The Master and his Muse
 (A homage to Raj Kapoor, the showman par excellence)

 Raj Kapoor was the doyen of Bollywood, the master showman, who produced, directed and acted in innumerable memorable movies, most of which were box office blockbusters.

 Two unique aspects separated his movies from the rest: scintillating music and the display of amorous charm and grace of the feminine form, often to that scintillating music. There are examples galore from his repertoire – be it Zeenat Aman gyrating sensuously to the title song of “Satyam Shivam Sundaram”, or for that matter, a titillating, wet Mandakini, drenching in a waterfall to the tune of “Tujhè bulaayaè, yeh meri baahen”!

 However, the discourse here, is from another pathbreaking movie, “Bobby”, that launched the career of his handsome son Rishi aka Chintoo, and the ravishingly beautiful Dimple Kapadia. It's rumoured that Dimple was all of 14 years when the shoot for Bobby began. Raj K ensured that there was ample show of the baby fat on Dimple to erotically excite the male audience, while camouflaging it in artistic liberty. He also ensured, through Lakshmikant-Pyarelal, a bouquet of melodic delights in the movie, one of which is the iconic “Mein Shaayar toh Naheen”.

 It is sad that both Chintu and his dad are no more with us ... but as the showman is quoted to have famously said, “The show must go on” …

 

RIP Bhupinder Singh

 (An obituary of sorts, on the passing away of Bhupinder Singer, the soulful singer)

 With a rich, sonorous bass, Bhupinder gave voice to grieving and aching hearts in the 1970s and 1980s. Listen to “Karoge yaad toh, har baat yaad aayegi”, or “Ek akela iss shahar mein” - one can actually feel the torment, the helplessness, the anguish, and the “meaninglessness” of life of the dramatis personae, plaintively portrayed through these heart-wrenching numbers.

 But that wasn't his first or only avatar. Starting off as a sidekick to Pancham da, Bhupinder's acumen on guitar got him the iconic tune of one of the greatest rock numbers to hit the Bollywood music scene – “Dum Maro Dum” from the iconoclastic movie “Hare Rama Hare Krishna”. Stepping the gas on, he unleashed several other chart-bursting tunes on guitar – “Chingari koyi bhadke” and “Chura Liya hey tumne jo dil ko”, to name a couple.

 Apart from helping contemplative heroes and wounded souls pour their hearts out in Bollywood movies, Bhupinder ji also flirted, romanced and gallivanted with “Zindagi mere ghar aana”; “Do diwane shahar mein”; “Huzoor iss kadar bhi na itra ke chaliye”, etc., each time, delivering a hit.

 His passing away leaves a void - one that may never be filled. While Arijit S, Sonu N, and their ilk may create their own niche in the sad-poignant-heartache genre, Bhupinder ji's contribution to pathos in Bollywood music will remain inimitable and eternal.

 

Gaana-Gandharvan (Celestial Musician) turns 81

 (A paean on the 81^st birthday of Dr KJ Yesudas)

 Kattassery Joseph Yesudas, the epitome of melody, turns 81 today. Das-ettan, as he is fondly called by Malayalees world-wide, has regaled audiences the world over with his rich and varied repository of more than 50,000 songs in myriad languages, including most Indian languages (Ettan is an endearing form of address for an elder brother, in Malayalam - a sort of Bhaiyya, in Hindi). His repertoire is wide in scale and scope, and spreads across carnatic, semi-classical, devotional, romantic, bollywood, and several other genres. With his divine voice, he creates the deepest emotions in one's soul. He also has the uncanny ability to make the most complex of the songs sound simple with his rendition.

Dasettan has won a record eight national awards and been honoured with all the three Padma awards by the Government of India... the Padmashri, the Padmabhushan and the Padmavibhushan.

 I was bought up on a steady diet of his Malayalam songs, broadcast by Radio Ceylon, from 3.30 - 4.30 PM every day, and as an avid listener, endeared myself to him very early in my life. He burst on to the Bollywood scene with songs in the movie Chitchor, and there was no looking back. With hundreds of hits like “Gori tera gaon bada payara”; “Sunaina”; “Jaaneman janeman”; “Surmai ankhiyon mein”; “Kaa karoon sajni”, etc., he has carved a niche for himself in the hearts and minds of the discerning music fans of Bollywood. 

 

Bappi da is dead ... Long live Bappi da!

 (Note: This piece was penned as a tribute to Bappi Lahiri, on his demise)

 The passing away of Bappi Da, is an opportune moment to reminisce on his musical genius. He not only introduced and popularised Disco music in Bollywood, but he took it to a frenzied level, amongst the Baby Boomers and Gen X. At club nights, birthday parties, and camp-fires, in the late 1970s and 1980s (there weren't any discotheques back then), kids and adults alike would groove to Bappi da's tempestuous beats and melodies. In short, he was the rage those days (besides of course, the cross-border import, Biddu and his exotic, precocious star, Nazia Hassan; but that's another story for another day).

 There's hardly a genre missing Bappi da's repertoire - save perhaps, devotional songs (I'd be delighted to be corrected on that - would love to listen to his devotional number(s), if any, in any language). Besides being the undisputed king of Disco, he was the emperor of melodies romantic, and equally at ease belting out peppy songs and gazals. No movie in the 1980s would be complete (or a hit) without his trademark numbers – Sharaabi; Namak Halaal; Armaan; Himmatwaala; Disco Dancer; Suraksha - the list is rather long to be recounted here. 

 Wall Street and Dalal Street gurus will tell you, that gold as an investment, is inflation agnostic - its price always appreciates (new age gurus may of course opt for bitcoin, ether and their like, claiming, they are equally safe bets). Bappi da, loved to display a lot of gold, earning the sobriquet, “King of Bling”. His songs, just like gold, will continue to appreciate, and radiate as much brilliance, as the yellow metal he was so much in love with.

 My personal favourite of Bappi Lahri, is the Yesudas song from the movie Tootè Khilonè - perhaps, the only one that the redoubtable KJY sang for him. The lyrics are by Kaifi Azmi, and the song is coincidentally picturised on his daughter Shabana, paired with a lanky Shekhar Kapoor (unrecognizable, minus his trademark beard). Shekhar and Shabana, btw, were at one point in time, the thinking woman's and thinking man's sex symbols - but then, that's another story, for another day ...

 

A Master of all Arts

 (A tribute to the genius of Kishore Kumar)

 In Malayalam there's a terminology called “Sakala Kalaa Vallabhan” - it loosely translates to “the gallant overseer of all arts”. If ever, any persona fits that bill, it has to be Abhas Kumar Ganguly, more famously known by his popular name Kishore Kumar. Actor, producer, director, music composer, singer - he donned several hats, and all with the practiced ease of a perfect professional. 

 He was arguably, the most dynamic singers in Bollywood, nay, in Indian cinema. With a rich repository of songs, he had a range so versatile, in moods so diverse, that it was virtually impossible to slot him into any niche. Sad songs, cheerful ones, romantic calls, naughty numbers, yodeling doodles - he had all of them in his repertoire. His best though, were reserved for the company of Sachin Burman and Rajesh Khanna. The trio came together to dish out hit after hit in the late 1960s and 1970s, becoming a rage for a generation of music and cinema lovers.

 Among his all-time romantic greats is “Mere Sapnon ki Raani kab Aayegi tu”, from the movie “Araadhna”. Kishoreda's melodious voice is the tool unleashed by a handsome Kaka in an open Jeep, to woo a doe-eyed, pretty as peach, ravishingly radiant Sharmila T in a train. An apocryphal account has it, that the hero and the heroine were never together during the shoot of the song and were captured on camera, on entirely different dates - the reason perhaps, that in the entire song, they are never in a frame together. Anand Bakshi Sahab presents the perfect pitch with his lyrics, for Pancham da to compose a tune that really melts one's heart.

 Fathers' Day Musings ... from a Father

This fathers' day, rather than extol the virtues of fathers the world over, laud their sacrifices, and glorify how they mentor and guide their kids (torture them - from the perspective of those at the receiving end!), I decided to use the reverse swing and ruminate on what kids teach their fathers. It's expedient and logical, since an old ball like me (at 55 years), doesn't swing as well as a new one does - but then, the new ball can't reverse swing either.

So, what do fathers learn from their kids: here's my take, on a couple of such learnings ...

1. Time Value of Money. No B School education or Financial Management text books are gonna teach you this concept, the way the kids teach you. As a kid from a previous generation, one's idea of what is expensive, is determined by the value of currency three decades back. So, shelling out five grand for a movie at the premium PVR in a mall, is a king's ransom for you; for your kids, it's chicken-feed.

2. The Bottomless Tummy. While still at the movies, during the bio-break, you scrounge by opting for the smallest pack of the plebian, plain, salted popcorn (low on butter, lower on salt, lest you should enrage your hypertension and your doctor!). You also stick to the smallest glass of diet coke to go with (lest you should enrage your blood sugar and your doctor!). But, when the delivery boy deposits the snacks order of your kids, you realise, there's enough and more on that gargantuan tray, to feed an entire army of semi-starved recruits (not the Agniveers, but their predecessors). From caramelled popcorn to nachos and dips, from pizzas and pastas to Pepsis and popsicles, it’s a veritable feast that would satiate your need and greed, for at least a fortnight. Then you see all of it vapourise in a trice - vanishing into the ravines of your youngsters' tummies. And, once they step out of the movie, their eyes are scouting the nearest fine dining experience, that exotic set-up with exorbitant rates, that hastens the exodus of cash from your wallet (or from your credit card).

3. Time Value of Time. Alvin Toffler had warned me of this, long years back, through his classic tome on futurology, “Future Shock”. Simply put, when a 50-year-old dad asks his 15-year-old son to wait for five years for his bike, for the dad, it's just 10 percent of his life; for the kid, it's one-third of his lifetime. This logic has however been turned on its head. While I hold on to my gadgets (smartphones, tablets, laptops), to as long as I can (which can stretch anything from 4-5 years), to squeeze out the last ounce of juice from its chips, drives and memories, my kids badger me for next-gen gizmos, every six months, or even earlier (depending on the OEMs definition of generation - I often wonder, how can six months define a generation). Suffice to say that, what's one generation for me - 5 years - is just 6 months for my kids.

Happy Fathers' Day to all my ilk, who share my pangs and pains, and thrills and frills of fatherhood.

 

From the 'City of Pearls' .... to the 'City of Djinns'
 

(Note: In April 2021, I moved from Hyderabad to Delhi, on transfer, as part of my official duties; this piece was a sort of an adieu and a tribute to “The City of Pearls”)

 Three years in Hyderabad (give or take a few days), and it's time to move on. Change is the only constant, but leaving behind the magnificence and magnanimity of the Nawaabi city, that opened up its arms for me, to accept me as its own, and endeared me to its heart and soul, is not going to be easy. But I trust, that the fond memories associated with its places and people, that is indelibly imprinted in me, would help, in a large measure, to tide over the separation.

 As I bid adieu to Hyderabad, here's a small nonsensical ditty, that portrays my exposure, experience and perception of this fine specimen of a metropolis, that blends its glorious, regal past with a vibrant, high-tech present. I have also tried to capture the emotions of the rich-in-heart real PEARLS - the people of Hyderabad - that I had the privilege of meeting and interacting with, during my sojourn there.

 So, here goes ...

Kukattpally, Bowenpally, Kondapur and Miyapur,

Time to say au revoir, and hit Dwarka and Chhatarpur.

 Bowenpally, Gachibowli, Tolichowki and Lakdi-ka-pul, 

You gave me enough and more, of thrills, delightful.

 Falaknuma, Golconda, Salarjung and Charminar,

Tata, bye bye, adieu; here I come, Qutub Minar.

 Kaaykoo, uno, boltè boltè, tima kab nikal gaya,

Ab, assi, tussi da vaari hai, aur waqt hai, to be behaya.

 Telugu, Urdu, Hyderabadi; sab boli hai chalta yahan,

Ab Hindi, Punjabi aur Haryanvi, ka hoga intehaan, wahan.

 Pulla Reddy, Almond House, Karachi Bakery and Paradise,

Their culinary delicacies used to irresistibly tantalise.

Now it would be Bengali Market and Karims,

With mouth-watering roshogullas and Mughlai cuisines. 

 And what do I say, of the people of Hyderabad, 

They are PEARLS indeed, who bombard with adab and regard. 

 Am gonna miss this “Paradise” big time,

A place that engulfed me with love, in no time.

But am sure, I'll be back for gossips khatta,

With Irani chai and Qubaani ka Meetha.

 

The Constant Refrain of Lovers ... “Abhi na jao chhod kar”

 Ever wondered, how and why, years ago (read, before marriage), time used to fly, in the company of your sweetheart (if it still flies for you in that company: lucky you!!). The separation, at the end of the romantic date, used to tear your heart asunder. The yearning to stay back for a moment more, to enjoy the bliss of your consort's love; the longing for a longer duration of that feeling of being on cloud nine; the desire for a wee little bit more, of that unadulterated joy of that affectionate company, and finally, before tearing apart for departure, a long parting hug (or kiss, as the case might be) … they were priceless treasures that MasterCard couldn’t pay for!

 That unalloyed pleasure has been well captured in myriad movies in Bollywood. One such specimen, is arguably the best romantic duet of Rafi Sahab and Asha Tai, enacted by our very own version of Gregory Peck, aka Dev Anand Sahab, and the vivaciously beauteous Sadhna, in the movie “Hum Dono”. The lyrics by Sahir Ludhianvi melts your heart; sample this endearing entreaty, extolling the beauty and allure of one's lady love: “Bahaar ban ke chhayee ho, hawa zaraa mahak toh le, nazar zara bahak toh le”. Couple that with Jaidev Sahab's mastery of music that drives this melody into the realm of divinity, and you have the perfect recipe for walking on air. 

 If you're lucky to be out of earshot of your kid(s) as you listen to this piece, try this - grab your partner for a quick hug (or kiss!), and rewind and relive your old romantic memories. You won't regret it one bit! I bet!!

 

Moms can be Dangerous!

A few weeks back, it was mating season for pigeons (am told that they mate all the time, all through the year ... lucky guys). During my occasional glances outside the bedroom, while juggling between the newspaper and smartphone (both begging for attention), I espied two pigeons, obviously in a romantic mood, cuddling and snuggling on the balcony railing. The amorous advances of the male pigeon were romantically reciprocated by the female, and they seemed to be having the time of their lives 

I could go on and on about their foreplay, love-making, and post-conquest activities, but I desist, since it would reveal my baser instincts, and the fact that, I am as idle, jobless and useless as UNO

Suffice to say that, a couple of weeks later, my good lady brought to my notice, the discovery of two shiny-white, cute pigeon eggs, in a flower pot nestled in a corner of the living room balcony. The excited mom to be (the female pigeon, not my good lady!), would pop in and pop out, every now and then, to sit on the eggs, while her male consort lurked, in and around. My basic biological knowledge, picked up rather cursorily till Class X, informed me that it was nature's way of ensuring that the eggs were nurtured till they hatch. A few hours of Google research, this time, far more intense than the cursory reading alluded to earlier, told me, that the reason for the corner spot chosen by the hen-pigeon (pardon me if such a word doesn't exist, but I am sure, I convey what I want), is again, nature's way of preventing any untoward happening on the eggs, by predators

For a couple of days thereafter, the activities vis-a-vis the eggs and the pigeons were mundane-getting-to-monotonous. Then, one fine day, I saw, horror-of-horrors, a crow swoop down swiftly to the flower pot, and make his way with one of the eggs. Needless to say, the hen-pigeon, who was on an errand at eye-sight distance, and was witness to the episode, was as taken aback as I was, with the sudden and horrendous attack. Now crows, as my limited knowledge on zoology goes (which is even worse than that on biology!), are social animals, and they make a song-and-dance of every minor event. Obtaining a pigeon egg as a snack, was the equivalent of a fine dining experience for the crow in question, and the crow lost no time in marketing the event, by crowing about her/ his gourmet meal (much as most of us do, about our brunch or dinner in a 5 Star restaurant, on insta, wapp, or fb). That brought a couple of more crows into the vicinity, with the intent of making a meal of the remaining pigeon egg

What followed soon after, was as epic as the Mahabharata or the IPL (take your pick). The motherly instinct of protecting the well-being of one's progeny, bestowed on every mother, by mother nature, was unleashed in full force by the hen-pigeon on the unsuspecting crows. Although they put up a defence like Kauravas or Chennai Super Ks (TYP), they were no match to the spirited attack of the hen-pigeon, a la the Pandavas or Gujarat Ts (TYP, again). The crows, therefore, had to beat a hasty retreat, with their tails between their legs, metaphorically (not physically, since such contortionist acts are well beyond crows, as my, by know, Google-enhanced knowledge on zoology tells me)

That's when I realised the full impact of the phrase attributed to Rudyard Kipling - the female of the species is deadlier than the male - for, the male pigeon, apart from fluttering hither and thither at a safe distance, and providing nuisance value, was but a mute spectator in this spectacular spectacle that ensued between the murder of crows (yup, murder, indeed is the collective noun for crows) and the lone hen-pigeon

To cut a long story short, the egg was saved and lived to see another day

The crux of this narrative was to highlight just one, of the umpteen battles and wars, that a mother wages, with scant regard to her own safety and well-being, to bring forth and bring up, the next generation of her clan. I doff my hat at the hen-pigeon, my mother and all the mothers in the world, who brave several odds, to bear and rear their children

 ।। जननी जन्मभूमिश्च स्वर्गादपि गरीयसी ।।

Sunday Shenanigans - 11 May 2025 

"HAPPY MOTHERS' DAY"

The Best Mothers' Day Gift for a Fauji Mother of  Bhaaratmata, is the Ceasefire Declared Yesterday ... if it Lasts ... 

 (Mothers of children in military service walk a tightrope between immense pride and deep fear; there's pride in their children's courage, sense of duty, and service to the nation, but this is constantly shadowed by anxiety about their safety and well-being. It demands extraordinary bravery on the part of such Maatas of Bhaaratvarsh, in letting their children pursue their own path, even as it involves risks to their lives and limbs. This Sunday's Shenanigans is a tribute and paean to the Fauji mom ... pass it on to your grand-mom, mom, wife, sister, daughter, or any other relative, if she's one; else, pass it on to any other Fauji moms you would know)

This Mothers’ Day, as the world celebrates the boundless love, warmth, and sacrifices of mothers everywhere, let me turn your hearts and thoughts to a special kind of mother - the mother whose child wears the military uniform for national security. These are the women whose love for their daughters and sons is matched only by their courage, whose pride is shadowed by a quiet, ever-present fear. They are the silent sentinels of our freedom, bearing a cross few can comprehend 

For every soldier who stands guard at our borders of land, sea and sky, there is a mother who stands guard at home - her heart torn between pride and worry. She has raised her child to be gentle, to cherish life, to heal and not to harm. She has taught her/ him that it is wrong to hurt others, that kindness is a virtue, and that peace is precious. Yet, when the call of duty comes, she must summon the strength to let them go, to send them into a world where violence is sometimes necessary, and where the lines between right and wrong blur in the fog of war

No mother dreams of seeing her child march off to war. Yet, some do so willingly, their patriotism woven tightly with their love. Others do so reluctantly, their hearts heavy with the knowledge of what may come. But all make the same sacrifice: they give up a piece of themselves for the security and integrity of the nation. They live each day with the ache of absence, with the dread of a knock at the door, with the hope that their child will return - not just alive, but whole

These mothers carry a unique burden. They must reconcile the values they have instilled in their child - the sanctity of life, the evil of violence - with the reality that their children may be called upon to take up arms, to defend by force, and, if necessary, to kill. It is a paradox that weighs heavily on their souls. They pray for peace, even as they prepare for loss. They hope for their child’s safety, even as they accept the risks. They grieve for every life lost, on every side, knowing that every fallen soldier is someone’s beloved child

I take the opportunity this Mothers' Day, to honor these mothers - not only for their love and their sacrifice, but for their resilience and their grace. Behind every uniform is a mother’s heart, beating with hope, pride, and unspoken sorrow. Let us thank them for giving the nation their most precious gift, and for bearing the burden of freedom with quiet dignity

PS. Here's a confession: While I was in the in the Navy, these thoughts never crossed my mind ... now that I've a son in the Navy, I can imagine and appreciate what goes on in my wife's mind ... and what would have gone on in my mom's, whilst I was in uniform ....

Shambho Mahadeva Shambho !!!

On the auspicious occasion of Maha Shivaratri, I unravel my perception of the most enigmatic of the Gods in the Hindu pantheon

One moment, he's a picture of serenity, eyes half closed, calm and poised, sitting as if in a trance, contemplative, meditative and ruminative; in the very next, he's an outraged, menacing character, destructive and ravaging, like a bull in a china shop (no wonder, he has a bull, Nandi, as his vaahana (transportation vehicle)). In between these extremely polarized existences, He has myriad avataars, the eternal romantic consort of Goddess Parvati, doting father to Lords Ganesha and Kartika, buddies to Lords Vishnu and Brahma - in his role as the destroyer amongst the trimurti - who, amongst them, ensures equilibrium in the universe through the virtuous cycle of creation, sustenance and destruction. 

But, there's one aspect of Bholenath that has had me beguiled all along ... his sense of haute couture. He's a fashion designer's delight. He can pull off his matted locks with as much elan, as his tiger-skin wear. The nonchalance with which he wraps his neck with that king-cobra muffler, has all the hallmarks of sprezzatura (look that word up ... you'll be pleasantly delighted ). His ash-smeared arms, the hypnotic third-eye on his forehead, and the accoutrement that accompany him ... the trishul, the hour-glass shaped damru, all of it make for his mysterious mystique, and mesmerisingly magnetic charm

The gushing flow of Goddess Ganga from his majestic tresses, the crescent moon as his tiara, and his propensity to jump into a dance (of death ... the fearsome taandav), .... it's stands Him out as an icon, amongst the 33 crore Hindu Gods (or 33, depending on your Samskrit)

My family deity, in the temple right next to our ancestral home (tharavaad/vaariyam (തറവാട്/വാരിയം)), in the quaint and rustic village of Painkulam, in Thrissur district of Kerala, is an incarnation of Lord Maheshwara, as Thiruvanjikuzhi Thevar (തിരുവഞ്ഞികുഴി തേവര്‍). He dwells there, in a cave temple, on the banks of the picturesquely pristine Bharata Puzha (ഭാരത പുഴ) river. And that perhaps, is the reason for my fetish and fascination for Kailaasa Deva

The Bharata Puzha itself, is a study in contrasts ... calm and light in its ebb and flow during three quarters of an year, and gruesome, violent and treacherous, as it gushes its wild waters, destroying everything in its way, during the monsoon. I've always wondered whether it's a metaphor for the schizophrenic duality of the shaanta roopa and raudra roopa of Lord Shankara

As they say, there's much more to Him, than meets the eye .... but let me save it for another day 

ओम नम: शिवाय