to worry about money all the time. And all of these are the things that a university education's going to give me.

The second passage deals with the author's impressions of the participants on University Challenge, when he watched the show as a child with his father. Not all of this is relevant to the Indian seasons of UC (because of the essential Britishness of it all and the timeframe), but there are pieces of it that remind me why I love quizzing, and how I've often been called upon to defend the awesomeness, the thrill, the sheer life-affirming beauty of trivia and arcane knowledge that seems so pointless (and, truth be told, hopelessly geeky) to some but worth so much for us quizzers. Here's a passage (I particularly like the latter half):

The thing that used to strike me most was their hair; great, improbable waves of brittle hair like parched wheat; swooping curtains of silky fringe; Sunday tea-time costume-drama mutton-chop sideburns... if you'd made it on to University Challenge, you'd earned the right to any damned hair-do you wanted. It was almost as if they couldn't help it, as if the crazy hair was just an outlet for all that incredible, uncontrollable excess mental energy. Like a mad scientist, you couldn't be that clever and still expect to have manageable hair, or decent eyesight, or the ability to wash and dress yourself.

And the clothes; the arcane, olde-English tradition of scarlet gowns combined with self-consciously wacky piano-keyboard-ties, the endless home-knitted scarves, the Afghan jerkins. Of course, when you're a kid watching telly, everyone seems old and retrospectively I suppose they must have been young, technically, in earth years, but if they really were twenty, then they were twenty going on sixty-two. Certainly there was nothing in the faces that suggested youth, or vigour, or good health. Instead they were tired, pasty, care-worn, as if struggling with the weight of all that information - the half-life of Tritium, the origins of the phrase 'eminence grise', the first twenty perfect numbers, the rhyme scheme of a Petrarchan sonnet - had taken a terrible physical toll.

Of course, Dad and I rarely got any of the answers right, but that wasn't really the point. This wasn't trivia - it wasn't about feeling smug and complacent about all the things you knew, it was about feeling humbled by the whole, vast universe of things about which you had absolutely no idea; the point was to watch in awe, because it really did seem to me and Dad as if these strange creatures knew everything. Ask any question: what's the weight of the sun? Why are we here? Is the universe infinite? What's the secret of true happiness? - and even if they didn't know the answer immediately, they could at least confer, muttering to each other in low, lisping voices, and come up with something that, if not quite correct, still sounded like a fairly good guess.

And it didn't matter that the contestants were clearly social misfits, or a little grubby or spotty, or ageing virgins, or in some cases frankly strange, the point was that somewhere was a place where people actually knew all these things, and loved knowing them, and cared about that knowledge passionately, and thought it was important and worthwhile...

Lovely book, by the way. Do get yourself a copy if you can.

The previously unimagined perils of being male, unattached and in one's mid-twenties

I have recently realised a certain truth about society. Or, at least, the immediate society that I come into contact with and interact with daily. My profile (the three attributes mentioned in the title, in combination) works against me. And here are just three reasons why.

1. People suspect you of being a security threat
In every mall or store I go to, the security guards spend a good extra 5-10 seconds on scanning and checking my car and body. Either they're all gay and think I'm hot, or they have some kind of subconcious profiling in mind. And this happens every time. The happy families, hand-in-hand couples and unattached ladies who are before me in these lines are given a cursory check, while I'm looked askance at and patted down thoroughly.

And, when I protest ("Hey, you let that person through!", "Is this really necessary?", "OK, now that's just an invasion of privacy") I'm met with icy no-nonsense securityman stares or terse denials of being treated unfairly.

These times of high distrust and low belief in the essential goodness of humankind are quite trying.

2. People assume you're a party animal
Colleagues and acquaintances frequently assume that every evening, I'm desperate to leave work early, change into funky clothes (that reveal my many tattoos) and cool hairstyle, get onto my superbike and hit a series of pubs and parties until the wee hours of morning, drinking, dancing, picking up women and expanding my social circle. And particularly so on weekends. In such a scenario, things can get a little awkward and embarassing when I admit I'm working late/weekends or don't really have any party plans but merely intend to head home, cook a simple dinner, read a nice book and turn in by eleven.

I'm not averse to parties, of course. Not in the least. I enjoy a rocking do as much as the next guy. And I do head out for a night of fun every so often. But my lifestyle is nowhere near as happening as people believe it is or wish it to be.

3. Parents are scared to let their daughters near you
This is another thing that happens when I out anywhere... as I pass by, parents instinctively grip their daughters' hands more tightly, or shift sides so they they are between me and their wards. I don't know if it's just me, or if all parents are hyper paranoid. I sincerely hope it's just the latter. Because I really don't want to go through life giving out these kind of 'I-am-going-to-molest-your-daughter-Guahahahahaha-I'm-a-baaaad-man!' vibes. Particularly since a lot of the prettier girls are accompanied by 6'6" wrestler type dudes whose biceps are thicker than my neck.

And this kind of thing has happened so many times, I'm scared to even look at the women around me. Not that I'm really looking, of course. But when some pretty young thing comes across your line of sight - quite by accident, or by the laws of linear motion - you can't help but notice. I mean, us blogger/quizzer types are reasonably observant people, who take a
healthy interest in the world around us. Especially if that world itself is quite healthy and... er... let's not go there.

Bottom line (must...avoid...pun...): I find myself in a position where I studiously avert my eyes when a lady with a chaperone walks into my field of vision. It's weird and disturbing and... well, unnatural. Ladies, trust me. I know I look creepy but I'm a more or less ok sort of guy. Really.


So there you go. Three reasons why being me isn't so hot at this point in my life. I'd give you more situations, but it's high time I got back to work. My models await me.

As a young man, my dream job always involved working with jaw-droppingly beautiful models...

Life, it appears, sometimes has an ironic sense of humour.

For all sad words on tongue or pen, the saddest are these:

"Table for one"

The Tale of the Orphaned Carrot

Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, there was a farm where were grown several vegetables. In one section of the farm were grown a multitude of root crops - beetroot, radishes, onions, garlic, potatoes, carrots, leek and the like. These crops - neighbours, as it were - lived in peace, harmony and a spirit of friendship.

One night, however, tragedy struck. A blight struck the entire carrot crop, destroying all the carrots. All? Well, not quite. One tiny little baby carrot survived, the sole member of the carrot crop not to be obliterated.

All the neighbours came together to discuss the situation. It was clear the baby carrot could not survive on its own without parents, and would have to be adopted by one of the other crops.

Sadly, however, those who had been the carrots' friends till date turned their backs on the poor orphan. "I barely have enough eyes to keep on my own children," complained Mama Potato. "I haven't really been in the pink of health lately," said Aunty Beetroot. "We'll just make the poor kid cry," shrugged Daddy Onion.

Just when things were beginning to look ugly, in stepped the Garlic family. Castigating the others for not doing the right thing by the Carrots, they agreed to take in the poor child and rear him as one of their own.

Over time, he grew into a fine young carrot. He had been brought up with the finest of virtues and values, and dreamt of making his mark in the world. He hoped to find his way to a nice carrot juice at a gym, or a healthy salad at a fine restaurant. It was, therefore, with a great deal of excitement that he set off in the produce truck as it trundled its way to market, and onwards to its final destination.

As it came to a stop and the container in which he was being carried was pulled out, he peeked over the edge in anticipation. To his intense dismay, he found that his new home was Pizza Hut. He was depressed for a while but turning it over in his mind, he realised that, whatever his dreams and hopes, it was only appropriate that he ended up here.

After all, he was garlic bred.

The worm

I've bought a lot of books since I shifted to Gurgaon. At book fairs. At roadside pushcarts. At second hand shops. During sales periods at bookstores. During non-sales periods at bookstores.

And, until this weekend, I had no idea just how many I had. They were strewn all over the house. Within bags, under newspapers, behind sofas, inside drawers (not the clothing type). Several in their original packaging, unopened and (sacrilege, I know) unread.

But, with a little prodding from my flatmate, I spent several hours cleaning up my room... and the end result - bookwise - was supremely satisfying. My library, in all its diverse glory, was set. The books are a random selection of random genres. Some expensive, many ridiculously cheap. Some forbiddingly thick (big ones, small ones, some as big as your head (and bigger!)), most easily readable bites. And to be able to see my entire collection - meagre though it is in comparison to the one back home - in one place feels good :)

Life is, sometimes, about the little victories and the small joys.