kodi portraits

Our cars skim the valleys
We call home
I envy them

"Can I have a jacket?"
Asked the cattle herder
"All I have is the T-Shirt on my back"
I smiled.

Not Veerappan
Not even his brother
Just eucalyptus Puttappa

Woodcutter proxy
Noserings of gold
Silvery laughter

Menu Nagaraj
Driving Ms.Dasies and Mr.Fatwhiteman
Bread 'omlete' belches

Aslam bhai
Waiting
For his mango van to come

Clutching
Her lunch
Holding on
To dear life

Wallets
Jackets
And a steely glint

How sharp
Is my sickle?

Do or Die

It's exactly 65 years and one day since Gandhi said those uncharacteristic words sparking off the largest and most successful movement of peace, The Quit India Movement. At a time when WWII ravaged every corner of the globe and violence became the norm, one man dared to stand up and say "NO!!!" The Art of Peace was born and five years after it began, the August Movement was at the helm waving goodbye to centuries of occupation by our unwelcome guests.
Gandhigiri is just a term and a foolish one at that. Today we remember reality. Today we remember the Mahatma.

Parvathy And I

I'm crouching in a corner of a recording booth just about big enough for two people and an ektara. "Maybe I should sing," says the gentle, childlike voice of Parvathy Baul, "you'll get better shots that way." Even before words of gratitude took shape in my brain she had begun, not miming or half-heartedly for the camera but full blown, letting loose every iota of her vocal chords, releasing every atom of her heart, bearing her soul in song.

Blinking back instantaneous tears and listening to that little voice in my head telling me to close my gaping mouth and click, I shot away as the notes reverberated in that little booth and in my spirit. It felt all at once like a cool shower on a hot day, a warm blanket on a cold one and a glimpse, a tiny pinhole of a glimpse into the infinite.


From there on the conversations we would have were etched in the folds of my Grey matter and internalised a lot deeper. Parvathy Baul has a special soul and for a while that special soul held me, like the arms of a mother, warm, comforting, wordless. For a while that glowing smile made all existence seem insignificant. For a while I knew what it was like to be touched by beatitude.

Humane Update

Sweetheart that she is, Ridhi contributed two more contacts to our slowly but surely growing list.

Apne Aap Women's Collective
Dedicated to helping one of the most exploited groups - sex workers, this NGO has spent 6 years establishing strong ties with the women it seeks to empower. Abused in every sense of the word these women know they have a safe place to go to...be it to sleep, wash up, or even just talk...

The Anchorage
One of the nicest environments I've worked in that deals with differently-abled people. Probably what strikes you the most is how warm and caring all the people who work there are. It's a tight-knit group where everyone gets generous portions of hugs and advice...

Read more on Humans For Humanity
Do you work with an NGO, do you help out somewhere over the weekends. Send me the contact details with accompanying text, images, videos (or just contact details) and I'll put it up.

The Council

Behold, the council of trees
Nested atop the verdant slope
Surveying the vales
For the the western wind

The knights, they protect the king and queen
Royal bark oozing amber
We feel their gaze
On our rain swept backs
Piercing the returning mist

Lancelot stands proud
With weapons of wood
Brandishing and blazing
Towering and swaying

They murmur to one another
Telling secrets of old
Wondering if we'll leave
Before we're told

Silence
Deathly still
A moment to ponder
Then
Whistling through the willows
Shrieking through the trees
The gale returns
To greet the dales


Shiver, shiver, blink, blink
Its time to go
Over the brink
So we bid adieu
To our woody friends
And leave the council of trees.

Kodi chroma

Colours and Kodi are inseparable. A spectrum of green, gorgeous maroons, pulsating pinks, resplendent oranges, alluring violets and the oceanic blue skies. If this 360 degree kaleidoscope were filtered down into the tiniest, delicate form it would be a flower. The kind you could gape at for hours, trying to catch your own distorted reflection in the dew drops, trying to take a deep breath, trying to jump into those petals like a minute bug thirsting for nectar. Ladies and gents may I present the flora of Kodi.

Over the hills and far away

As dawn breaks over the Vattakanal valley, 7 kms away from Kodai, I looked back on a week of spending a lot of time with myself, out of myself, out of my mind, in utero, dying, being born and living. I traversed the waves of the styx and the vagaries of reality. I was nurtured by nature, caressed by the cool cool breeze and driven to the kind of tears only one place has a right to inflict.

I will be back but for now, so long and thanks for all the bread omlettes.


Kodi all this week on Higher Being. Keep it locked.

En Conclusion

Sanity is grossly overrated

va va voom

The term "French Kiss" conjures up images of romance, Meg Ryan and vineyards. It definitely does not include a chic-hot-haute-punk rock-chick flaying her arms and singing in black leather, guitar strung and strummed with a careless tease. Mademoiselle K dropped that French allure the moment she strode on stage with the swagger of Iggy Pop. As the staccato crunchy riffing of the White Stripes gamboled with the punk revival of the Arctic Monkeys all amplified through some Radiohead, the evening was sprung with surprises. As the headbob evolved into a headbang, we were as far away from the title of the show (remember French Kiss?) as the Sex Pistols are from Boyzone.



Line up
Katerine Gierak - Vocals and Guitars
Pierre-Antoine Combard - Guitars
Pierre Louis Basset - Bass and backing vocals
David Boutherre - Drums and backing vocals

MORE MADEMOISELLE K

DEATH FOR DUMMIES

A ready reckoner for all those who managed to turn a 48 hour nightmare into a 48 hour hell from an expert (unfortunately) on the matter.

If you aren't the closest to the deceased

1. Stay calm. Rushing around like headless chickens doesn't acheive anything
2. Help. Don't just slink away at the first sign of having to get your hands dirty.
3. If you do help, think things through. Don't offer inane suggestions at importune times.
4. Don't stand and gape at those who are grieving or getting things done. If you're just around to show your face then kindly f*** off.
5. Even worse, don't mumble platitudes to the wife or daughter. Things like "You must be strong" or "We can't delay anymore, take a decision on the ventilator, we must shift the body to the morgue" or "Being this way isn't going to bring him back." Instead shut up and hold the distraught person tight and listen to everything they have to say without reacting. They obviously aren't in any state to be rational. Understand that.
6. Don't dump everything on the one or two people who are getting things done. Ease their load.
7. Don't ask the grieving, "So how did it happen?" One of the most painful things is reliving the worst moments of your life just after they have happened.
8. Don't pretend everything is hunky dory and attempt to joke the nearest and dearest out of their grief. There are many times humour works miracles. Not here.
9. Don't complain about your worldspace receiver not working while one is trying to break the news of the ventilator being disconnected to the daughter.
10. And finally, stay calm. This one is the most important.

geh

Ain't that a bitch

I think I expected too much. I had grand visions of a huge stadium era stage setup, with Steven Tyler and Joe Perry prancing around like demi-Gods, resurrecting memories of Zeppelinsque proportions. Well, at least they pranced.


Though the sound was a little murky, the rhythm section comprising Joel Kramer on drums, Tom Hamilton on bass and Brad Witford on guitars were tighter than Devdas or atleast Amitabh Bachchan in Sharabi. And while this held the show and sound together, it also laid bare all the mistakes that were strewn around by the two frontmen. It was this rift that also led to a
very worrying vibe from the band. Then there was the strained sarcastic jibes being exchanged between Tyler and Perry, prompting the former to keep screaming, "Joe F**king Perry, Joe F**king Perry," ad nauseum and the latter to make some sharp jabs with his elbow.


Disturbingly, the photo pit was arranged in such a way that we had NO angles to shoot the the other three guys. Co-incidence? I think not.


Even given all those shenanigans, it would be a mistake for me to completely write off the performance. At least it wasn't Sir Elton John struggling to keep our eyes open as his plink plonked his way, all alone on stage, through a 2 hour set. When the formerly toxic twins let loose and surrendered themselves at the temple of rock, they created the kind of magic few musicians can summon with ease bordering on disdain. While Eat The Rich, Living On The Edge and Dream On evoked the bouncing headbanging hormones of my *ahem* younger days, it was the short blues set, featuring Baby Please Don't Go and Messin' Around sung by Perry after a token tribute to the Kamasutra (yes, they seemed to have imbibed our rich cultural heritage) that
really clinched it for me.

After listening to their last album, Honkin' On Bobo, I think these guys need to immerse themselves in the blues to be washed clean of shite like Just Push Play and Jaded. The song of the evening was a no-brainer. Living up to its name, Sweet Emotion dredged up just about any feeling possible for humans. Loud, lush and deliciously Aerosmith, with a trademark Perry vocoder solo, it could do no wrong. Missing in action were tracks like Rag Doll, Toys In The Attic, The Farm and teenybopper staples Crazy, Jamie's Got A Gun and Angel.


But it was still a fan's dream realised. Even if they did close with I Don't Want To Miss A Thing. And I almost licked Joe Perry's shoe.

FOR MORE AEROSMITH PHOTOS CLICK HERE

say whaa???

Ever wanted to hear the voice of Che Guevara or Winston Churchill? Ever wanted to hear Neil Armstrong uttering his most famous words? It's all here for download - Free info society

They're all short clips that can be downloaded. Great for folks who like to do a little bit of mixing and electronica. Actually it's fun to listen to either way. Enjoy.

Hearts and Crafts

Two songs from two brinks of our country still ring in my head. The first, a Bengali song was sung by a woman pointing at an ever unravelling roll of canvas, releasing a riot of colours and folk art, of personified fish, semi-humans and demi-Gods. The second, in namma Kannada, was sung by a man staring pensively at his work depicting the yearly tug of the divine chariot. Art and song brewed together to serve up some manna for the soul.


Kala Madhyam decided to provide the plates. By bridging folk artists (most of whom practice dying ancient art forms) and urban society, KM manages to provide a source of income to these gifted but sometimes hapless poor artists. 70% of their earnings from providing paintings, handicrafts, bric-a-bracs, clothes and murals go to the artists. Of the remaining 30% KM pays for the travel, stay and raw materials of the artists. The remaining goes back into the machine. Think you can help?

Check out the details at KALA MADHYAM

Thirsty?

Darkness their veil
The thirst their bane
Shadows and silhouettes
Murmurs of regret
For shunning death
A taste of immortality
Is all it takes
To grab the chalice
Of ruby red
And drink
Insatiable.

Watch your thoughts
Keep sharp your eyes
As the shadow draws near
You won't know what hit you
Or whence it came
Greedy glint from the darkness
Then the pain
Sharp, then dull
Until the realisation
That it won't come again
Then you'll pray
For death
The release
From this curse
Until the smell of blood
Crosses your nostrils again.

geet mala

Even after the advent of the idiot box in the early 80s, there was one radio show that my folks would never miss. Once a week the familiar glow would be replaced by a familiar crackle, followed by that voice we knew so well saying, "Halooooo, main hoon Ameen Sayani aur aap sun rahe hain Cibaca Geet Mala." When that voice suddenly has a face, clothes, polished shoes, white hair, huge frames for thick glasses and a neatly clipped moustache, it suddenly starts feeling like the twilight zone. But it wasn't. Here was the voice of Radio Ceylon, the voice of Vividh Bharathi, the voice of AIR, the voice of India. His humility is disarming, his accent flawless and he writes his own endorsement scripts in a scrawled mixture of Hindi, Urdu and English. A part of me fell in love with this charming man. The part that grew up listening to him.

group dynamics