Random Expressions

There is absolutely no harm in showing attitude. This year’s top hit Race had oodles of it. Problem happens when there is no substance to support the style. Tashan - like Musafir - fails because the sexy swaggers and svelte styles has no back up in sense of script or soul. Leave soul aside, it even eschews a coherent story-line.

There is also no harm in simulating the seventies/eighties drama and melodrama and package it to suit the current sensibilities. After all, a sizeable audience slice still lives in the hinterland who feel alienated from the current trends. And dammit, we - the generation born in seventies - are not dead or transported to some other planet. We live too! So why not give us once in a while the kind of films we grew up with!

Farah Khan has delivered two bumper hits - Mai Hoon Na (a film I hated) and Om Shanti Om ( a flick I enjoyed) - keeping all those ingredients of the past painstakingly preserved ( in MHN, when the mother sobs in the climax, ‘ Mujhe mere dono bete zinda chahiye’ it was such a shining harkback to Nirupa Roy’s motherhood that wetted many a screens in the seventies) but gloriously packaged. There is a way of doing things and conjoining the two largely differing eras. There are films and then there are films. While OSO showed how to do it, Tashan spells out how not to do it!

Tashan is essentially a seventies/eighties film crash-landed into the new millenium and just doesn’t know what it really wants to be!

Continue reading “Tashan - Film Review” »

I have nothing against the prolifiration of reality shows on Indian sattelite channels. After all, everyone will try to encash on a successful formula - and frankly, if people are watching, what’s wrong in it?

It’s the lack of creativity & innovation within this genre that gets on the nerves. When one channel starts a kid-hunt show, all of them round up tiny tots in different size & shapes to croon those essentially-adult numbers (admittedly, watching a barely into-teens youngster extolling about burnt beedis and raving about kajra-re eyes is a wee bit discomforting). Why can’t the channels sit together and time their shows differently - at least, the audience will get a wider variety, and perhaps, help the channels garner better TRP’s in the long run.

The current flavor is getting dadajis and dadajis and mummyjis and daddyjis to shake their collective left feet in a ‘family dance show’. Worse, the format & the judges’ comments & the scoring model (and then that urge to vote, vote and more vote) is typically the same in all such shows. I haven’t watched any. But I believe the one with Kajol and family is doing good. Strangely, Kajol (despite being one of my most favorite stars of the nineties generation and one who has starred in most of my favorite films) has the dubious distinction of acting in the most insipid, irksome and irritating advertisements. Perhaps the words on the cheques were much more interesting that what was written on the script!

Anyways, in the clutter of reality shows, one has finally managed to get my attention - Jo Jeeta Wohi Superstar on Star Plus (shown every Fri & Sat night, but I generally watch the back-to-back rerun on Sunday mornings). It’s a challenge between winners of various reality shows (Abhijeet Sawant, Ishmeet, Rooprekha Bannerjee, et al) pitted against the runners-up from the same shows (Rahul Vaidya, Harshit, Vineet etc).

Continue reading “Reality Blues” »

If there is one woe common in India (and extended to Nepal since I have stayed there too) it’s that of the maids - especially those who work for bachelors, staying alone. I know the NRI’s will snigger that at least we get them pretty inexpensive here (unlike abroad, where they skim off your wallet by the hour!). But given the fact that labor is cheap here, and home-help is indeed abundant, let’s not deviate too much, and accept that hiring a maid is a necessary evil than luxury.

But their irregularity irritates & irks. And when they work for bachelors the excuse for not turning up is uncannily similar and non-innovative all across (at least it has been through the three cities that I have stayed) - ‘ we came but you had left by then!’ Simple! Who’s going to check whether they actually came or not! I don’t really keep a time-guard or attendance register outside my home.

Continue reading “Maid In India” »

Another thumping return:- Udit Narayan makes a resounding comeback! And how! In ‘Dil dance maare’ he simply lets loose his vocals, and his enjoyment in singing those bizarre lyrics, is more than audible and palpable and perceptible. Though Sukhvinder and Sunidhi give him tremendous support, however, for me, it is Udit who outshines both. Vishal’s crazy and inane lyrics (in their latest release Yash Raj Films’ Tashan) are…well, crazy and inane. But tell you what? They work! This unabashed and undiluted celebration of nonsense is the most sensible to hit the charts in the past few seasons. Vishal-Shekhar effortlessly tune words that go White white face dekhe dilwa beating fast sasura chance maare re, and the harmonium hookline is addictive, to say the least!

After Tara Rum Pum and Om Shanti Om, where Vishal-Shekhar displayed a keen sense to break away from the contemporary audio trend, (without fully discarding or alienating it), my personal expectation from this album were huge. Though I missed the serenading cascades of violins (Mai agar kahuun), or the tender tones of piano (Ho agar kabhi koi gham), still Tashan has enough sponge to sink one’s senses into! In fact, Vishal-Shekhar are the few new composers who actually look like working on the music between the antaras.

Take for example, the Hey Shona-ish love ditty in Tashan, ‘Falak tak chal saath mere’ : there is a tingling santoor riff in the second interlude, which is instantly uplifted by a sonorous flute strain, leading to the soft and supple antara - that in itself breaks into a dholak-based rhythm mid-way. Now, hearing the dholak so prominently, and so well-used, is surely a cause for joy!

Falak tak chal is the second Udit Narayan number in the score, and this time he is on more familiar ground, having sung innumerable love songs in the nineties. Mahalaxmi Iyer, who is rarely heard, accompanies him in this beautiful number. I liked the lyrics (by Kausar Munir) in this one (even if the chand and suraj metaphors/imagery reminded me of Gulzar’s poems)

Other than Dil Dance Maare, the folkish- or rather , more correctly put, the ‘hinterland effect’, is also found in Sukhwinder Singh’s opening solo ‘Dil haara re’ , another pleasurable song. A teeny weeny complaint, though - did they have to change the rhythm and pattern towards the end of the song?

The dope-y Tashan mein , sung with verve by composer Vishal and singer Saleem takes a while to intoxicate you, but once it does, there is no point in getting away. Surrender to the electric guitars and the curvaceous tune!

I found Sunidhi’s Chhaliya the only weak number in an otherwise inspired album.

Tashan is a unique North-Indian word that can mean style, attitude and arrogance all rolled in one. In the album, all the lead actors speak a line or two of what tashan means to the characters they are playing (interspersed between the songs).

Dunno how the film will end up, but the music sure has lot of tashan!

Overall - Must Buy

It is the comeback season. Not mine. That is still time away. (I will continue to visit this space off and on for some more time).

But two of my favorites have come back with a proverbial bang - Director duo Abbas- Mustan and author Jeffrey Archer.

Isn’t it curious how much a fan accepts his loved artiste’s failure as his own, and then tries to defend it weakly or pompously (as his character is wont be)? Well, this post is not to dwell on a fan-artiste relationship. That would need to much of input and time, and more concentration that what this cyber cafe offers (with the lady at the desk happily viewing sobbing bahus in variety of soaps spread over multifarious channels).

Continue reading “Comeback Season - Abbas & Mustan and Jeff Archer” »

Look at life’s irony - there was a time, on this very blog, when I had wanted to give it up all and walk away. During those crises-ridden days, I sought escape routes that were not available, and as lazy hours stared back with their longing eyes, I would return to this page, trying to form words out the creative stupor and nether that I was in.

Today, the scenario is diametrically opposite - I have so much to tell, yet I am not able to find those lazy hours (nay, moments) where I can sit leisurely to sort that jumble of thoughts and events and celebrations into a neat and tidy readable post(s). Here is, in capsule, all those posts that never saw the life on this blog, but could have been, and who knows, might also find themselves written sometime in future:

Continue reading “Of Travels and Celebrations…” »

It’s the time to rewind and assess the music that hit the charts this year. As in the past four such compilations, the below list is my own choice and does not in any way reflect the fate at the charts. Anyways, my music choice is so individualistic, often it doesn’t coincide with the hit parade.

Personally, I found this year’s music scene far superior to 2006. Where last year I had struggled to find one single fulsome album, this year I had at least six of them, and many more where the favorite songs exceeded that one single entry played relentlessly on the music channels and FM radio.

My own award to the music composer of the year goes, undoubtedly and unwaveringly to Vishal and Shekhar. The duo came up with not one, but two, wholesome albums which I thoroughly enjoyed listening to and revisiting.

So without much waste, here we go:


Continue reading “Top Songs - 2007” »

…and very soon. But just a quick update to those who have actually ventured into this space the past few days:

I am still home-less. More than me (after all, the company guest house is so comfortable) it’s my packers-and-movers guy (who is holding my stuff en-route from Agra at New Delhi) who is exasperated. From the gruff ‘when will you give me an address to send your dumb stuff’ he has now stepped down to a worried plea ‘boss, saamaan mangaa lo please’. I dread at thought of his final bill amount.

Nagpur is the new city added to my list of travels (and I type this post from a horrible cyber-cafe from there).

I stepped into Delhi for a brief while for Diwali. What to say? The four days simply whizzed by. My apologies to all whom I must have promised to meet, but didn’t.

I watch movies aplenty. And my current haunt is Cinemax at Versova. Their Red Lounge (with huge reclining sofas) is a treat, and the cheese pop-corns delicious. A bit late, but here are one-or-two sentences on the movies seen:


Continue reading “I Will Return…” »

It is the second consecutive year when, on this auspicious day, I am in a new town, without a consistent source of internet to type out a full-fledged message. But the solace is that I am breathing the same air, in the same city, as where the Queen of Melody resides.

It’s amazing how another year has gone by. And yet, in this added year, my love for that perfect voice hasn’t diminished one bit. Only, as I am away from music, the love has grown fonder, and deeper. I miss listening to Lata (Mangeshkar)Didi’s songs, and hope to be re-united with them soon, once my luggage arrives from Delhi. Still, whenever and wherever I can snatch those precious moments, I do try to listen to her. One such instance was when I travelled to Nashik, I put on my own CD in my colleague’s car, and listened to a bunch of marvellous Lata Mangeshkar-Madan Mohan combine songs.

Here’s wishing Lata Didi a very happy, peaceful, wonderful and melodious birthday, and praying to Almighty for her long life and health.

Happy Birthday, Lataji!

I am back to what I am best at - travelling the road. This time, it’s the interiors of Maharashtra. Pune is an old haunt, but this time it felt a tad too far off as the Volvo bus driver decided to pick up anyone and everyone to fill up the empty seats, before leaving Mumbai. The early morning journey ended in early noon.

Pune to Nashik followed immediately (since the bus had consumed the time I had reserved for there). Been used to the rugged Uttar Pradesh terrain, the route surprised me. It was lush green and weaved through little hills and hillocks (the ghats), passing through vast stretches of open and lush cloud-kissed lands, uninterrupted by man or nature. “What Switzerland? Why don’t our film-makers shoot here?” I wondered aloud. It was just the flawless location for a mesmerizing love duet!

En route Nashik, after one meeting at Sangamner, we saw a signboard of Shirdi. ‘Is it nearby?’ I asked. It seemed so. Since it would be late in any case for Nashik, we decided to pay darshan at Shirdi. It’s a typical temple-town, with all its infrastructure and business centered around Sai Baba’s Temple. We got a lovely darshan…that too on a Thursday, the day considered auspicious to the sage.

We started for Nashik after the sun had convincingly risen in some other part of the planet.

I fell in love with Nashik the moment I saw it. Wide roads, pretty clean and without any rush. It’s the ‘Pune of some fifteen years back’, my colleague remarked. A ring of mountains nestled the quaint town. The air was fresh and vibrant, and it must have helped my lungs, for I had a very deep sleep that night (it could also be due to the immense fatigue, as that day we did a whopping 9-10 meetings, in a row, one after the other - and by the end of which, another cup of tea or coffee would have made me throw up).

We stayed there for two days, and returned on Saturday late evening. It was a fruitful visit. And adds one more town in my long list of places visited.

That’s where I pitch my tent, in yet another career and city move. I came here a couple of weeks back, and since then, I am caught in an immense whirlpool, where time is suddenly so short and distances so long. Yet, somehow somewhere I connect to this place. Perhaps, the dreamy layer is still to peel from my eyes, till then I am thoroughly enjoying, even if it means getting stuck in traffic jams that are longer than the entire journey that I would ever have made while in Agra!

It probably started off in June. It was simply a chance and off-the-cuff remark to a friend, over a cup of coffee, when I had come here for a visit: “Someday I wish to unravel the mystery behind what makes Bombay tick”. And also, finally comprehend the seemingly complicated criss-cross of trains and their impeccable schedule which everyone swears by. Looking back, it seems right then some machinery up there in the heavens started to heave into motion to hurlte me into - what Priyangini called - the ‘melting pot’. I landed here on an early morning flight on the 5th of September.

The start was anything but auspicious - my baggage went off on another flight, my pant ripped rather embarassingly getting entangled in a metal side-strip of one of those old Padmini Premier taxis and the guest house booking wasn’t confirmed.

The past two weeks I am absorbing a lot - at my work place and of the city as well. Whenever I get time, I grab the opportunity to roam about and learn my way through (which I realized is not a very easy task). I have done the touristy thing of visiting Gateway of India, strolling on Colaba Causeway and having a leisurely evening at Bandra Bandstand, watching the sun set into the deep grey sea.

My immediate concern is getting a house. And a decent one, at that. More importantly, without it pinching my pocket too much. Though the last seems to be a near-impossible task to achieve. The going deposit rate is anything above Rs 1 Lac, for a decent 1BHK accomodation in the far off suburbs.

“Rs 1 Lac??” I had stared incredulously, my eyes popping out, my tongue sticking in disbelief and the piece of a sumptuous sizzler choking my throat, when Priyangini had informed me of the same. “Are you serious?”

Apparantly, she was. And very correct as well. I had heard of ridiculous deposits, but this was way beyond my imagination. Strangely, anyone that I speak to makes me feel like a stupid little idiot who has just woken up to some given and expected fact of life. In Bombay (or Mumbai, to be politically very correct), no one bats an eyelid in talking about these huge deposits or even asking for it.

That’s why perhaps all my Mumbaiya friends, to whom I had informed of my imminent shift, had conveniently forgotten to mention about this crucial piece of information.

Welcome to reality, buddy, I told myself. Had I known this earlier, I would have reconsidered my decision to shift here. Err…would I have? Well, as of now that question lies in the realms of a hypothetical stratosphere, hence why get into it!

Anyways, the dice has been rolled. And I might as well play the game to my best possible manner. Which I am very serious about. I have to win!

Ganpati Festival is on - and the entire city wears a lovely colorful look. Here’s wishing all readers a very happy and prosperous Ganesh Utsav.

(My apologies for being erratic here, and not replying to comments. But rest assured, I read them all voraciously.)

Mehtab Bagh is a finely laid down garden, right opposite the Taj Mahal, across River Yamuna. From here, one gets a beautiful view of the monument, while resting in a shaded and cool atmosphere. The garden, built in a typical symmetrical style that Moghuls patronized, is said to be built by Shahjahan as an extension of the Taj Mahal only. However, some say that he had also kept this space to build a replica of the Mahal, but in black marble. These are more conjectures, than facts.

Feast your eyes:

(From Top To Bottom)- 1. The Taj Mahal across River Yamuna, 2. As seen from the shrubs of Mehtab Garden, 3. The well-planned and laid down garden and 4. Aadha-Taj: Seen through a rubble in the park, which people claim to be the site for the Black Taj Mahal

Photographs by Kislay Verma & Deepak Jeswal

Powered by Zoundry

The gypsy is ready to move on. The tent has been folded, the bags packed and the caravan ready to trudge to yet another new place.

I left Agra - and my job - in the early evening of 31st August, and drove down what is probably - at least till now - the last drive on NH-2. This time I humored the stubborn ‘auto’ drivers, and smiled at the obstinate bus-drivers who wouldn’t give you way even if you blink your car blind and honk yourself to deafness. It took more than the mandatory four hours on that highway, but what the hell, I might not see it again for a long long time.

The last few days went in a daze. The city burned itself in a silly fight and curfew was imposed on several areas. For me, it was deja vu all over again. The last time I had left a city (Kathmandu, for the uninitiated), it was clamped down by curfew, although for a vastly different reason. It seems whenever I have to leave a town, it bleeds itself in pain!

Memories! They are a strange lot. Just when I thought I had nothing positive to say about Agra, other than its gargantuan wonder in marble, I seem to recall all its plus points. Here is what all passed my mind when I hit the bed the night of 31st August, in my own bed in Delhi, but my heart wandering in the curfew-stamped city 200 kms away:

• Sadar Bazar - a vibrant and vivacious market place, which could be a setting for such romantic novel that can only be written for a small town. It’s Sunday crowd, in their best and brightest dresses, the row of eateries right in the middle, the blazing neon signs, and that small lane filled with the most sumptuous chaats and gol-gappas - all its aromas tickled my nostrils and memories!
• The area around Fatehabad/Shamshabad Road, where I stayed for past one year. Wide open roads and lesser traffic, I took to the locality the moment I saw it. My open and spacious flat, in a gigantic white structure (which is also visible from Google earth, yes it was pretty large!) is a place I will miss for long.
• Pacific Mall - a place I visited nearly every Friday evening to catch the latest release at its in-house multiplex - Fun Cinemas. Sadly, I tried to visit it a day before leaving, but the place was closed down due to the civic unrest in the town. Hours spent there, generally whiling away time, in its atrium, or cruising by the aisles of Big Bazar are moments to cherish.
• The amount of heritage that Agra holds in its folds is indescribable. Before the unrest began, a friend and I visited Sikandra, Itmaudallah and that superb garden just opposite Taj Mahal - Mehtaab Bagh. What a serene location, with the Taj smiling benignly across the river.
• The slow and languid pace that often irritated the big city boy within me, but what I would love to return to. Even though the city was maddeningly rushing on its M.G. Road, not even stopping by to accomodate the car that would have been stuck due to some reason, there was still a paradoxical slowness that appealed.
• Sonam Bar (Shooters Club) at Agra Cantt and Jaiwal Bar (at Sadar Bazar) are firmly etched in my mind. Despite alcohol being costlier in UP (as compared to Delhi), it was the old-fashioned look and feel of these bars and restaurants that will haunt me for a long time.

There are more, and I will return to them sometime later, just the way I did so with Nepal. My next destination is not undisclosed to many readers (I have, after all, literally shouted over the emails and chat and forced it over whoever was interested, or not interested, to listen!).

It’s a new place, a new job and a new life. The gypsy will set his tent again. But for how long? Only time can tell. And of course, this place too.

Till then, au revoir Agra!

Powered by Zoundry

For someone who has spent a lifetime on television making fun of other’s movies, I had expected Sajid Khan to churn out a whacky and whopper comedy - even if it were superbly slapstick or insanely double-entendre laden! Alas, Khan proves to be simply an arm-chair critic and an atrocious film-maker. Heyy Babyy is neither a full-fledged comedy nor a perfect emotional blaster, and in the end you return from the theater mourning the loss of money and time wasted on this corrupted kitsch.

The film is supposedly borrowed from Three Men and a Baby. It could be, but that is just till the first half - or till about three quarters of the first half. In the rest, it gets all emotional - including a tediously lengthy song that the three nasty-bachelors-turned-nice sing to the cute little one. Knowing Sajid Khan, he would surely have watched Dharam-Hema’s Tum Haseen Main Jawan (where a womaniser Dharam is found clutching a figure far too smaller to his liking!). Why couldn’t Khan take a leaf from that film? Despite all the seventies cliches and contrived situations, Tum Haseen Main Jawan was way more entertaining (and with good music to boot, courtesy Shankar Jaikishan!).

In the second half, the film concentrates on Akshay Kumar and Vidya Balan’s romance-cum-tiff, who it turns out is the mother of the child, and has returned to claim her right back. Poor Riteish and Fardeen are reduced to sheer side-kicks mumbling unconvincingly about how they miss the kid and help Akshay regain Vidya’s trust. This portion has a few genuine laughs. But then, it’s too little and too late.

Continue reading “Heyy Babbyy” »

Patriotism easily slips into jingoism. We have seen it do it so easily in those Sunny Deol/Anil Sharma flicks. And this one even opens with a hockey match against Pakistan; and we all know that a match against Pakistan - any game - is no less than a war. One of the many things that I loved in this superbly crafted film is that Shimit Amin keeps the patriotic valve in strict control, allowing it to ooze out the fervor and letting it remain as a simmering under-current in the entire narrative, but never letting it gush and drown the audience in unnecessary hyperbole or screaming monologues. The subtle patriotism extends to the selection of the game itself - it’s about hockey, which is our national game (and not cricket, as some would believe). Perhaps the best touch is that the finale match is against Australia - who has been our bete noir in sports, and showing a win against them gives a curiously vicarious but satisfying thrill.

The story is simple and straightforward - a hounded-by-media-for-being-a-traitor hockey captain Kabir Khan (Shahrukh Khan) resurfaces seven years later to coach a bunch of rowdy girls team, and steers them to a resounding victory at the next World Cup. Most such stories follow a set pattern - a past that is not too shining, a team that is not too much of a team, a few external problems that need immediate attention, a few initial loses and then the last half-hour of a thrilling match, with that all-important goal/run in the very last frames of the match. Chak De India sticks to this basic framework, but what it adds on is not an ungainly mass of flab, but sinewy and rippling muscle. That’s where the film scores a straight goal.

Continue reading “Chak De India” »

“Will you be able to recognize me?” she asked on the phone, after informing her flight details. “I guess so,” I replied, not very confidently. I had seen her photo only once earlier. “In any case, I will carry a placard,” I laughed. The phone disconnected, and I continued the drive to Delhi - excited about the upcoming meet.

RS, as she chose her on-line name, is not an unfamiliar name for the old-time bloggers here. Her humor in everyday bitter-sweet situations and family life packed in a solid punch hitherto unseen on the blogs, and all of it in the most artless and unassuming manner. The simple abundance in her blog is …well, abundant! We first ‘met’ online on a common blog-haunt, commenting on each other’s space, moving to chats on the Yahoo Messenger, and eventually exchanging mails. She quit blogging a year back, but her page is alive with her animated writings, for those who would want to check it out.

At the designated time I reached airport, amused that her flight was to land at 12:35, a time which in our school days had spawned off a corny joke (try saying it aloud in Hindi in Anglicized accent). The flight showed ‘on time’ and even as the clock moved ahead of the hour, it still showed ‘on time’. Was it actually delayed? Still, to be on the safe side, I stood near the railing, amongst myriad another tour operators/friends/relatives, holding an A-4 sheet carrying her name in bold black letters.

Continue reading “(Ex) Bloggers Meet, New Delhi” »

It’s not the first time I am in Aligarh. But each time the feeling is the same. It’s like stepping into time-machine and setting the knob to the late seventies/early eighties of Delhi. There is indeed a quaint charm that never fails to attract, be it the cemented roads, or the old-fashioned houses and shops and a general aura of languidness that permeates in the very air that passes over Aligarh. It forces open nostalgic childhood memories - especially, of all those holidays spent in Ludhiana, in my nanihaal. The city exemplifies tehzeeb and the welcome and the hospitality that I receive here is tremendous and very touching.

Yesterday, while sitting at Deepak Restaurant at Aligarh’s ‘most happening’ area - the Centre Point - I viewed the place with interest. And the first thing that crossed my mind was the movie Chameli Ki Shaadi. Remember the place where Anil Kapoor dates Amrita Singh the first time - the Pinto Restaurant? Deepak Restaurant seemed to have jumped out from that movie’s set - the same long sofas with mica-covered tables and waiters in loose cotton and crumpled ‘uniforms’, worn for the sake of wearing one. It’s a place where the local Majnu will get his besotted Laila, sit in the corner-most table and chat non-stop, nonsense-nothings over a slow intake of one Coke (well, if only Campa Cola was still there, the setting would have been complete!). It’s an outlet that has those over-used menu cards covered in stained plastic. And, it’s a place that would invariably play some old hit Hindi film song.

Continue reading “Aligarh” »

Thirty-two years back, Madan Mohan (or ‘Melody Maker’, as popularly known amongst his fans) left us - leaving behind fervent music lovers sobbingly clutch a wide range of mellifluous melodies; melodies that stood the fierce test of time, and that only grew in stature as time went about its cruel chore. On his thirty second death anniversary (14th July) Manohar Iyer’s Keep Alive, true to the group’s name, brought alive some of his finest tunes in the packed Prabodhankar Thackeray Hall, Borivali (West), Mumbai in a show titled ‘The Mystique Moods of Madan Mohan’.

As my hosts (a wonderful couple, M&R, but more on them a little later) and I hurriedly collected our passes, Mr Suresh Rao, co-editor of the book that would be released during the show, warned us, ‘The show will start on time’. I was skeptical, but needn’t have been. Barely had we seated ourselves that the curtains parted to the mystical strains of ‘Hamare baad mehfil mein afsaane bayaan honge‘ - a most apt way to begin the show. ‘Bahaarein humko dhoodhengi na jaane hum kahan honge’ the song says, and truly, music and nature, mind and heart wondered where the maestro had gone. Thereafter, I immersed into the music, discarding aside all sense of time.

The stage was set like the great Madan Mohan’s music - simple yet not frugal. The musicians sat in a wide arch, on spotless white seats; the percussions on the left, the keyboards on the right and the sitar - Madan Mohan’s most favorite instrument - prominently in the middle.

The chief guests for the show were Madan Mohan’s family - son Sanjeev Kohli (CEO & Director, Yash Raj Films), his wife and his son, Akshay; and Madan Mohan’s second son, Sameer Kohli.


Continue reading “The Mystique Moods of Madan Mohan: A Report” »

Powered by Zoundry

Madan Mohan is not an unknown name to any music lover. He is truly one legend whose work has (to use an awfully overused cliche) survived onslaught of time, and that too when originally they weren’t on the most popular stars. Yet, the power of his melodies were such that someone like me, who was barely two years old when he left for the heavenly abode, it has given me an immense satisfaction. In the past years, I have made a conscious effort to seek and unearth many of his unknown and rare gems, and they are exactly that - gems!

On the occasion of his death anniversary, which falls on 14th July 2007, a musical show has been organized by Keep Alive (Manohar Iyer) at Borivali, Mumbai.

And on this day, a book would be released titled ‘MADAN MOHAN - AN UNFORGETTABLE COMPOSER’ (they really couldn’t have thought of any better way to describe him!). I am right now a bit constrained to speak on the book, or its authors/contributors, but it has a number of celebraties who have written their own views on his music. It would be priced less than Rs 500, and it will be an ‘easy-read’ book, giving insight to a man who did wonders when he entered the recording room.

I will definitely let you know about the book once it is released - and will leave with just one tiny information that it has an article by yours truly as well. I just cannot describe the kind of pride I feel right now, having my piece in a book dedicated to my favorite composer!!!

Technorati : Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan, Music

Powered by Zoundry

Standing on my balcony late last night, I looked in the darkness towards where Taj Mahal is. I wondered if it realized that millions would be watching about it’s fate in the New Seven Wonders list on their television sets (and live in Lisbon). Did it understand its own grandness? More importantly, did the callous city which houses it realize it’s importance. During my stay here I have heard several derogatory comments against it (many industries had to be shifted/relocated due to the environmental pressures, leading to a lot of unrest and discomfort amongst the business community).

Unfortunately, the cable here chose to vanish and I couldn’t catch the New Seven Wonders results. Today morning as I made way to pick up the newspaper, I stopped again to look at the white marble wonder, standing dignified surrounded by rain-clouds, and I hoped that it would have made it through to the new seven wonders.

It has!

Here is the final result of the New Seven Wonders List, as announced in a glittering function in Lisbon (Portugal), attended by our very own dusky siren Bipasha Basu and Agra’s mayor.

The New Seven Wonders list has evoked several responses - from excitement to indifference to cynicism to controversies (after all it’s just a private new list, without even the official sanction on UNESCO! The Egyptians pulled out of the vote in a huff!). Then some found the ‘false patriotism’ unleashed the past few months to enable voting highly distasteful.

Continue reading “Wah Taj!” »