Carpe Diem

Phantom of the Opera

2011-11-10T23:14:00.004+05:30

Opera – a situation which most males would eschew according to the popular media. Yet, the experimentalist that I am, I went for a Broadway show the other day – The Phantom of the Opera. It was conducted at The Majestic Theatre at 44^th street and Broadway, plumb in the Big Apple. An escapade to different time I dare say due not only to the theatre design but also due to the play, based on a French novel called Le Fantôme de l'Opéra by Gaston Leroux written around 1910. This was the 25^th year of the play since it was first played at The West End. There’d to be something in it.

The highly ornamental, almost Baroque interior design of the theatre piloted me to another time. Dark wood furniture, papered walls with gold lined portraits, plush carpets and what have you. I climbed up two flights and sat at my balcony seat. The stage was set.

There were totally nineteen scenes in the play with a prologue, an overture and two acts. The musical stretched my aural senses. I struggled to understand the high notes of the soprano and the low notes of the tenor. It was akin to what an unfit man would feel after hitting the gym for the first time in his life. I empathized with the male stereotype. Yet, continuing the analogy it is good to be healthy.

Nonetheless it was quite an experience in my humble, band-limited opinion. My applause and admiration extends warmly to two fantastic actors and singers – Hugh Panaro who played the Phantom and by far the best one according to critics and Sara Jean Ford who played Christine Daaé. Not only is she a graceful Ballerina but also a prolific opera singer. The words of most songs were delicately crafted and skillfully rendered. It was, as it were, tangible music.

On the other hand, the theatre adaptation is not much of a story. It is constitutionally similar to a typical Bollywood film. It has a hero, a heroine, a villain, the jesters, the sidekicks and of course music. The story revolves around the villain who’s the protagonist. He is sinister yet skillful in his music. The play is villain centric to such an extent that the one could say the real “hero” was the villain. Whilst taking a bow he got a resounding applause.

The play also had unsung heroes. The ones who gave live music to the words, the musicians who sat beneath the main stage. For a man brought up on melody, it was marvelous to see the harmony of each note sung and each note played with exacting precision.

However – and a big however at that - there is nothing in the play that makes you go “dhinka chika” à la Salman. Au contraire the after taste of pseudo sophistication is not bad at all. (Notice the usage of French words).

I want to take more such flights out of the Big Apple and it is such flights that make me want more of the Big Apple.

Here I share a song from the musical. Hopefully you will feel what I felt.

Softly, deftly
The music shall surround you
Feel it, hear it
Closing in around you….

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVdmSAQis5U&feature=related

P.S: Kudos to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Charles Hart.

2010-08-21T18:30:00.002+05:30

Ok, so it has finally happened, I am now in New York baby !!
On August 19, I took the 7:30 am flight from Mumbai to Bahrain. After saying my good byes I turned around and went in. As I stood in the queue for getting my boarding pass, I saw a huge queue in front of me. In a matter of minutes the queue extended equally behind me. Suddenly I realized, these are the famous Indians working in the middle east, which later I confirmed.

I arrived at the counter, checked in my luggage, got my boarding passes and went to Gate 11 as stated on my boarding pass. I saw my India sitting there waiting to board the flight, dotted with some firang here and there. It was 6:30 am when the ground staff announced, "All passengers on flight XYZ to Bahrain, please come to Gate 10". Since I was sitting in the row nearest to gate 10, I quickly got up and stood at the gate. On looking behind, I saw this huge swarm of people, hustling to get to gate 10. After having made enough efforts I saw that each man had resigned to wherever he could stand in the new queue. The ground staff said, "Please be seated, the boarding will take at least 30 minutes to start". There was a distinct grunt from the crowd. People went back, but didn't sit down. After 30 minutes, another announcement, "We are boarding, only ladies and families first”!!

I was finally in the air craft. It was an Airbus 330, an okay-ish aircraft with not much to boast about. It had the regular inflight systems etc. But the air crew was something to talk about. They had smart blue dresses and delicate purple scarfs around their heads. Fair skin, rosy lips and sparkling eyes, these middle-eastern stewardesses made me smile.

Within 3 hours we landed in Bahrain. It is one thing to read about middle-east and another thing to see it from a landing aircraft. It is absolutely barren. Nothing but sand dotted with houses here and there. As I got out of the craft, I could feel a hard sting all over my skin. This was Bahrain sizzling at 37 degree Celsius.
I proceeded to transit, where I was spared the body check but our bags were not. This was just a formality and I did not even have to take off my laptop from it. On to another A 330. After downing a meaty steak and downing 2 glasses of red wine, I decided it was time to sleep. But sleeping in an economy class is very difficult. The seats go back only so far and the stretch space is also limited.

Another 7 hours and I reached London. We had a 3 hour stop over. This is where I had one of the most interesting experiences of my travel. After having proceeded to security check and having struggled to understand the British accent, we finally came to the ticketing section. We were supposed to show our boarding passes/itinerary and in its lieu we would get another boarding pass. I came to this Brit of Indian origin who was doing the security check. He had the most irritating demeanor I have ever come across. He asked me some regular questions, each repeated thrice as I couldn’t understand it at the first go. Then he asked me about what I did in India. I told him that I worked for company XYZ. Then he went ballistic, “You left XYZ to come to the US”? This, he must have repeated at least 5 times and that too in his irritating brawl of an accent. Finally he looked somber, looked me in the eye and said, “We have a problem here”. When I looked at the screen it said, “Boarding coupon blocked due to suspected fraud.”!! His entire attitude changed, he was looking at me now as if I was a criminal. I was completely shaken. I started to run the entire journey so far backwards in my mind. Do I have anything to declare, did I bring something I wasn’t supposed to, what have I done wrong? I was worried.

The Indo-Brit said he had never seen such a message before and was discussing this issue with his senior. A lady security officer was passing by in transit; I suspect she was an American. She overheard their conversation and stopped. She asked them the issue, turned to me and asked me for my documents. She asked me where I was going, smiled at me, turned to them frowned and said, “This gentleman has legit documents. I do not see any reason why he should be stopped. There is an issue with your ticket, sort it out.” This was all that was required for me to get my new boarding pass en route to NYC. She also said in passing, “All the best sir, go get your masters”. I was a happy man.

After another 7 hours of a journey in a Boeing, I finally landed onto JFK. I entered the immigration section, and I kid you not, the amount of people there reminded me of a crowded train station in Mumbai. There was hardly any place to walk even. But the only stark difference between Mumbai and this place was that, there was almost pin drop silence here. Eerie but true. I stood in the queue for Visitors. Suddenly I realized that I needed fill up one more form in addition to what I had filled. I went out of the queue got the form and started to head back to the place where I was. The crowd had only grown this time and there were multiple queues formed. I was standing beside a queue of the citizens of USA, trying to peer through crowd looking at another queue to spot my friend who had held my place while I was away. I suddenly heard a voice, “This is a queue for the Citizens of America.” It was said with a sharp twang. I stung me. I was tired after a long journey and wanted to rest. I just said, “Yeah, I know” and did not even look at him.
The processing was fairly simple and I exited the airport soon. Before that I decided to go to the restrooms and surprise, surprise -I was reminded of Mumbai. Many booths were unflushed. Some were choking and water was almost overflowing. I got out of that place.
I boarded my pre-paid taxi and arrived at my friend’s apartment in Manhattan at 11:30 pm. We travelled across the island, went through times square and finally reached our destination. I was dead tired by then and I could hardly absorb the new place.

I buzzed the apartment number where I wanted to enter. In NY, all apartment buildings have this buzzing system which rings into the apartment and the person in the apartment has to let you in the building first. We kept on buzzing for over 30 minutes. It was 12:30 am already. The streets had some African and some Latin American guys singing some songs. There were some people passing by who would stop and speak to each other eerily, shake their hands and go away. All this was getting to me.

I tried to use the public phone. I couldn’t use it as I couldn’t follow the instructions properly. I was not in state to read instructions. I looked around, I saw this place-Roti Rolls. I went in and tried to explain my problem to the owner. He looked at me and handed me a quarter to use the public phone. I was almost going to burst out of frustration, but then I told him that the pay phone is not working and I would like to use his mobile phone. He obliged, I called up the resident of the apartment, she opened the building door for us and finally we went in.

That night, as I lay on my bed, thoughts came to my mind, is this really the land of the free, the home of the brave? Well, I cannot answer that yet. The next few days will go in the formalities of banking, phone connections etc. I am excited, I am nervous, I am eager, I am cautious. So far so good with NYC. Let’s see what lies ahead.

Just as I had thought.

2007-09-26T20:25:00.000+05:30

I had expressed in my previous post, the fear that the Twenty-20 format might further sideline the other sports, and you have it already!

The BCCI has annoucned a bonus of about 8 Crore INR to the Indian team. A certain player gets 80 Lakh INR as a special prize. Apart from the match fees, most of the stars are also bagging endorsements like never before. (Reebok has already signed up 3 players).

The politicians are showering their praises as well. Indian Civil Aviation Minister Praful Patel, and the States of Maharashtra, Haryana, Karnataka and Jharkand have announced stupendous cash benefits to the Cricket players.

All the political honchos of Maharashtra and the centre flocked today at the felicitation ceremony at wankhede. One could see The CM, Deputy CM,Union Ministers et al at the Sahar Airport to give a warm welcome to the boys.

Back at the Wankhede, it was a curious scene. The first row of the dais was filled with BCCI dignitaries and the players were rendered at the rows behind them. This was victory time for the BCCI officials, what with the current ICL-BCCI feud.

The Indian politicians are an interesting lot. They never fail to seize any (perceived) opportunity to masquerade their outfits. A point in example being Sharad Pawar, the Premier of BCCI and the Nationalist Congress Party. He used the occasion for both the BCCI and his party. Shrewd but dastardly.

Now comes my point of real import. A few months ago, the Indian Hockey team won the Asia cup. Who noticed? Seriously, did you even know that the Asia Cup was going on? Well, neither did the States and polit-bureau. An alarming fact is this: The victorious Hockey team is to receive a paltry amount of 50 grand INR or so for their efforts. This has understandably enraged the Hockey brotherhood. There are talks of a few players and the coach going on a hunger strike !

The movie Chak De India, was portrayed on Indian Women's Hockey. The catch phrase "Chak de India" is now boldly associated with Cricket and all its glory. Hockey is no where in sight, let alone Women's Hockey.

Who is to be blamed for this sorry state? Perhaps you should look in the mirror.

Warm up time.

2007-09-25T22:34:00.000+05:30

Ouch...it hurts now, am not used to it. It's been almost a year since my last Blog entry. So many things are going on in my cranium. It's all a mess in there. I find it difficult, as always, to draw a string of thought and pursue it considerably to get something worthwhile out of it. Nevertheless, I shall use this entry as a warm-up exercise.

Last night saw the making of history in Indian Cricket. The Twenty-20 Cricket team of India, did something anyone would have hardly thought possible at the start of the tourney. Damn they won it, and how!

Now, during my school days, I was a die-hard cricket fan, so much so, that at one point I even contemplated taking up cricket as a career. But my limited abilities at the game dissuaded me from going down that line. Still, Cricket was the game for me, until I came across Basketball. I was good at it. My loyalties began to shift. Then came the unexpected match-fixing episode. That was just what I had needed to break myself from this cricket mind-set.

Talking about cricket, I've had some eerie experiences with the game. It was India vs. South Africa at the Wankhede. I was at the North Stand. (Anyone who's been there knows what North Stand is all about). It's the best stand any boisterous person can hope for. The view is fine, almost along the wicket, and the crowd is young, energetic and unabashed. It has the potential of turning an ooh-so-sophisticated tight a**ed Englishman with a puckered upper-lip, rosy cheeks and all that, into a rowdy Rastafarian. Coming back to the point, the late captain Hansie Cronje of the then SA team was bowling from our end, and the North Stand unanimously was showing its cumulative middle finger to him. We were really out of control, hurling blood curdling abuses at him. But Hansie wasn't one to take it lying down. (No pun) Whilst taking his run up, he surreptitiously raised his middle finger at us as well. This sent the crowd into hysteria. It was a real good experience for us. We hated him for his guts, yet we liked him for his response.

Now comes the eerie part. A few days later Hansie was found guilty of match-fixing and hence was banned from International Cricket. In a few months, Hansie was no more. The aero plane, in which he was traveling, crashed, dealing him a mortal blow. It left me kind of stupefied. It was almost as if I was bereaved. Dear reader, my mind is so strange. A few months before I was just going along with the crowd and abusing the chap, amusing myself. And on hearing the sad news, I felt something within, inexplicable. Was it guilt? No I wasn't responsible for his fate. Perhaps the small response he gave on the field that day, created this link between us. It's all too abstruse to put in words.

After my loyalty shift, I firmly believed, and still do to an extent, that it is due to Cricket that other sports in India suffer. The people refuse to bend their minds towards anything else. The sponsors want precisely that, and hence all the moolah concentrates in cricket. Also, I think that the so called Old Guards of Indian Cricket, the Dada's and the Walls have become complacent due to comfort. Digressing, you can see today that Dada plays well, cause of the little lesson BCCI taught him by excluding him from the team.

Coming back to Twenty-20, the all new, young team was just what I could dream of for Indian Cricket. With an average age of 24, most of the young guns in the team have seen what hardship is. There are sons of Muezzins and Hawkers, Princes and Paupers, all playing as a team. The dedication to work, the drive to excel and the desire to prove a point, were the things which, I believe, made all the difference.

An interesting part of the game was the presentation ceremony. The Pakistan Captain began his talk by apologizing to all the Muslims in the world!! Now my questions to him are these: You play for your country or for your religion? What makes you think that your team represents the sentiments of all the Muslims in the world? The fanatics have proliferated into Cricket as well! In any case, I think the new format will do wonders for the game internationally. I just hope that at the domestic front, the other sports aren’t sidelined.

Whooo....so much for warming up. Let’s hope I move on to some serious action soon. ;-)

Imbued With Indolence

2006-12-23T15:39:00.000+05:30

It's been ages since I've sat down to gather my astray thoughts. It is an arduous task, not so much due to they being astray, as due to their absence in the first place.

Nevertheless, it is almost a month now since my semsester 5 exams terminated. I had some grand plans for this much awaited vacation. I had plans of learning German. With this notion, I refused to stand for the coveted post of General secretary (or something like that) of my college's sports fest. The German class did not materialise, due to timing constraints, and as expected the GS position was long taken by someone whose efficacy is yet to be proved.

That's not all. As a budding "engineer" I thought some industrial training won't harm me. Again, I had this grandiose plan of developing (yeah developing) my resumé. This plan did not live long enough to see its fruition.You may ask me why. I would say this brilliantly structured course of mine, actually managed to consume me and the space-time warp around me. Factually speaking, I was indolent, nothing more to it.

I open my drawer and find lots of cash strewn around. This has been my collection over the past 5 years. For the past 6 months, I've been making plans to deposit the amount in my bank-account...and yet....yet the money remains strewn. As I write further I remember that my dearest father had asked me once to instruct our newspaper vendor to stop supplying us with Sunday Midday and drop in the Eco-Times instead. I made a phone call to that fellow, and he asked me to keep the cheque ready, which he would come and collect in a few days. This incident took place precisely on 30 November 2006. Today is 23 December 2006. 24 days have passed, and the cheque still flutters on my clip board.

Currently my life is not all that boring. On an eventful day I manage to pack in a lot of siesta, some reading, music, movies and some physical exercise. To add to the fun-filled day, I do have my daily dose of the Web. The essence is just logging on to some social interaction site, check if people have tried to drop in a line or two, see how others are faring on that end and just mindless browsing, notwithstanding the mail-checks, every 30 minutes.

I had always been of the opinion, and strongly believe now, that plans don't work for me. So, what do I do now? Do I take life lying down (man.... a 20 year old saying all this?), or should I really stand up and take the reins of things? I have been sitting here and pondering with utmost intensity for a while now. My face has been long for some days, and my mother - who is a psychologist by qualification - is discerning signs of clinical depression in me. I am turning the matter over in my mind. I twist it, toss it, twirl it..and finally....after a long bout of self-deliberation, I throw my hands up and say,

Baaah..! it's too much trouble to stand up.

2006-12-22T11:29:00.000+05:30

The rain can not wet me,
A tear can.
The earthquakes can not shake me,
Emotions can.
The wind can not touch me,
A heart can.

Why do tears wet me?
Why do emotions shake me?
Why do hearts touch me?
Am I weak?
Is there something higher that I should seek?
Or is it something I have already sought,
Something about which I haven't thought.

Do you have answers to these?
I have nothing to offer you,
I lay myself bare.
I want you to believe in me,
That is about all I care.

I want you,
So that I don't need to think.
I want you,
So that I don't need to seek.
I want you,
So that all my questions dissolve,
And all that remains...is me.

--Pranay Prabhakar.

A Prefatory for the Idle Peruser

2006-12-16T21:09:00.000+05:30

29 January 2005. This was the date on which I last wrote my blog entry on MSN. Almost a year has passed by, and here I'm, attempting to begin anew, the old practice of throwing the dross, encumbering the resident of my cranium.

Just to veer off the point; isn't it strange that though we are oft limited by our mental abilities, we do not really know the limits of the Human mind. I think it is a great paradox in itself, when one tries to understand the Human mind/brain(can be debatable..hence the slash. Suit yourself) . A brain trying to analyse itself! A mind trying to read itself! Beats me, so let me get back to the original thread.

With this blog, I endeavour to put in the written form, what I can't/don't express in the oral form. Words are the only means by which I can attempt to do so, but words can go only so far, the rest, my dear reader is within that mind of yours. Give it a loose reign, and please......don't try to make sense of what I write.

Cheers!

Carpe Diem

Phantom of the Opera

Just as I had thought.

Warm up time.

Imbued With Indolence

INTELLECTUAL RUBBISH. Copyright © 2006

A Prefatory for the Idle Peruser