And the music played…

I attended the special concert of Bertie, Mel & Fuzz in Calcutta last night. It was fantastic. I was proud and inspired to hear my celebrated prodigiously gifted college contemporaries – after almost 30 years. It brought back powerful memories of those golden carefree days, attending inter-college festivals! And this was no amateur stuff, these were accomplished musicians performing.

Bertie, Mel and Fuzz performed 13 numbers. Bertie sang nine songs, several were his own compositions, and they did some other cover numbers. Mel sang three songs, including a gospel piece. Fuzz sang one number.

I will remember this evening - for the occasion, the sweetness and loving tenderness of Bertie's singing, the hypnotic Blues spell of Mel's voice, and the brilliance and easy confidence of Fuzz's bass. The trio played as if they had always been playing together: perfect harmony.

The songs:

1. Bertie: Motorcar Blues (own)
2. Bertie: She was in the Moonlight (own)
3. Mel: Gospel - Have You Been Lonely?
4. Bertie: Mr Charlie (Grateful Dead)
5. Bertie: Lonesome Blues (own)
6. Mel: You Win Again (Hank Williams / Grateful Dead)
7. Bertie: Moonlight Lady (own)
8. Bertie: Helpless (Neil Young) + Knockin' on Heaven's Door (Bob Dylan)
9. Fuzz: Dancing Nancys (Dave Mathews band)
10. Bertie: Take Me Down to the River
11. Mel: The Thrill is Gone (BB King)
12. Bertie: Tin Pan Alley (own; in rap style)
13. Bertie: Tina Marie

The turnout was good. The atmosphere was great. A mix of young and not-so-young people. There were a good number of Bertie’s doting students, present and past. (He is now Head of the English Literature Dept, at St Xavier’s College, and also the Dean of Arts.)

I conveyed my friend JP’s regards to Bertie, Mel and Fuzz, and also managed to connect them over the phone at the end of the programme.

Read concert organiser Patrick Ghose's report here.

Pictures of the concert are accessible here.

Loony Libberswick has also reported on the concert here.

Still crazy after all these years

I was stunned to read, out of the blue, in the morning's newspaper that Bertie, Mel and Fuzz are to play again at a special Bertie, Mel and Fuzz: Redux.

Venue: Princeton Club, Prince Anwar Shah Road, Calcutta
Date: 12th April 2007
Time: 8 pm

Bertie, Mel and Fuzz were stellar figures during my college years, at St Xavier's College, Calcutta (1976-79). They represented all that was "hip" - with their long hair - but more than that, they were gifted musicians. The last time they played together - was in 1979.

Bertie now teaches (English literature) at the same St Xavier's College. Mel is a school-teacher in Calcutta. And Fuzz moved to Canada some years ago.

My class-mate JP had written about them not so long ago, and expressed his wish to reconnect with these guys. I met Bertie when I attended Fr Beckers' funeral mass at the college in December. And then Fuzz chanced upon JP's blog.

I called my class-mates Ashoke and Barun to join me in attending the reunion concert. But, sadly, both of them will be away on the day. So I will attend, with my boys.

A very, very special event indeed!

Patrick Ghose has also written about this reunion concert, as has Loony Libberswick.

Problems ...

JP wrote in his blog today:

For most of my adult life, I’ve been bemused, perplexed, sometimes irritated and occasionally completely taken aback by the error messages spewed out by the applications we build and use. Over the last twenty-five years or so, I’ve watched them improve, but at speeds that make glaciers look agile.

Today, while looking at technorati, I saw this:

Something is wrong! We know about it, and are working furiously to fix it. Please check back later and probably everything will be back up and running.


Problems!

So many problems!

9-11 happened. The space shuttle crashed. The war in Iraq. Laptop batteries exploded. North Korea conducted a nuclear test. The list could go on and on.

Why are we living amidst so many problems today? Was it different earlier?

In the precision instruments manufacturing enterprise I am managing on behalf of my family, we are facing several problems. Some of them are daunting, and produce dismay and despair. But when I read about things like exploding laptop batteries, with companies like Sony involved – it does help to bring a sense of balance.

I guess, with the business of life getting more complex, problems too multiply. But it’s also the case that with the advance of democratic, human rights and social justice consciousness, and a large section of humanity connected and communicating, things are now more transparent than they used to be.

Equally, the notion that life is meant to be free of problems – is childish. Life will be full of problems. And living through this life means confronting and addressing the problems, and learning thereby.

I also wish one’s own problems, and the awareness of problems all around, makes people more understanding and tolerant of others.

I am reminded of the last words of the Buddha (recorded in the Pali texts):

Vaya-dhamma sankhara
Appamadena sampadetha.

“All created things are impermanent .
Strive diligently."

Or as the Lord of Death taught Nachiket in the Katha Upanishad:

"Get up! Wake up! Seek the guidance of an illumined teacher and realize the Self. Sharp like a razor's edge is the path, the sages say, difficult to traverse."

Devi Saraswati

Tomorrow is Saraswati Puja, for (Hindu) south Indians.

Saraswati literally means “one who gives the essence (sara) of our own Self (swa).” She sits on a swan, and carries a veena (a string instrument).

Puja, as I have explained earlier, means worship, with flower offerings.

Devi Saraswati is the Mother of Learning.

Music is the highest art, the distilled essence of all knowledge, which is self-knowledge. Self-effacing devotion, expressed in heart's melody, in a prayer to Devi Saraswati, is accompanied by Divine vision.

In Carnatic music (i.e. the south Indian classical tradition), one of the first songs learnt is “Varaveena”, a prayer, in Sanskrit, a song of adoration, to Saraswati, composed by Appaya Dikshitar (1554-1626), a scholar, sage and saint.


Varaveena mrudu paani
Vanaruha lochana raani
Suruchira bambhara veni
Suranutha kalyaani
Nirupama shubha guna lola
Nirathi jaya prada sheela
Varadaapriya ranganaayaki
Vaanchita phala daayaki
Saraseejaasana janani
Jaya jaya jaya


You hold the divine veena in your soft hands.
You are the queen of the omniscient. Your eyes are like the lotus petals.
Your curly tresses resemble the bees.
Devas worship your auspicious form.
You have unequalled virtuous qualities.
You give endless victory.
You are the munificent consort of the Beautiful Lord.
You grant boons to the deprived.
O Mother of lotus-seated Creator!
Victory to you!


This song is set in Mohanam raga, which is Bhopali raga in the Hindusthani or north Indian classical system.

Shivkumar Kalyanaraman is a professor of computer science in the USA. His website is also a treasure trove of resources on Carnatic music. He has provided the musical notations for this song, as well as an MP3 recording of a teaching of this song.

Thank you Shivkumar, and may Mother Saraswati’s blessings be always with you.

Another rich site is karnATik.

My mother is away in Bombay, otherwise she would have organised the Puja at home, with an offering of sweet and savoury rice, and the placing of books (of students in the house) before the image of Saraswati.

My younger son Rishiraj (aka Chotu), 11, was the last to religiously place all his school books in front of the image at home. This is a day on which there must be no studying! Great for kids at home during vacations! Chotu's in boarding school now, with his brother Rituraj, 15.

My mother will be doing the Puja at her sister’s, in Bombay.

Hence it will only be an 'inner' observation for me. I observed Saraswati Puja by:

conveying my heartfelt good wishes to -

JP, a college-mate and fellow Tamil-ian & Calcuttan (in which fact I take particular pride right now, as JP has recently become the CIO, Global Services, of British Telecom);

Achinto, photographer, with whom I had been out of touch for a long time; and

Dipali, painter, designer, art teacher and friend, and Saraswati incarnate.

Learn by heart this poem of mine

I am moved to reproduce in its entirety a poem heard, remembered and then serendipitously found by my friend JP, and shared in his blog. Thanks JP!


Learn by heart this poem of mine;
books only last a little time
and this one will be borrowed, scarred,
burned by Hungarian border guards,
lost by the library, broken-backed,
its paper dried up, crisped and cracked,
worm-eaten, crumbling into dust,
or slowly brown and self-combust
when climbing Fahrenheit has got
to 451, for that's how hot
your town will be when it burns down.
Learn by heart this poem of mine.

Learn by heart this poem of mine.
Soon books will vanish and you'll find
there won't be any poets or verse
or gas for car or bus - or hearse -
no beer to cheer you till you're crocked,
the liquor stores torn down or locked,
cash only fit to throw away,
as you come closer to that day
when TV steadily transmits
death-rays instead of movie hits
and not a soul to lend a hand
and everything is at an end
but what you hold within your mind,
so find a space there for these lines
and learn by heart this poem of mine.

Learn by heart this poem of mine;
recite it when the putrid tides
that stink of lye break from their beds,
when industry's rank vomit spreads
and covers every patch of ground,
when they've killed every lake and pond,
Destruction humped upon its crutch,
black rotting leaves on every branch;
when gargling plague chokes Springtime's throat
and twilight's breeze is poison, put
your rubber gasmask on and line
by line declaim this poem of mine.

Learn by heart this poem of mine
so, dead, I still will share the time
when you cannot endure a house
deprived of water, light, or gas,
and, stumbling out to find a cave,
roots, berries, nuts to stay alive,
get you a cudgel, find a well,
a bit of land, and, if it's held,
kill the owner, eat the corpse.
I'll trudge beside your faltering steps
between the ruins' broken stones,
whispering "You are dead; you're done!
Where would you go? That soul you own
froze solid when you left your town."
Learn by heart this poem of mine.

Maybe above you, on the earth,
there's nothing left and you, beneath,
deep in your bunker, ask how soon
before the poisoned air leaks down
through layers of lead and concrete. Can
there have been any point to Man
if this is how the thing must end?
What words of comfort can I send?
Shall I admit you've filled my mind
for countless years, through the blind
oppressive dark, the bitter light,
and, though long dead and gone, my hurt
and ancient eyes observe you still?
What else is there for me to tell
to you, who, facing time's design,
will find no use for life or time?
You must forget this poem of mine.

Gyorgy Faludy

Back home

I returned to Calcutta last night, after a hectic 4 day trip to south India, occasioned by some work there, but principally rushing around, travelling through the soils of my ancestral roots and meeting long-lost friends.

When one is in a ingrained schedule of living, which includes blogging - then, an enforced break from blogging and travel to far-flung places serves to remind that blogging is such a tiny part of life and the world, which must remain largely incommunicable!

I flew from Calcutta to Madras, then took an overnight train to Palakkad. I then took a bus from Palakkad to Cochin, via Trissur, reaching in the evening. I spent the night with my school friend Madhu. The next morning I took a bus back to Palakkad. And immediately took a bus to Coimbatore, from where I took a bus to Kothgiri, in the Nilgiri mountains. I spent the night with my friend Pratim. The next morning, I boarded a bus back to Coimbatore, and then another one to Palakkad. I took an overnight train to Madras, and yesterday I visited my college friend JP's mother in Madras, and another school friend Balaji, before taking the flight back to Calcutta in the evening.

I saw the reflection of the rising sun on the Arabian Sea on India's west coast, and also the reflection of the setting sun on the Bay of Bengal on India's east coast. And I travelled through dry plains, gigantic river basins, lush green countryside, wooded hills and thickly forested mountains.

I could write a fat novel on the resonances and significance of the places I travelled through and the people I met, occasioned by this chance trip!

Returning to a very wet and flooded Calcutta, where there's been incessant rain for 3 days.

Special breed

Speaking of soils - my friend JP recently wrote a very interesting piece on his blog, about planting seeds and tending plants with love and care and devotion.

Reading this reminded me of my visit to Smith College in Northampton, Mass, in 1992. There I saw the last surviving specimen of an original “dawn redwood” tree. I was awed. I collected a couple of cones of the dawn redwood. (On that trip to the US, I also visited Walden pond, in Concorde, Mass, where Thoreau had lived; and collected some souvenirs, like leaves etc).

Over the years, when I want to give a very special gift to a very special friend - I give them a seed from the dawn redwood cone. To signify that the person is invaluable, a single survivor, of a special breed!

When I shared this with JP, he said:

"I think every one of us is a single survivor of a special breed…".

Thinking about multitasking

A few days ago I wrote about JP Rangaswami, who works in the information sector. I asked him for his thoughts about Attention Deficit Trait (ADT) which my blog reported on. ADT is a condition afflicting office workers that's worrying medical researchers.

JP has discussed this in his blog. I reproduce his piece , and would only like to add: we must never stop learning, from everyone and everywhere. And this reflection of yours is also very thought-provoking and educative JP. Thanks!


In that serendipitous flow that blogs excel at, Chukti made contact with me after a quarter of a century. (Great connecting up, Chutki!) And as we conversed he brought up Attention Deficit Trait (as defined by Edward Hallowell) and wondered what I thought of it.

A few days later I found Tim Hindle's article in The Economist's Intelligent Life, Summer 2006 issue. I quote : "Mr Hallowell says that people who work in physical isolation are more likely to suffer from ADT than those who share a lively office".

When I see statements like that I start thinking about popes and catholicism and bears and woods and faeces.

But what do I know?

So I continue to do what I do, and learn from my wife and my children. It’s strange, my wife does not do e-mail. She wants to, and we keep putting off “the lesson”. It will happen. Soon.

But in the meantime. Watching her deal with her daily routine, and (when and where possible) participating in it, teaches me more about multitasking and dealing with distractions than I could learn in an “office” environment. Let me draw out some themes, briefly.

1. Some of her tasks are regular and inflexible in terms of time. School runs and mealtimes are classic examples.

2. Some are regular but more flexible in the context of precisely when she does them. Shopping and laundry and meal preparation are examples of these.

3. Some are regular and low-flexibility in terms of time, but she outsources them. Cleaning and ironing and dry-cleaning come to mind.

4. Most of this is done while I am at work and the children are at school, so she does them largely on her own. But she interacts a lot with people while she does them. And she has many interruptions, some welcome, some not. Phones and doorbells ringing. “Outsourced” task handlers needing answers to questions in order to continue. Things to follow up, things to organise.

5. And somewhere within all this, she finds time for herself, to rest, to relax, to read the Bible, to pray. And motivate and spur and cajole and support the rest of us. And stay contented and patient.

Yes, I can learn a lot about multitasking from her. And I try to. Especially since she has all this without e-mail and IM and RSS, and has learnt how to deal with it all.

This mix of must-do and may-do, of time-inflexible and time-flexible, interspersed with personal and household recharging, this mix tells me a lot about how 21st century management could be. Not assembly line but networked household. With adults and children and friends and service providers. I learn a lot about prioritisation and pragmatism from my wife.

Confused of Calcutta

On Sunday, blog-searching, I came upon the blog of JP Rangaswami, confusedofcalcutta.com. That was fortuitous indeed. JP and I were in the same class in college, at St Xavier’s College, Calcutta. The last time I saw him was in 1980, just before he left Calcutta for the UK.

JP is presently CIO of a major European investment bank, he has been in the “information” sector for 25 years. His blog is widely read and discussed in that professional / knowledge community. Which is not surprising, because JP was always an outstanding, gifted, large-hearted - and maverick - character. In so many ways was I formed in my college years - 16-19 - by exposure to JP, he was a window to a wider world. And now, after all these years, to have stumbled upon JP’s blog soon after I started blogging – is fortuitous indeed!

Through JP’s being in my class, I became acquainted with his father, the late CS Rangaswami. He published the paper Indian Finance from Calcutta. My father had been in school with JP’s father, both of them had the name Raju. JP’s grandfather and my grandfather also knew each other, being among the early south Indian settlers in Calcutta, and founding members of Tamil cultural organisations. JP’s grandfather was a man of considerable accomplishments.

After an initial attitude of aloofness and disinterest, CS opened up to me and we became very close. Thanks to him, my first pieces of writing were for Indian Finance. He was the first adult to relate to me like an adult, to give me a sense of self-worth. I valued his opinion, and he was very generous with his encouragement. And above all, he was a warm, affectionate and caring person to those whom he liked. He was like a father to me, intellectually speaking. He passed away suddenly in 1980. But he will always remains alive in my memory.

CS would have been proud of JP, as I am of my guru bhai (preceptor-brother). And the city of Calcutta should be proud of this son, and so its only fitting that for his blog he uses the name of the city where he grew up.

All strength to you JP, may your outstanding accomplishments never cease and may you continue to give pride and joy to your family and friends.