It is a ridiculous situation. My laptop charger cord has worn at one point and there's a loose contact that needs to be treated with kid gloves. This has ramifications on my lifestyle. For one, I cannot occupy any seat where the cord loops around the laptop - the joint can't take such maltreatment. When I achieve the happy position of having continuous supply I cannot move lest I disturb it. To add to my woes, my battery has almost completely given up even a pretence of holding any charge whatsoever.
To which you may ask: why not get it fixed? Good point.
First, several months ago, my sister's laptop charger/adapter cord refused stoutly to work and she bought another. Three months ago, my own started to show its inner wires at one point. We took in both to be repaired, after which, for a few days, we were in the happy position of having three working wires between two laptops. Then Shweta's box went bust. Then the other one developed a problem with the pin socket. During one visit to the repairers in Secunderabad's Chenoy Trade Centre, I pulled out all three cords, each labelled neatly as to ownership and current problem.
Long story short, we are now again caught with one completely useless wire and two temperamental ones. I could get my loose connection fixed but what's stopping me is the sheer embarassment of turning up there again. So I've taped it up, sit only where the power outlet is to the right of me and endure a very painful back.
I need a new laptop.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Sanson ki mala
प्रीतम, हम तुम एक हैं, जो कहन सुनन में दो
मन को मन से तोलिये, दो दो मन कब'हूँ न हो
Preetam, hum tum ek hain, jo kahen sunan mein do
man ko man se toliye do do man kab'hoo na ho
On loop today, one of my Nusrat favourites, this bhajan called Sanson ki mala. There are many versions of this song - Nusrat and party have sung it at many concerts, certainly whenever they've particularly wanted to please a prominently Indian audience - but like a gosling, the one I like best is the one I heard first. It was on a world music channel on yahoo radio - a slow, mellow rendition - and I interrupted my work to make a note of its details. Greatest Hits Vol 2. And a link, if it will open on your browser, is here.
My mother loved it too. I played it for her one afternoon in the last weeks of her life. Towards the end, music didn't always succeed in distracting her from the pain, but this time it did. She nodded, chirruped and shook her head - such familiar gestures, such typical meiotic signals of deep appreciation.
हाथ चुढावत जा'अत हो, जो निर्मिल जानके मोहे
ह्रदय में से जाओ तो, तब मैं जानू तोहे
Haath chudavat ja'at ho, jo nirmil jaanke mohe
hriday mein se jaao to, tab main jaanoo tohe
मन को मन से तोलिये, दो दो मन कब'हूँ न हो
Preetam, hum tum ek hain, jo kahen sunan mein do
man ko man se toliye do do man kab'hoo na ho
On loop today, one of my Nusrat favourites, this bhajan called Sanson ki mala. There are many versions of this song - Nusrat and party have sung it at many concerts, certainly whenever they've particularly wanted to please a prominently Indian audience - but like a gosling, the one I like best is the one I heard first. It was on a world music channel on yahoo radio - a slow, mellow rendition - and I interrupted my work to make a note of its details. Greatest Hits Vol 2. And a link, if it will open on your browser, is here.
My mother loved it too. I played it for her one afternoon in the last weeks of her life. Towards the end, music didn't always succeed in distracting her from the pain, but this time it did. She nodded, chirruped and shook her head - such familiar gestures, such typical meiotic signals of deep appreciation.
हाथ चुढावत जा'अत हो, जो निर्मिल जानके मोहे
ह्रदय में से जाओ तो, तब मैं जानू तोहे
Haath chudavat ja'at ho, jo nirmil jaanke mohe
hriday mein se jaao to, tab main jaanoo tohe
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The only moving thing
I bring down this haiku by Edith Bartholomeusz that graced this header space these past weeks:
into the sun
where eyes can’t follow
a red tailed hawk
In its stead, one way of looking at a blackbird from Wallace Stevens' Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
I didn't understand this wonderful poem when I first read it; perhaps I still haven't fully. I turned it round and round as if it was a beautiful locked box, left it lying on the shelf a while, went back to examine it. Then one day when I was old enough, brave enough to let go of structure, it came through.
When poets talk, I feel sometimes, it is rude to stare at the words themselves, beautiful though they might be; that you must look politely at the spaces in between while you listen.
In this twelfth way Stevens offers, sometimes I see a rough but vivid charcoal image - the river is moving. The water is choppy, but fleetingly, fragmentedly reflected in the waters... a hint of a black bird.
into the sun
where eyes can’t follow
a red tailed hawk
In its stead, one way of looking at a blackbird from Wallace Stevens' Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
I didn't understand this wonderful poem when I first read it; perhaps I still haven't fully. I turned it round and round as if it was a beautiful locked box, left it lying on the shelf a while, went back to examine it. Then one day when I was old enough, brave enough to let go of structure, it came through.
When poets talk, I feel sometimes, it is rude to stare at the words themselves, beautiful though they might be; that you must look politely at the spaces in between while you listen.
In this twelfth way Stevens offers, sometimes I see a rough but vivid charcoal image - the river is moving. The water is choppy, but fleetingly, fragmentedly reflected in the waters... a hint of a black bird.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Albeit a very persistent one
The world of dew—
A world of dew it is indeed,
And yet, and yet...
~Kobayashi Issa
(Trans. Lewis Mackenzie)
A world of dew it is indeed,
And yet, and yet...
~Kobayashi Issa
(Trans. Lewis Mackenzie)
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
First rains
Are these the monsoons then? The skies are appropriately overcast, there are distant drumrolls but it is only the first of June! The grey clouds weren't expected here till the fifth. But they came to Kerala a day early and they must've sped indeed to be here this quickly. But the first rains have been slightly blah so far - such a slight drizzle, it took half an hour to even completely wet the ground. But slow and steady's ok - I'm willing to take the good over the interesting.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Still high
You'll be surprised at these frequent posts. But the thing is I'm having an keep-off-facebook week, maybe two weeks if I can keep at it.
I can't knock the service, of course - I'm too social a being not to enjoy it rather too thoroughly, too much of a geek not to relish how easy technology makes so many things. But it drains your time and what would once have been a mail or a post, however short, becomes a status update or a poke. And then there's this privacy thing! bah.
+++++
Still captivated by Pakistan's Coke Studio. I'm obsessing over one song a day and here is song du jour, Ali Zafar's Dastaan-e-ishq.
की दसां, की बात सुनावां इश्क दियां
ki dasaan, ki baat sunawan ishq diyaan…
What shall I tell you? How to narrate this story of love?
राँझा राँझा करदी नि मैं, आपे राँझा होई
राँझा कहो सहेलियों… मैनू हीर ना आखो कोई
ranjha ranjha kardi ni mein, aapay ranjha hoyee
ranjha kaho saheliyon…mainu heer na aakho koyee
Ranjha, Ranjha I cry... and have myself become Ranjha
Call me Ranjha, my friends, let no one call me Heer
The love story of Heer and Ranjha so permeates the Punjab that even sufis then must borrow their names, use them and own them till Heer becomes the lover, Ranjha the beloved.
This video is only a rehearsal and the final take, for some reason, was never done. But see the quality of their discards! I want a waistcoat/robe like the one Zafar is wearing here - how nice to stride about with that streaming behind you.
And oh, Coke Studio's Season Three starts June 4. Five episodes only and they air at 10.30pm IST every other Sunday. I have not managed to persuade my cable service provider to supply even one channel (CS airs on all of them) but there is apparently a ban on Pakistani channels in India and they're jibbing. There is the internet of course but nothing like catching it on TV.
I can't knock the service, of course - I'm too social a being not to enjoy it rather too thoroughly, too much of a geek not to relish how easy technology makes so many things. But it drains your time and what would once have been a mail or a post, however short, becomes a status update or a poke. And then there's this privacy thing! bah.
+++++
Still captivated by Pakistan's Coke Studio. I'm obsessing over one song a day and here is song du jour, Ali Zafar's Dastaan-e-ishq.
की दसां, की बात सुनावां इश्क दियां
ki dasaan, ki baat sunawan ishq diyaan…
What shall I tell you? How to narrate this story of love?
राँझा राँझा करदी नि मैं, आपे राँझा होई
राँझा कहो सहेलियों… मैनू हीर ना आखो कोई
ranjha ranjha kardi ni mein, aapay ranjha hoyee
ranjha kaho saheliyon…mainu heer na aakho koyee
Ranjha, Ranjha I cry... and have myself become Ranjha
Call me Ranjha, my friends, let no one call me Heer
The love story of Heer and Ranjha so permeates the Punjab that even sufis then must borrow their names, use them and own them till Heer becomes the lover, Ranjha the beloved.
This video is only a rehearsal and the final take, for some reason, was never done. But see the quality of their discards! I want a waistcoat/robe like the one Zafar is wearing here - how nice to stride about with that streaming behind you.
And oh, Coke Studio's Season Three starts June 4. Five episodes only and they air at 10.30pm IST every other Sunday. I have not managed to persuade my cable service provider to supply even one channel (CS airs on all of them) but there is apparently a ban on Pakistani channels in India and they're jibbing. There is the internet of course but nothing like catching it on TV.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Through the grill
We've had a couple of bird baths in the garden this summer and happy to say they've been a huge success. It has been murderously hot and wildlife of all sorts seem to appreciate the troughs. Needless to say, we appreciate the view and the constant stream of Discovery Channel outside our windows.
At first the troughs were greeted with some suspicion. But they stayed there doing nothing more drastic than acquiring patinas of moss and being magically refilled. When they had blended into the surroundings, looking as scruffy as everything else, they began to be accepted.
The smallest birds are the most wary and make a huge production of descending bough after bough before they sip very quickly and dart away. This sunbird was actually quite zen in her non-fluttering and allowed me one neat frame.
This is our resident Robin, and quite the only one who actually dives in without any compuction at all. Once he got into the trough briefly and flew to sit on a branch shaking and drying himself. Then clearly thinking that there was no need to be done quite so soon, he breezed down and stepped in again for this rather frolicky bath.
The babblers, when they come, are enormous fun. They don't actually bathe but they like to dip their tails in, chatter incessantly and make a huge communal thing of it. But then everything is a huge communal thing with these fellows.
We have a new litter of cats. This is a new family that's moved in - mother and four kittens, all striped and pointy-eared. They like the bigger trough and very much disconcerted the birds when they first came. We were afraid the birds would reject that one because cats had been sipping from it but realised that they weren't about to be so brahmanical about it - everyone will drink from the same pond... just not at the same time. Anyway, here are two of the kittens enjoying a snooze.
This kitten gave me the most attitude-y looks if only, alas, I had been able to quickly focus on him. But these twigs got in the way and my camera insisted it knew better. However, it has prodded me to finally learn these manual controls, so next time hopefully we'll focus on the cat.
At first the troughs were greeted with some suspicion. But they stayed there doing nothing more drastic than acquiring patinas of moss and being magically refilled. When they had blended into the surroundings, looking as scruffy as everything else, they began to be accepted.
The smallest birds are the most wary and make a huge production of descending bough after bough before they sip very quickly and dart away. This sunbird was actually quite zen in her non-fluttering and allowed me one neat frame.
This is our resident Robin, and quite the only one who actually dives in without any compuction at all. Once he got into the trough briefly and flew to sit on a branch shaking and drying himself. Then clearly thinking that there was no need to be done quite so soon, he breezed down and stepped in again for this rather frolicky bath.
The babblers, when they come, are enormous fun. They don't actually bathe but they like to dip their tails in, chatter incessantly and make a huge communal thing of it. But then everything is a huge communal thing with these fellows.
We have a new litter of cats. This is a new family that's moved in - mother and four kittens, all striped and pointy-eared. They like the bigger trough and very much disconcerted the birds when they first came. We were afraid the birds would reject that one because cats had been sipping from it but realised that they weren't about to be so brahmanical about it - everyone will drink from the same pond... just not at the same time. Anyway, here are two of the kittens enjoying a snooze.
This kitten gave me the most attitude-y looks if only, alas, I had been able to quickly focus on him. But these twigs got in the way and my camera insisted it knew better. However, it has prodded me to finally learn these manual controls, so next time hopefully we'll focus on the cat. 
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Dog Days
The last lingering days of summer are like the final leg of a long journey. Early on, you will have settled into the movement, making yourself as comfortable as possible, knowing there are a ways to go. But with only a little time left, you begin to gather your things, sit up straight and then - be it only an hour longer than you thought it might be - the wait is unbearable.
The Lady Laila was nice to us (Hyderabadis) while she visited but now that she has gone, she leaves us neither here nor there. The breeze blows as though the rains were here but they swirl about stirring and prodding the loos, deposit odd smells in our corner and it's all very unsettling. The light is strong, my migraine-pricked eyes flinch from the glare that bounces off every surface. The leaves outside my window are doing their best to soften the harshness but they don't succeed very well. Each leaf leaves a sharp shadow on the ground. Even curtained panes let in sharp slivers at the edges where the cloth flutters.
A week longer, they say, a week.
The Lady Laila was nice to us (Hyderabadis) while she visited but now that she has gone, she leaves us neither here nor there. The breeze blows as though the rains were here but they swirl about stirring and prodding the loos, deposit odd smells in our corner and it's all very unsettling. The light is strong, my migraine-pricked eyes flinch from the glare that bounces off every surface. The leaves outside my window are doing their best to soften the harshness but they don't succeed very well. Each leaf leaves a sharp shadow on the ground. Even curtained panes let in sharp slivers at the edges where the cloth flutters.
A week longer, they say, a week.
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Yeh khazanein
Still stuck on Mae ni mai kinnu aakhan. I blogged about it last week, and spent a goodish time listening to various versions on the glorious youtube, the ever-expanding internet. And look what I found! Atif Aslam again with an 8½-min version - a soulful, innovative, just-right fusion version - of the song:
But the find was a small tell-tale string that drew up a treasure. As you'll see, it's a studio recording, and fabulously produced. The recording is superb, the lighting is wonderful, the shots are delicious and if the camera is obsessed with Atif Aslam's slender hands, who can blame it? It didn't seem random. Who had produced this? Was this a music label with a repertoire of sufi fusion? Was this clip made for a music video?
The productions are from Pakistan, from a series of live music recordings from a house called Coke Studio. Produced by Coca Cola and musician Rohail Hyatt, these are not music videos but in fact made for television. I have, of late, been so traumatised by what passes for music on mainstream Indian television, it took me a while to understand that that such music was produced and aired for consumption by mass audiences. Also, immensely gratifying to know it's all up there on youtube in high quality and there is PLENTY of it.
Here's the wiki page for Coke Studio, here is their website and here is the wiki entry for Rohail Hyatt.
Now, I'm not asking for an Indian version - I can't think of an Indian producer who could combine these production values with such a sense of music; I can't think of an Indian channel that would consider such a project worth their effort, or not cheapen pure music with cheerleaders, hooting audiences, large stadium-stages and festoons of pompoms.
But can't the Coke Studio performances be aired here? I was embarassed to discover this late a project that aired first in 2008. Anyway, yay for this world without borders and thanks to Coke Studio for allowing the recordings to stay in the public domain, letting them be accessed.
Before I go, another sampler. Ali Zafar and Tufail Ahmed sing Allah Hu:
But the find was a small tell-tale string that drew up a treasure. As you'll see, it's a studio recording, and fabulously produced. The recording is superb, the lighting is wonderful, the shots are delicious and if the camera is obsessed with Atif Aslam's slender hands, who can blame it? It didn't seem random. Who had produced this? Was this a music label with a repertoire of sufi fusion? Was this clip made for a music video?
The productions are from Pakistan, from a series of live music recordings from a house called Coke Studio. Produced by Coca Cola and musician Rohail Hyatt, these are not music videos but in fact made for television. I have, of late, been so traumatised by what passes for music on mainstream Indian television, it took me a while to understand that that such music was produced and aired for consumption by mass audiences. Also, immensely gratifying to know it's all up there on youtube in high quality and there is PLENTY of it.
Here's the wiki page for Coke Studio, here is their website and here is the wiki entry for Rohail Hyatt.
Now, I'm not asking for an Indian version - I can't think of an Indian producer who could combine these production values with such a sense of music; I can't think of an Indian channel that would consider such a project worth their effort, or not cheapen pure music with cheerleaders, hooting audiences, large stadium-stages and festoons of pompoms.
But can't the Coke Studio performances be aired here? I was embarassed to discover this late a project that aired first in 2008. Anyway, yay for this world without borders and thanks to Coke Studio for allowing the recordings to stay in the public domain, letting them be accessed.
Before I go, another sampler. Ali Zafar and Tufail Ahmed sing Allah Hu:
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Flight path
New haiku on header. I take down Robert Major's wistful poem:
Sometimes I think . . .
you would answer the phone
if I were to call
But the new one is lovely too.
into the sun
where eyes can’t follow
a red tailed hawk
~Edith Bartholomeusz
The presence of a bird, up there... somewhere. But the hawk is free to fly where it chooses, into the sun if it wants to - the watcher can gaze no more, he must look away... let the knowledge of it comfort him, when he can no longer sight it.
Sometimes I think . . .
you would answer the phone
if I were to call
But the new one is lovely too.
into the sun
where eyes can’t follow
a red tailed hawk
~Edith Bartholomeusz
The presence of a bird, up there... somewhere. But the hawk is free to fly where it chooses, into the sun if it wants to - the watcher can gaze no more, he must look away... let the knowledge of it comfort him, when he can no longer sight it.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Dard vichore da haal
I come with another of those mother-songs I spoke of a while ago. Who do I tell, mother, the pain this separation brings? It feels odd sometimes to be experiencing the biggest upheaval of my life and not have my mother to discuss it with. Never is a harsh word.
Shah Hussain's kafi, of course, talks of a different separation. A desperate search. The Master is veiled, he is not easily attained but he is there, elusive, just beyond the reach.
O mother, who do I tell,
the pain this separation brings
माये नी मैं किन्नू आखां,
दर्द विछोरे दा हाल नी
धुआं थुखे मेरे मुर्शिद वाला,
जान फूलाँ ताँ लाल नी
सूलां मार दीवानी कीती,
बिर्हौं पेय साढ़े खयाली
दुखां दी रोटी, सूलाँ दा सालन,
आहें दा बालन बाल नी
जंगल बैले फिरां ढूँडैंदी
अजय न पायो लाल नि
रान्झां रान्झां फिराँ ढूँडैंदी,
रान्झां मेरे नाल नी
कहे हुसैन फकीर निमाणा,
शाह मिले तान थीवन निहाल
maye ni main kinnu aakhaan,
dard vichore da haal ni
O mother, who do I tell,
the pain this separation brings
dhuan thukhay mere murshid wala,
jaan phoulaan taan laal ni
My Master’s fire spits and smoulders
Red hot, everywhere I blow
soolan mar diwani keeti,
birhoun peya saday khayali
Driven mad with spikes,
Pain of separation fills my thoughts
dukhan di roti, soolaan da saalan,
aahen da baalan baal ve
The bread of sadness, the sauce of spikes,
The fire made up of laments and sighs
jungle bailay phiran mai dhoondaindi
ajay na paayo laal ni
I wandered jungles and deserts, searching
But found not the ruby
ranjhan ranjhan phiraan dhoudaindi,
ranjhan mairay nal
I wander seeking ‘Ranjha Ranjha’,
But Ranjha is with me
kahay hussain faqeer nimanaa,
shoh milay taan theevan nihaal
Says Hussain, the poor faqeer,
Meeting the Master would be ecstasy
Here are two versions of the song. The first, a traditional rendition by Hamid Ali Bela:
And this captivating more recent interpretation by Atif Aslam:
Shah Hussain's kafi, of course, talks of a different separation. A desperate search. The Master is veiled, he is not easily attained but he is there, elusive, just beyond the reach.
O mother, who do I tell,
the pain this separation brings
माये नी मैं किन्नू आखां,
दर्द विछोरे दा हाल नी
धुआं थुखे मेरे मुर्शिद वाला,
जान फूलाँ ताँ लाल नी
सूलां मार दीवानी कीती,
बिर्हौं पेय साढ़े खयाली
दुखां दी रोटी, सूलाँ दा सालन,
आहें दा बालन बाल नी
जंगल बैले फिरां ढूँडैंदी
अजय न पायो लाल नि
रान्झां रान्झां फिराँ ढूँडैंदी,
रान्झां मेरे नाल नी
कहे हुसैन फकीर निमाणा,
शाह मिले तान थीवन निहाल
maye ni main kinnu aakhaan,
dard vichore da haal ni
O mother, who do I tell,
the pain this separation brings
dhuan thukhay mere murshid wala,
jaan phoulaan taan laal ni
My Master’s fire spits and smoulders
Red hot, everywhere I blow
soolan mar diwani keeti,
birhoun peya saday khayali
Driven mad with spikes,
Pain of separation fills my thoughts
dukhan di roti, soolaan da saalan,
aahen da baalan baal ve
The bread of sadness, the sauce of spikes,
The fire made up of laments and sighs
jungle bailay phiran mai dhoondaindi
ajay na paayo laal ni
I wandered jungles and deserts, searching
But found not the ruby
ranjhan ranjhan phiraan dhoudaindi,
ranjhan mairay nal
I wander seeking ‘Ranjha Ranjha’,
But Ranjha is with me
kahay hussain faqeer nimanaa,
shoh milay taan theevan nihaal
Says Hussain, the poor faqeer,
Meeting the Master would be ecstasy
Here are two versions of the song. The first, a traditional rendition by Hamid Ali Bela:
And this captivating more recent interpretation by Atif Aslam:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)