Music and lyrics

If a continental youth wants to declare his love to a girl, he kneels down, tells her that she is the sweetest, the most charming and ravishing person in the world, that she has something in her, something peculiar and individual which only a few hundred thousand other women have and that he would be unable to live one more minute without her. Often, to give a little more emphasis to the statement, he shoots himself on the spot. This is a normal, week-day declaration of love in the more temperamental continental countries. In England the boy pats his adored one on the back and says softly: "I don't object to you, you know." If he is quite mad with passion, he may add: "I rather fancy you, in fact."

-George Mikes, How to be an Alien

It's that season of the year again when one tends to get a wee bit soppy. More the continental in the above context, if you will. It also helps when it's pouring outside, one's child has the half-yearly exams coming on, and mummy has taken full control of affairs. Going out is ruled out by exam and weather, and having gotten hold of a half-decent Maths tutor ensures one is rendered fairly redundant in the household. Having a dram of ol' Scotland in stock can't hurt. What does one do, under the circumstances? One can listen to one's favorite ghazals, watch the rain yonder through the window panes, and ponder. Quite a nice way to be!

Ladies and gentlemen, I then present you, what I've been listening to.




Kabhi yun bhi aa meri aankh mein ke meri nazar ko Khabar na ho
Mujhe ek raat nawaaz de magar uske baad sehar na ho

Woh badaa rahiim-o-kariim hai mujhe ye sifat bhi adaa kare
tujhe bhulne ki dua karoon to dua mein meri asar na ho

Mere bazooomein thakee thakee abhi mehr-e -khab hain chandni
Na uthe sitaron ki palki abhi aahaton ka guzar na ho

Woh firaaq ho yaa visaal ho, teri yaad mahakegi ek din
Woh gulab ban ke khilega kyaa, jo chirag ban ke jalaa na ho

Kabhi din ki dhoop mein jhoom ke kabhi shab ke phool ko choom ke
Yun hi saath saath chalein sada kabhi khatm apana safar na ho

If I have a problem with the the original poetry of Bashir badr, it is that the ghazal doesn't have a suitable climax. It fails to really build on the first two brilliant couplets. However the matla' alone is enough to make it count as an all time favorite. While I simply love the Hussain Brothers' version, the same, alas, I can't say about Jagjit Singh's. He seems to have taken a beautiful love song and turned into a wailing in pain directed towards the divine. I can understand the grave personal trauma he was going through at the time when he recorded the song in 1991, but still.

For months now, I've wanted to translate the poetry. From my lame attempts in the past, you'd know my bad propensity towards doing it in rhyme. Here, then. Promise not to make fun.

Appear in my vision once, just so

Naïve eyes do not need to know

Stay with me but a night, just so

Dawn never breaks on the morrow.

Praise be to God, may He please

Bless me with a virtue so rare

Pray I might, make me forget you

He must never answer my prayer

Wrapped in my arms, one kind dream

Lies still a pale and tired moon

The stars won’t fade out just yet

Heartaches won’t fall asleep so soon

Together, or far apart, your thought

Like incense, on my mind 'll grow

Flourish like a blossom how can he

Burning in flame who’s yet to know?

Basked in a bright summer sun

Kissed by the night in full hue

Strolling forever hand in hand

May our odyssey ever continue

p.s. I've since managed to embed the song sung by The Hussain Brothers.

Inscription

Here. Take every adoring glance
Here. Take morning bliss
Here. Take all my favorite words since childhood
Here. Take success, albatross in flight
Here. Take the most secret ecstasy of adolescence
Here. Take love, winding road in the hills
Here. Take missives from faraway lands
Here. Take memories, gemstones threaded in sun and rain
Here. Take this hanky, transience
Here. Take promises, run of the river
Here. Take the misery of pen on paper
Here. Take my palms, a-begging reprieve
Here. Take this bust oozing liquid fire
Here. Take ambition, a midsummer night's gale
Here. Take absolutely glorious failure
Here. Take every treasure this broken casket holds
Here. Take the call of wilderness
Here. Take countless doors ajar
Here. Take all the tears the heart would hide
Here. Take freedom, release
Here. Take affection, a pool gathered in droplets
Here. Take remembrance, take oblivion
Here. Take heaven's flag

What gives ?


p.s. (With apologies to Sunil Gangopadhyay, from whose original this is an almost verbatim translation. Except for the last line, which should have literally been : "Care to give anything?" But I wanted a twist.)

p.s.2 (On a summer holiday back home, I was browsing through a decrepit bookshelf from when I was in school. There I revisited this book. It's called "In love with you, blank sheet." Again, verbatim)

p.s.3 (I haven't got one. I envy people who do)

My country

The King and I

The song on my scroll sidebar. I don't know why in my mind it associates with incessant rainfall. Isn't only because it mentions "pouring rain" once. The association probably has to do my listening to it a lot during the rains in a hazy, distant past almost two decades ago when I used to play it on my walkman while riding on a motorcycle, stopping at some dhaba for chai and a smoke when it started to pour.



This year again, a long monsoon is playing itself out. It refuses to go away. The song won't, either. Playing through my mind all this week.

The ballad of Billy the kid

The Oracle has spoken on the last of the big time spenders. As is his wont, he is absolutely thorough and masterful. Nothing, in fact, needs to be added to, or taken away from that tribute. But since he has kindly linked me in this post, I felt obliged to put forth my two bits on when and how I started to worship the same idol.

I was not a big fan of the man when in college. In fact, I never quite understood his music at that point in time. In college, we were listening to Wham, MJ, John Denver, Eagles, a little bit of Pink Floyd and Dire Straits and all sorts of wrong kind of sound, an ignominy called Modern Talking included. Coupled with the fact that lyric books were not easily available in the 80's, that we would only listen to medium wave radio and some dubious quality tapes on mediocre equipment, made the soul of his lyrics to be largely lost on me. I remember having listened to and vaguely liked Piano Man, and having read somewhere that Manna De's Bengali hit on Coffee House was loosely inspired in theme by it.

Then came 1989 and Storm Front. Even though mtv was not here yet, the crazy video of we didn't start the fire was getting beamed on DD and immediately caught our attention. The power and pace of that dynamic ode to fifty years of Americana and other world events was hard not to get swayed by. It is learnt that he had fired all of his existing band members save the trusted drummer, revamped his team and worked with a new producer to create that new sound. And new it was. It turned everything else on its head.



But the moment of truth for me came on the 1994 Grammy Awards night. River of Dreams had been nominated in more than one categories. And in the runup to the awards the song played over and over. I had never listened to anything like that before. I had hoped it would win song of the year. With due respects to The Boss and sir John, lesser numbers own that year. On the night of awards, the man performed his song. I have been frantically looking for that video on utube and other places, but it's since been removed due to third party copyright issues. (It should be mentioned here that earlier the same night Frank Sinatra was cut short during his acceptance speech for the Lifetime Achievement award.) Billy might have known he was not going to win it that night. He looked dour. At the breath reprise ending the third stanza, where he builds up a crescendo :

I don't know why I go walking at night
But now I'm tired and I don't want to walk anymore
I hope it doesn't take the rest of my life
Until I find what it is that I've been looking for....

He always takes a longish pause at this point, straightening his neck, taking a sip of coffee and all. On that Grammy night, he just seemed to stop on his tracks. A full fifty seconds maybe. Then he said, nay, made an announcement :

Valuable time is passing by. valuable advertising time is passing us by.

He took a sip from his mug, and resumed his song all on a sudden. At that very instant, he made a true believer out of this casual fan.

Feature of the day

This excellent non-interview of Billy Joel by Dan Berry on NYT. Made my day.

Wondering why Vienna in the song Vienna, I was reminded Beethoven's grave is in Vienna. Could it be that as a young and very successful piano player who was ambitious and in a hurry, Billy addresses himself, and thus the allusion to Beethoven's grave in Vienna?

Completely out of context, there's a good joke (in somewhat unsound taste) on that grave. Goes like this...

Beethoven's Ninth

A tourist in Vienna is going through a graveyard and all of a sudden he hears some music. No one is around, so he starts searching for the source.

He finally locates the origin and finds it is coming from a grave with a headstone that reads: Ludwig Van Beethoven, 1770-1827. Then he realizes that the music is the Ninth Symphony and it is being played backward! Puzzled, he leaves the graveyard and persuades a friend to return with him.

By the time they arrive back at the grave, the music has changed. This time it is the Seventh Symphony, but like the previous piece, it is being played backward. Curious, the men agree to consult a music scholar.

When they return with the expert, the Fifth Symphony is playing, again backward. The expert notices that the symphonies are being played in the reverse order in which they were composed, the 9th, then the 7th, then the 5th.

By the next day the word has spread and a throng has gathered around the grave. They are all listening to the Second Symphony being played backward. Just then the graveyard's caretaker ambles up to the group. Someone in the crowd asks him if he has an explanation for the music.

"Don't you get it?" the caretaker said, incredulously. "He's decomposing!"

Who will do the work?

I love work. It fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours. The idea of getting rid of it nearly breaks my heart.

-Stephen leacock

To : helpline.lhopat@sbi.co.in ; cc :dgm.customer@sbi.co.in

This is to bring to your notice the following :

1. I have a savings account at your ****** ***** City Branch; A/c no. ###########
2. Sometime during 2005, I had applied for and obtained internet banking facility for my account.
3. After a few months, during which I had logged on to my account infrequently on a few occasions, the username/ password stopped working. I had informed my Local Branch.
4. After repeated complaints regarding the above, the Local Branch issued me a fresh internet banking kit ( KIT NO. ##########, packet no.#####, circle code .##, Serial no. ##) in April 2008.
I was told the facility will be activated in 48 hours and I will be able to log on.
5. When, however, I was not able to log on even after a week, I contacted the Branch, upon which I was asked to wait a few days more.
6. The situation remaining the same, I went to them again and this time I was assured an e-mail will be sent to the Central Office, Mumbai where these things are handled, and my problem will be solved.
Nothing happened. Another month passed.
7. On the 26th of June, 2008, at my insistence, a reminder mail was sent.
8. As on date, there's still been no action. Today I have spoken to the concerned officer at the Branch, who has promised to talk to Mumbai Office on the phone and get the issue resolved. However, since his assurances didn't account for much in the past, I'm not too optimistic.

I request you to kindly take necessary action on the matter and put an end to my inconvenience.

Needs no elaboration. Another one in my endless series of travails and tribulations. Yes, I'm aware that lately I've been given to writing progressively boring posts. But dear reader, such is my life. If you've read this far, please go on. Might get a tad interesting at the end.

I am an old SBI faithful. I have eaten their salt, so to speak. My father used to work there till the day he retired. That association, and some inertia made me keep my salary account with them till this day. But they've let me down. Badly, and on numerous occasions. I'll give another example. The Branch I bank at is the biggest in the district. It's become what they call a core-banking branch for some time now. Last month, I needed to send a little money to my father's account in Kolkata. Since I still can't e-bank, I had to physically go to my bank. I was asked to fill a slip and drop a check in the box. They said all fund transfers are electronic now, and the money should be there in minutes. Three days and many phone calls to dad later, I went back to ask why it was not. There, I mean. By the time I'd raised a small ruckus so a manager was called in, a peon rummaged through a stack of papers at the back of somebody's desk and came back with my check and slip. It was revealed that the man who does the electronic transfer jobs was on leave for the last few days. Who will do his work? Management was still trying to work it out. In the mean time, individual cases were being processed on the merit of nuisance value. Like mine eventually was.

I believe the issue here is generic as opposed to an isolated example of inefficiency. This is sucking reality as we see it everyday in the big Indian Corporations. Most specifically PSUs. I speak from first hand experience since I work in a Navaratna. Organizations used to move at a leisurely pace for decades have been forced onto the technology expressway in the global marketplace. They now have one-third the manpower. Their best people have jumped ships and more are about to go. Like I was saying, who will do the work? This is the question staring many in the face. The Goliaths of Indian Industry are reeling under its onslaught. They are facing all the circus associated with retrofitting technology in old infrastructure. They are downsizing, they're rightsizing. They are outsourcing. Only, the fact on the ground is different from these gobbledygook. By design these organizations had too many functions and too much work to be done as compared to, say, a new age technology or retail company, where the process is designed to be smooth and hassle-free. The transition from this, to that, is slow, and fraught with excruciating pain.

I could go on and on, but I thought I heard snoring sounds. One last scrap of bakwas, okay? ok.

When Mr. Kumar, the concerned officer at SBI was about to check when had he sent the earlier mail re my e-banking, I peered into his screen. I saw he had used up about 99.98% of his mailbox (a princely 5mb) on the SBImail account he was using. This was on the SBI internal server. I asked him how come his bank gave only 5 mb to its employees while free mail service providers today provide anybody close to 3gb and still counting? In reply, he gave me a sad smile. He needed to delete some old mail in order to clear up space to send mine. He seemed at a loss for which ones to delete, which I thought was unusual (since it was his own mail, no?) He could not find the earlier mail and muttered that somebody else must have deleted it. I asked, "But how would somebody else log on to your mailbox?"

The penny dropped. The 5 mb mailbox was not his personal one. It was meant for the whole Branch. This, the biggest in the district, remember?

An ode to Stupidity

to aasonawane, anilbpai@HPCL.co.in

Dear sir,

This morning at 9-20 AM I had gone to your petrol pump at Sector –V, Bokaro Steel City, Jharkhand for a refill. After filling in petrol in my car, a Santro Xing XP, number ________, the attendant collected cash and returned change. But he did not fit the cap of petrol inlet and left it on the roof of the car as I drove out. Later when it was detected, the cap had already fallen somewhere on the road and had been lost. I have contacted the Station owner and apprised him of the gross negligence which has caused me great inconvenience. The matter may kindly be looked into.

Yours truly,

Self-explanatory, my dear Watson. How stupid can somebody get? Granted, I chipped in with my share of carelessness. I should have put an ear out for that Krat-krat sound of the cap locking. Shouldn't have left without having heard it. But it was a Sunday morning and I was with a friend, and our daughters in the car, coming back from the pool. Ravenous. I had but one thing on my mind. Breakfast. I think I am entitled to proper redressal . The owner has promised to replace the cap at his expense. Unfortunately, our town is a godforsaken place. The local Hyundai service center say they can arrange the spare in a week, hopefully.
We live on hope in the meantime. Hope, and a little sugar, maybe.

p.s. I now think every car should come fitted with a beeper for the fuel cap left open. An essential feature for a country of duffers, what?

Update, Monday 10 PM:

I'm grudgingly impressed. The Pump manager has used his sharp mind and brought me a fuel cap this evening which fits and locks and makes the krat-krat sound just about perfectly. Only, it's a spare for Maruti Alto. I was not in a mood to nitpick.
Lessons to be learnt,
a) Fuel caps across makes and models are interchangeable
b) Hyundai Auto sucks. They would've taken a week to get the spare Maruti had on their shelves.
The manager chap also took it in writing from me that my grievance was amicably settled. I was in a generous frame of mind. I readily obliged.

Heavy Duty

This was one heavy weekend. It was shaping up differently at the start, of course. Listening languorously to this favorite rendition of Faiz by Mehdi Hassan saab.

Aaye kuchh abr kuch sharaab aaye
us ke baad aaye jo azaab aaye

baam-e-miinaa se maahtaab utre
dast-e-saaqii meN aaftaab aaye

har rag-e-KhuuN meN phir charaaGhaaN ho
saamne phir wo be-naqaab aaye

kar rahaa thaa Gham-e-jahaaN kaa hisaab
aaj tum yaad be-hisaab aaye

na ga’ii tere Gham kii sardaarii
dil meN yuuN roz inqilaab aaye

is tarah apnii Khamoshii guuNjii
goyaa har simt se javaab aaye

“Faiz” thii raah sar-ba-sar manzil
ham jahaaN pahuNche kaamyaab aaye

Idly wondering how the poetry would read in translation, I looked up for something by Agha Shahid Ali. Couldn't find anything. Not on the net, that is.

With that same laziness I started playing with the first couplet. And got drawn into it. It took up all my leisure these last three days. I'm not particularly proud of the effort. I know I've flayed a golden rule of translating shayari. I shouldn't of gone for rhyming verses. Anyway here's what we did manage.

Let the clouds close in; bring on a bottle of wine, rare

Come hell or high water then, the devil may care.

Moonshine on my cup alights, at brim, the urn'd pare

The enchantress' hand, then, pours me the sun, a-flare.

Let a ray of light race thru’ my veins, burn in desire

Beauty, step out of your veil again, do me ensnare.

Pondering myriad dolors of my life, alone, I declare

My cruel concubine, always on my mind, you were.

The tyranny of your grief, inexorable, hangs in the air

Each day this bleeding heart rises in rebellion, despair.

In the heart of emptiness, echoed a silence as it were

A hush harked back, from here, there and everywhere.

Destination lay in this journey we took, dear Faiz

Success, ours on every step, far as we did dare.

Knowing fully well that this is a pretty lame job, I can't but disclose a small smile of satisfaction from the first verse. Two cliche's packed into one single radeef ! I felt like that MP from Yes, Prime Minister who could " talk in cliche's till the cows come home."

Thanks Aligarians for complete lyrics

P.S. It occurred to me last night. Does the rhyme remind you of Bianca Castafiore's piece de resistance ? OK. OK, never mind.

Requiem for a Teacher


He was a dear teacher at JU. Two decades ago, at the Integrated Building of JU engineering, housing motley labs, clubs and Production Engineering at the ground floor, he was the man who ran the show at Production Engg. department, under titular custodianship of the eminent Dr. Amitabha Bhattacharya. He used to be too busy with administration even then. A fine teacher, with JU-IIM lineage, he couldn't often come prepared for a class. And made the class even more enjoyable. A big man with a small voice. He would fix everybody's problems. Loved by all.
Years after I left college, he went on to join BIT Mesra and went on to greater and greater prominence in the academic circles. The obits all talk about his career at BIT, none of his prior background.
Go in peace, Sanat-da.

Sitting in a corner of the living room and feeling a bit melancholy. Early evening, late autumn, in an industrial town in the great Indian outback. Could've been anywhere in the world.