They call him ‘Tension’

He is a pooch; they call him ‘Tension’. Yup, that is his moniker! When someone asked why he has been named so, the mistress simply replied, “Cos that’s what his activities amount to.” Tension lives with a retired couple in an apartment and contrary to all the remonstrations and mock-irritations which his masters conjure up in front of friends and family, the truth is that Tension is actually a beloved member of the household. Tension is a milky-white coated male German Spitz who was introduced into the house as a companion to the couple after their only son went abroad for a job. Brought up with such love and indulgence, Tension has evolved his own personality which is almost akin to a coddled offspring.

 

Just sample this – Tension has to be (yes, absolutely has to be) taken out for a refreshing ride in the car around evening even if it is a short circuitous trip around the neighbourhood, if he is expected to eat a hassles-free dinner. If his masters are to be believed, Tension seems to be have the entire plethora of human tantrums under his canine command. Tension sulks, curls his lips up when he is displeased, and even turns his perfect muzzle up in an exaggerated gesture (it is alleged!!) of completely affronted dignity.

What do you ask, actually turns Tension blue? Any one among a complex myriad of quirky, lovable idiosyncrasies. For instance, evening time is reserved telly time for Tension. His master commented with perfect seriousness, “Our Tension only likes to watch ‘Colours’ channel. When someone switches to another channel, he gets incensed.” The joke I am sure, must be on his hapless human masters cos dogs are as I know, hopelessly colour-blind and here, we have a pooch dedicating his profound intellect to a channel called ‘Colours’!

Another peculiarity involves dressing up when Tension is taken out for walk; evidently the pooch wants his human entourage turned out in prim and proper fashion and that means ‘NO SHORTS, NO PJs’. Additionally, the poor master who is saddled with taking Tension out for these daily ceremonial excursions into the outside world has to step out in style - in running shoes - if he is to escort the royal train. Anything frivolous (that means light sandals/ baggy pants/ track pants/ etc etc) and Tension refuses to go out.

The list of Tension’s idiosyncrasies runs on – he likes his bed fluffy and room cooled prior to turning in, he partakes daily of a single rasgolla (East Indian sweetmeat of dough, milk, sugar syrup) for digestive purposes, rides in the elevator up or down alone with his master and no one else is admitted inside. He likes adults but detests kids (I suspect that he doesn’t like the prospect of the spotlight turning away from him to some cute, drooly babe). Any time someone commits a transgression of Tension’s inviolable laws of life, he becomes a royal pain in the you-know-where – howling away, refusing to be stroked or approached in any way, ultimately subjecting himself to the sweet luxury of being mollified only when an appropriate length of time as determined by him, has elapsed.

Tension has it good. I wouldn’t mind trading places with him sometimes. What do you think?

Western Specials

To many wide-eyed young boys (myself included), the Western was what we initially associated with Hollywood. The numerous archetypes of the Western – the Lone Ranger, man versus nature in a hostile environment, Natives pitted against the Settlers, the power to possess anything if you were fast with a gun, the showdowns between good and bad – drew and captivated moviegoers. The classic elements of the Western found resonance halfway across the globe in the Japanese samurai films of Akira Kurosawa, where the weary but extremely skilled samurai fought against both the evils in the society and the demons inside him. 

It would be unwise to straitjacket Westerns as the place to go for music (raucous piano playing), women (in brothels), gambling, drinking, brawling and shooting. Numerous film-makers found expressive ways to paint the Old West with uncharacteristic colours. Leone’s ‘Dollars trilogy’ introduced the opportunistic, reward-driven hero bound by his own private code (many a time ambiguous and ever-changing) – an extension of the same moody stranger with quicksilver gun-fighting skills, but now, you could not rely upon him to always take the side of the ‘sodbusters’, the wronged, innocent townspeople or the exploited prostitute. The genre of the Western beyond the gun and the gunner, has manifested itself in surprising anti-Westerns like ‘McCabe & Mrs. Miller’, ‘Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia’, ‘Kelly’s Heroes’, ‘Blood Diamond’, the ‘Star Wars’ series – far removed from the typical Western in space and time, but all have incorporated the essential elements which make the Western what it has become today. In many ways, the history of the Western has mirrored the transition of society and cinema.

Sweet Love

Love as a universal emotion, has found a wonderful home in cinema. Films exploring passion and the affectionate involvement of the main characters have always attracted audiences. Romance in films has given birth to that great sub-genre – the ‘Romantic Comedy’ – and the list of wonderful films that incorporate romance into a humourous setting (or humour into a romantic one!) is long and illustrious. Sometimes there are less obvious romantic films too; ‘Shane’,’ Tender Mercies’ or even ‘Once’ I feel, are implicit love stories. Emoting love is perhaps, what the greats do best – who can forget John Wayne in ‘Rio Grande’ (the big man usually so sure of himself around guns and horses, gives a most emotionally-unsure & blustery performance of a man beginning to fall in love) or how tenderly Eastwood directs the romance in ‘The Bridges of Madison County’?

Of course, wild, passionate love given to dramatic, impulsive actions does the trick too. Whether you prefer your love sweetened or repressed or laced with humour or just plain indecisive, romantic films have managed to pull off great canvases and great performances.

"Luk ahead dat is where ur future lies"

It is a peculiar ability of the ‘happy souls’ that they can let life sit very lightly upon their shoulders, and accept stuff as they materialise, with a certain easy grace which while seemingly a second nature for them is a hard act to follow for the rest of us. Happy souls may be generally thought of as only living in the present  – living in the moment today and/or not burdening themselves with the possibilities of the coming tomorrow. Vivre au present is good but it does not entail throwing away your responsibilities and cares to achieve this. The thinker Ralph Emerson says, “We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles” and that is perhaps, a very ineffective way of living.

When I was in school I came across this English idiom ‘the wood for the trees’. This is used to refer to someone who cannot see the wood for the trees cos they get so caught up in small details that they fail to understand the bigger picture. While the rest of us are so engrossed in the act of thinking and focused on the object of our thoughts, happy souls characteristically are able to happily assimilate the larger scope of life and live it out accordingly. While we wallow in and contend with stuff past and present, the happy soul not only lightly wafts through the same stuff but also acts upon and looks ahead to where our future lies.

I wish I too can develop this same lightness of spirit, and the capability to unfocus from the petty problems of yesterday and today to joyously welcome tomorrow.

EPILOGUE

Yesterday I was mock-wrestling with Bhumon the charm-kid (read more about him in Infinite Mischief) and he was expectedly getting the worse of it. Panting and tired he finally bade me to stop.  He collected his breath and told me with mirthful seriousness in his eyes, “Roon da, when I become bigger tomorrow, you will not be able to lift me off with the same ease.” Saying this, he laughed and ran off. A very good reason that, for looking forward to the future. That started me off thinking about some possible reasons for my own. 

[ "Simran 'Luk ahead dat is where ur future lies'" is the profile name for Simi in Orkut]

Magic in dough

As we turn into one of the busier lanes of Lajpat Nagar, we catch sight of this sign in neon lights proudly proclaiming ‘Shiv Dhaba – We Serve 36 Types of Paranthas’. It was my early days in Delhi then and so, I marveled at this seemingly unbelievable declaration. Back home in Assam, paranthas are a frugal affair with a thin round apologetic-looking specimen surrounded by a (mostly) watery concoction of lentils and aloo. In Delhi which for me, is the parantha capital of the country, the parantha is not just dough, it is a boisterous, aroma-filled way of life. Trust the Delhites to turn around anything and make it a celebration!!

My initial snobbish reaction towards paranthas has turned into a great liking for this magical piece of dough. Stuffed paranthas or just the plain parantha, the happy parantha swimming around in its own pool of melted butter, the busy-looking parantha which comes accompanied with a full attendance of sabzi, dal, pickle, onion rings, dahi et al – I have met them all in Delhi. Delhi was also the place where I got introduced to the more elaborate and regal-sounding eastern cousin – the Mughlai Parantha which is stuffed with beaten egg and keema (minced meat).

This liking started innocuously enough and like all good things in life, took its own time in blossoming fully. I liked only the plain parantha at first, and then I started preferring the stuffed ones. I looked down upon those dunking their paranthas in quarter-makkhan (1/4^th of a 100 gm stick of Amul butter) thinking to myself ‘look at these poor calorie freaks’ until I myself started doing the same with every single order. Later during my post-graduate days where there was a long line of small eateries behind our college dishing out paranthas of every description, I used to derive great pleasure from simply reading out their parantha-filled menu cards. Just look at these, I told myself, they have Aloo paranthas – Aloo-piyaz paranthas – Gobi (cauliflower) paranthas – Gajar (carrot) paranthas - Mooli (radish) paranthas – Paneer (cottage cheese) paranthas – Andaa (egg)  paranthas – Chicken paranthas – Keema paranthas. In Delhi you might be forgiven for believing that every conceivable veggie after getting chopped, boiled or masticated finds itself stuffed inside a parantha.

If one thinks that fascination for the delights of this heavens-fried flat bread is confined to the northern part of the country, then the southern cousin ‘parotta’ provides ample gastronomic evidence to the contrary. Some of the tiny Mangalorean eateries in Mumbai offer the crisply-fried and layered parotta endemic to south India. I found these perfect and spent many an evening tearing off succulent pieces of the parotta and dunking them in the coconut- and tamarind-flavoured rassa (curry) provided gratis and even with omelettes.

Sometime later in Kerala I had the opportunity to savour their local parotta which is fluffier cos the dough is prepared with egg, thus making the bread rise more. This parotta I found, was quite scrumptious when paired off with a side-dish of the local fiery mutton or chicken curry.

I feel that the parantha is demonstrably the most gracious of hosts. Whether you are pouring out a piping Mangalorean rassa next to it or lining its insides with fenugreek or even cashew, the parantha welcomes with alacrity everything that we Indians, see fit to embellish it with. 

Sufi-aana

I find the following words from the Sufi song ‘Iktara’ (the male solo version from ‘Wake Up Sid’) particularly affecting:

“…..Beeti Raat Baasi Baasi Padi Hai Sirahane

Band Darwaza Dekhe Lauti Hai Subah…..”

Which translated into English would roughly say,” The spent pillow is the only remnant of a restless night; Morning comes only to retrace its steps when it sees the door closed.”

I suppose it is these heart-aching sentiments of restlessness and loss as felt in that vision of the sleep-lorn pillow and that door tightly clasped shut, which evoke this affection. Good poetry succeeds with a simplicity in words and a vividness in images, in ensnaring the mind and oftentimes, the heart too.

The words of the Sufi poets strung together along like so many pearls, in praise of the Lord and complete surrender of the self in His love, have this innate quality of being profound while being extremely simple. The pantheon of the great Sufi poets that is Hafez, Rumi, Yunus Emre and so many others, have bequeathed mankind a wealth of wisdom and truths in the form of lyrics. Sufi poetry makes extensive use of parables, allegories and metaphors and while all poetry is at some level always an expression of the self, Sufi poets just as Sufism, often expound upon a heightened experience with the spiritual. An encounter of the kind I guess, which gives rise to intense epiphanies of the soul.

I found it bewildering when I first read Sufi poetry cos it spoke of a love for God so intense, so personal, so passionate. My orientation towards that same spiritual being was always one of fear (when I was a kid), sometimes augmented with great supplication (at exam times), later on replaced by a sense of enquiry and supplanted in periods of personal turmoil, with deep disbelief. Disparate from typical fear and insecurity, Sufism provides a refreshingly simple and bold approach. Sufism and Sufi poetry very uncharacteristically accord the same love to God which you or I would accord to a dearly beloved – replete with yearning and intense desires. Sample these lines by Yunus Emre:

“Your love has wrested me away from me,
You're the one I need, you're the one I crave.
Day and night I burn, gripped by agony,
You're the one I need, you're the one I crave.”

For whomsoever these words may seem to be addressed to at first glance, these lines actually form a conversation between the Soul (who is pining away) and the Creator (the object of desire); it is a symbolic dialogue between the murid (disciple) and his Murshid (Master or God).

Shorn of all embellishments and forged with a rare purity, Sufism is in its essence, just the soul, and about laying it unencumbered with material dualities and connecting with the Divine. A very simple message in all this is: let your soul be enslaved by the love of God and you will be emancipated of impurities. As Hafez of Shiraz the most popular Persian poet, proudly proclaims, “I am the slave of love, I am free of both worlds.”

For the Sufi I guess, mornings tiptoe in with an easy liquid grace after a restful night's sleep on a content pillow, for in his house the door is always open.

Marigolds for Eyes

In little bits and many ways, Simi embodies the guileless and impeccant attitude of a child-like mind. Like I mentioned before, she imbibes an utterly simple mechanism to realise the good and the bad around, without having to resort to duplicity, verbal calisthenics and the rest of that sum total which I suppose, we call ‘worldliness’. No wonder then, that Simi likes wholesome, good-natured and fun films ; films like ‘Jumanji’, ‘Notting Hill’, ‘Baby’s Day Out’, the ‘Home Alone’ series  and so many of Shah Rukh’s ventures. A necessary ingredient when one has a predilection for the kind of films which I just mentioned above is I am pretty sure, a sense of wonderment. Wonder is a precious gift, and too many films now attempt to discover it through cacophony; the trend today seems to create wonder not in the story or in its characters, but in digitally-enhanced sequences.

Anyway, Simi it seems gravitates towards wholesome entertainment in films – a dash of romance, light touches of fantasy, just the appropriate dollop of adventure, canvasses of colourful ecstasy, and loads and loads of comedy. Films which serve this delectable assortment are generally classified as ‘family’. While we are discussing ‘family movies’, I wish to de-bunk 2 myths. A children’s film is not always a family film, neither is an animated one. Now that we have established what a family movie is ‘not’, let us move forward to what it ‘may be’.

A simple rule of thumb for this definition, may be what Roger Ebert prescribes. He says, “A children’s film is a movie at which adults are bored. A family movie is a movie at which, if its good, nobody’s bored.” So, a family film is positioned to appeal not only to a younger audience but to a wide range of viewers. Family films seek to traverse this apparently-disjoint spectrum through an unique balance of story-boarding and humour which oozes sly wit and an edginess, while still remaining universal in appeal.

                                                   

Family films explore universal themes – if ‘E.T.’ is about an unlikely friendship, the ‘The Railway Children’ speaks about dignity in adversity while ‘Fly Away Home’ explores among other things, the sometimes-tenuous bond between child and parent. Family films are wonderful exponents for love too; in ‘Up (2009)’, the tender romance between a reticent Carl and a tomboyish Ellie first sparks and then takes wings with absolutely no spoken words, and on the magical canvas of a lilting score by Michael Giacchino.  

While it is true that so many avant garde family films are actually animated or seem targeted towards the young or the young-at-heart, it is apparent (but not why exactly, to me atleast) that where the story involves children and their immediate setting (parents, teachers, the neighbourhood bully, the reclusive but kind-hearted old neighbour et al), the magic that appears through the child’s eyes and his uncertain place in the world of obtuse-looking adults somehow are easily relateable to most of us too.

I would like to borrow Ebert’s words in his review of ‘E.T.’ to underscore the purport of family films. He says, “This movie made my heart glad. It is filled with innocence, hope, and good cheer. It is also wickedly funny and exciting as hell. This is a movie that you can grow up with and grow old with, and it won't let you down.” It is a moment of intense epiphany for me when I realise that these are just the words I would use to describe Simi. This wonderous touch of gladness, fun, excitement, good-naturedness and timelessness was Simi’s touch too.

Hasta mañana, Simi!