So on Thursday 11th evening, I got on the other side of the fence, err, the other side of the mike. Metaphorically of course. I was asked to moderate a “Fresh off the Shelf” discussion among a truly eclectic cast of characters: a Britisher, a TV anchor, a freelance writer, an Italian and a newspaper editor.

That’s, respectively: Melvin Burgess, author of some acclaimed “young adult” novels, Nicholas Dane being his most recent one; Amrita Tripathi, author of the soon-to-be-out novel Broken News; Annie Zaidi, blogger and once Frontline reporter, author of one of the essays in the book India Shining, India Changing; Gioia Guerzoni, editor and translator of the aforesaid India Shining, India Changing into its original Italian edition; and Soumya Bhattacharya, editor at the Hindustan Times and author of the novel If I Could Tell You.

I ran into Soumya a few minutes before we started, and after greeting each other he asked me how my book was doing. I mentioned that it had had a couple of positive reviews, a couple of critical reviews. He promptly warmed the cockles of my heart by saying, in a vehement whisper, four words and four words only: “F**k the reviews!”

(That “**” stands for “uc”). (And sorry, I meant three words and three words only. I’m numerically challenged).

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Less than 24 hours before it was to happen, I was volunteered into “being in conversation with” (what a strange expression that is, and yet with what felicity I use it) the singer/songwriter Biddu (the name behind such song standards as “Kung Fu Fighting” and “Aap Jaisa Koi”). The guilty party knows who s/he is, and will remain nameless except to say that s/he shares her/his first name with an actor who played Lawrence of Arabia, and his/her last name with most of the moniker of a Harry Potter school house. (None of Slitheryn, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff).

But if I sound ungrateful, I am not so at all. Really. Thinking about it for a few minutes after the late night phone call, I started getting to like the idea. And then I got a copy of Biddu’s book, “Made in India”, and read over half of it in the hours leading up to the event. It is a charming book, easy to read and like. A TimeOut Mumbai essay described Biddu — admiringly, I think — as having a “penchant for silly similes”, and it’s true, and I’m admiring too. He tosses them out left and right, with the ease of a guest flinging rice at a church wedding (there, I’m doing it too). And they work, because they leave you with a smile and a nod of the head. (Click here to read the whole post)

Confession: I am not a foodie. I have never been interested in trying out new restaurants, nor in making an effort to check out the food typical of places I’ve travelled to. So for me, it was an hour of wonder, listening to a panel discussion on food writing. I will freely also confess, what drew me was that two of the panelists (Nilanjana Roy and Shoba Narayan) have been on panels over the last few weeks discussing my recent book, Roadrunner, with me. (Shoba in Bangalore, Nilanjana in Delhi). And in November, this session’s moderator, Vikram Doctor, moderated me in another discussion. He’s invariably knowledgeable and engaging, which only made this panel more appealing still.

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The Kala Ghoda Art Festival 2010 kicked off this morning (yesterday morning, technically, since its past midnight as I’m writing this).

My favorite time during the entire of this annual event (Click here to read the whole post)

KGAF 2009 was a far more diverse event than earlier years. There just seemed to be a lot more variety even in the themes that got exhibited.

One strong theme was living in Mumbai - that got carried across the photography exhibit and a giant art walk through. The focus here was basic hygiene factors being denied to over 65% of citizens. Starting with overcrowding, to available toilets, to water supply …. and all of these conveyed through innovative exhibits

A pyramid of plastic buckets.

The other theme, that brought a smile to the face was Chai. ‘made in Chaina’. Mithali Mehta’s exhibit seemed to gently mock at our obsession with all things foreign, while bemoaning the risk to the chai in the face of gloabalisation - don’t worry Mithali, the recession will make sure that the cutting chai will survive - and was a homage to the drink that is everyone’s favourite beverage.

And, of course, less than 10 weeks after 26/11 - there was a giant exhibit of letters and views on terrorism and terrorists. Some were simple, some were hate filled, others wondered why they hate us … in any case it seemed to be the voice of many - as opposed to a few - and it was on display in a raw form that made the words more poignant.

visitors to the exhibit reading the letters

I don’t think that i have ever seen so many people at Kala Ghoda. In a way, the crowds were overwhelming. Personal space dissolved, and you went with the flow. It is the first time that i have seen so many different types of people at KGAF.

This year, a lot more seemed to be happening. More shops, more food, more people, more exhibits, and more variety …I went on a chilly Saturday afternoon. The first thing that strikes you are the crowds…. in fact the first thing that struck me was a whole bunch of kids and a whole bunch of mothers having a blast at the KG children’s festival. Whover said that Indian’s are repressed and undemonstrative doesn’t know what s/he is talking about

The masks marked the event display ! colourful, funny masks of all sorts …

For me, the key displays were the photographsy exhibitions - and by the looks of the crowd milling around - so was it for them. There were beautiful open air exhibits of a Mumbai ’slice of life’

In fact, the crowds were so overwhelming, that after a point i thought that there is no way i can photograph the experience. the chatter, the gasps …. and of course they were jostling my elbow and it seemed kind of churlish to glare at them !

(a senior citizen at the out door photography exhibition )

And, finally,

How can someone not hug him ? :)

Wednesday evening at KGAF: With about half an hour free before we had to meet someone, we braved the nonstop MG Road traffic and crossed to the David Sassoon Library garden. (Why do people in cars refuse to let pedestrians cross?)

Trees with exposed roots, the famous little cats, the smattering of eager listeners: there’s something about that little pocket garden. As we sat down, a frail older lady stepped hesitantly in the dark over the roots right in front of me. Inevitably, she stumbled. I reached out and grabbed her arm, whereupon she shot me a murderous look. I quake at the memory.

A Gujarati poetry session was near its end. Reading his poem at the mike was Dileep Jhaveri. I’m not much of a poetry fan, and I don’t know Gujarati, but I caught enough of his words to get some sense of what it was about. The poem spoke about finding a sword used by the poet’s great-grandfather, drawing some kind of a parallel to a pen … I was intrigued enough that I decided to ask him afterward if he had a translation. But when he finished, to my delight Jhaveri said he would now read out the same poem in English. And it was indeed about a sword and a pen, musing about what his great-grandson would think if he found the poet’s pen some day…

I realize I’m successfully murdering the poem with my attempted paraphrase, so I will cease and desist right here. I hope to have the actual translation soon, and if I do, I will post it here.

In the few minutes before the next event kicked off, Syed Ansari climbed on stage and rattled off three quick Urdu couplets. Once bitten … I’m reluctant to paraphrase some very elegant lines, so I will say only that the third couplet touched a chord. He introduced it saying it was about progress and development, and it spoke of how we build so many bridges that seem only to take us to where we came from.

I can think of many bridges like that. Real ones, metaphorical ones.

(Click here to read the whole post)

Ten days ago, I stood in the line for tickets at Bandra station and noticed that the guy in front of me had these lines printed calligraphy-style on his T-shirt:

Stone Dead Forever
Auttgart Sineers
Galaxy Rainers
Bengrance — Witteilingen.
Being Outstanding in a Complex Society Revolution

I know, I know. You feel envious that you weren’t there to read these words for yourself. Believe me, I felt privileged.

But on Sunday (Feb 10) at the Kala Ghoda Festival, I noticed this on a T-shirt that passed by:

Being Outstanding in a Complex Society

Now that has to rank as a seriously improbable coincidence. In years of being a T-shirt slogan watcher, I’ve never seen the same wacky slogan twice. Here it’s happened within ten days. Naturally, I wonder if this is some popular quote, sort of like “Don’t tase me, bro”.

Is it?

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On Tuesday evening (Feb 5), the tables got turned. Up on stage at the David Sassoon Library, discussing travel writing, were four people: Naresh Fernandes (editor of Time Out Mumbai) moderating, Sarayu Ahuja, Hartosh Bal and me.

Naresh got the wagon rolling with excerpts from various ancient travellers/writers, mainly focussing their keen eyes on the chiquitas. Then he asked the three of us to read bits of our writing, to give our audience a flavour.

About now, a scrawny kitten climbed the stairs leading to the stage, but stopped at the last step.

Sarayu read first, a bit from a book she wrote with Dom Moraes, about the travels of a British writer. Hartosh had earlier confessed to me that he was a product of my college, BITS Pilani, where he studied Mechanical Engineering. He was at Pilani a few years after I graduated. His reading was from a book in progress, about a journey around the Narmada river. Mine was a short piece about a tiny place that touched my heart, Cayce in Kentucky. (Click here to read the whole post)

Bae Chang-Ho’s My Heart shall be screened today at the Max Mueller Bhavan at 1830 hours i. e. 6:30 in the evening. The director is considered the foremost exponent of the Korean New Wave cinema. In a stark departure from his usual style of film-making, My Heart is set in the Korea of 1920’s.

The movie is shot amidst the beautiful scenery of Korea. It tells the story of Sun-Yi (played by Kim Yoo-Mi, the director’s wife), who is married off to a ten-year old spoiled brat. When her husband grows past adolescence, he brings home a mistress much to the petrifaction of Sun-Yi. The movie tells the story of how Sun-Yi leaves home and searches for an identity of her own. In a way, the movie mirrors the struggle of Korea to find its identity in a shrinking world. (Click here to read the whole post)

Two of the gems of experimental cinema - Manhatta and The Man With The Movie-Camera - were screened at the Gallery Beyond yesterday. Since I missed the first one (I watched it on the internet anyway), I shall review only The Man With The Movie-Camera.

Made in 1929 by Dziga Vertov with cinematography by his brother Mikhail Khaufman, The Man With The Movie-Camera captures the Russian life in all its avatars. The movie has no story as such, yet one could call it the story of a people and a time.

The movie shows the Russian way of life in minute detail, and not often in the sad way that directors of art movies are wont to perceive. The camera captures in a most natural way the beautifully uncertain smiles, the lips that make unheard whispers, basking ladies, the victories and the excitement, the routine and the indifference - all captured with the devouring eye of a greedy voyeur and the detailed panache of a keen observer. The result is a movie which speaks of life without judgment and the consequent pitfalls that a jaundiced eye brings to the task of film-making. (Click here to read the whole post)

After Kiran Nagarkar, Saeed Mirza. Mirza’s new book, Ammi: Letter to a Democratic Mother, is out from Tranquebar Press. On Monday night, an hour after her conversation with Nagarkar, Nilanjana Roy sat on stage with Mirza to talk about Ammi. And Rahul Bose read several passages from the book.

Nilanjana said that when the manuscript came to her (as Tranquebar’s editor), she figured it would take her a week to read it. Instead, she sat up one night and finished it, and knew right away that she had to make it Tranquebar’s first book.

That was introduction enough.

Mirza began by telling us that his mother came from a “tradition of inclusion”, and had a “largeness of spirit.” These were values, he said, that are disappearing today, leaving only a chauvinism and a lack of the generosity he knew in his mother. Rahul Bose echoed that theme. He said of the book that it speaks of a world we all know; it is a lament for this country, a mixture of longing, love, unslaked thirst and a sense of loss. Books like these, people like Mirza, he said, are the “bits of chewing gum” that keep us together.

(Click here to read the whole post)

The third session of Experimental Cinema screenings (and my second), Gallery Beyond showcased the last four of Avant-Garde movies they had chosen to screen. I say chosen to screen because the Avant-Garde Collection (from which the movies are being shown) is a much wider collection comprising many more movies than time would have allowed them to show.

The four movies screened were:

• Regen (Rain) (Netherlands, 1929) directed by Joris Ivens, 14 minutes: This is a movie every Bombayite would love to watch, especially if you’ve grown up watching the rain and what gentle poetry it can create on the streets and in the minds of men. If you can catch this short film anytime, please do so. It is a lovely evocation of rain in Amsterdam and how people react to it. Perhaps the most lyrical of all Avant-Garde movies, it is for the best that it is a silent movie. The gentle strumming of the guitar throughout the movie is the only sound the movie has. It is the director’s best documentary before he moved on to doing political documentaries. It is now my favorite documentary; when you have watched it, it will be yours too.
• H2O (US, 1929) directed by Ralph Steiner, 12 minutes: This movie demonstrates what light can do with surfaces, especially with water. An intensive exploration of the play between light and water, it soon delves into abstractions leaving the consciousness of the existence of water behind. Recommended only if you love the sort of cinema that academics can argue and debate over.

(Click here to read the whole post)

(Apologies for the technological incompetence that resulted in this being empty when I first put it up).

I’ve never read Kiran Nagarkar, but after Monday evening when he spent an hour in conversation with Nilanjana Roy, I resolved to fix that lacuna in my life. Not so much because of the samples of his writing we heard or heard described, but because of the man. If that makes sense.

For one thing, his sense of humour. It was there in the first bit of reading he did. This wasn’t a passage from any of his books, but three short fictional biographical blurbs about himself that he wrote for what he said was a short-lived website he had once. “Take your pick”, he said of the three, and it was hard. In one, he claimed to be the most prolific writer in history, having written works now claimed by such luminaries as Don DeLillo, Ian McEwan, Shobhaa De and the various apostles who put together that book known as the Bible. In another, he claimed to be the inspiration behind the crimes of Idi Amin, Osama, Mugabe and others. It wasn’t just that these outlandish claims were funny by themselves; it was the way he made them, and the way he read them out to us, that had the audience chuckling.

And it was apparent in the rest of his conversation too. Something about the way this man spoke with and to his audience hinted at an alert, vibrant mind, always a good substrate for humour, and so always on the lookout for humour. Not the laugh-out-loud slap-you-on-the-back humour of a Bollywood-style Johnny Lever, yes, but a subtle, self-deprecating kind that grows and builds with that twinkle in his eye. It brought to mind Davy Barry, or Groucho Marx, or perhaps someone even subtler, like Art Buchwald or PL Deshpande.

But there were other things about Nagarkar. (Click here to read the whole post)

Thanks to the innovative organizers of this play, I don’t have to think of a title for this post. ;-)

Organized by Nitin Das and the Sheikh brothers, Chana Chai Nukkad Natak featured two plays enacted wholly by kids from the Akanksha NGO (with some prodding from Nitin who sat at the back of the stage directing the kids and correcting their cute faux pases).

The first play was about a man saddled with an ailing mother, and two brothers - one mad, and the other given to drinking a lot. He wishes to get his mother to a good hospital, to get his mad brother married, and to gift his drinking brother a career. To that end, he forges fake banknotes. The man gives a fake 500 rupees note to his mother, who buys groceries (or ration as it is called out of habit in India, thanks to the Raj’s and then the government’s policy of rationing food). The shopkeeper later recognizes the fake and adulterates food in order to compensate for the loss. The adulterated ration is bought by a lady whose jobless husband eats it, and goes to an interview with a sick stomach. Rejected in the interview, he becomes a nakli doctor. Finally the drinking brother of the man who had forged the note falls ill and is killed by the fake medicine administered by the fake doctor. The play was aptly titled Nakli Duniya.
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