Sound of Silence

Just when I thought I was having enough of being engulfed in all that's happening around me, in Mumbai, in a city just so many miles away - I am seized by a call that tells me to deal with another loss. H Sridhar, the God of Sound died this morning, Im told. Heart attack. Passed away in his sleep. In peace. Without a sound. First reaction - Nah! Gods don't die. Only us, mere mortals kick the bucket when still in the shower! As for the Gods, well, they are here to envelop us with their Divine presence, in whatever they do. Sometimes without much ado, but always there. Pervading our lives without our knowledge (that's why we are mere mortals!).

Sridhar Sir was (Was? Is becomes Was, just like that?) our God of Sound. For so many people, whose lives he has touched with his work - with his sheer magnetic smile and few words, this day will mark a loss so irreplaceable that my normally 19 to a dozen words fail to do justice to express my vaccum! A R Rahman, Maniratnam, Kamalhaasan, Shankar - to name a few of those Creators who will be thinking right now (and for many days to come), of their innumerable moments of post production at Media Artistes with Sridhar Sir. Sridhar Sir has also engineered and mixed albums for international artists like George Harrison of The Beatles, John Neptune Kaizan, Pandit Ravi Shankar, Zakir Hussain, L.Shankar and John McLaughlin.

I've had the unique opportunity of knowing him both as the impeccable professional he is (was?!) and as this totally fun loving, music loving, guitar strumming guy next door, thanks to our common good friend W.Vijaykumar. We brought in 2006 at Kamal Sir's house, singing to karoke bits on CD made by Sridhar Sir, and then later on singing to both Viju and Sir going ballistic with their Electronic machines - I simply thank my stars for the one of the most unforgettable and precious gifts of my life! Sridhar sir was (is?!) one of the few people who could bring me to an upright position even if he were to just go past me! The minute he walked into the corridors leading to his studio, the atmosphere would just charge itself up to create the magic that he is so well known for. He was also known to be quite a terror at work - but I've rarely seen that side of him, maybe because I had so many questions to ask, so many answers to know, so much to learn and I wanted to ask him ALL, and he did'nt lose his cool even once. Aah! It is so very tiring to deal with pain. With the loss of someone you've always admired and wanted to work with in a real professional way! The way some of the names I mentioned earlier in this post did!

A true genius, an awe inspiring trend setter (every single track ever composed by Rahman carries his stamp!), a tireless professional, the First and ONLY Sound Designer India ever had - Sridhar sir now sleeps in silence! But listen well and you can hear the walls of Media Artistes weep. How can we, who are but mere mortals escape it?!

November 27th 2008

Slept to the scary lullaby of the Chennai Storm.

Woke up to the alarming wails of the Mumbai blasts.

- Innocent folks dying in anonymity, in abruptness, in silence, without a chance of seeing a loved one and with nothing but terror flash by their last moment of life.

- Brave armed forces walking into a hostage hall, knowing they may never come back; leaving behind loved ones and a heart yearning for just one more chance.

- Giving hearts that toil to clear-up the mess churned over and over by hate & terror; striving hard to heal the wounded, watching lives wither by.

- Sleepless eyes trying to bridge loved ones across oceans; being on call 24/7 just in case another needs help.

- A vengeful heart still roaming the city streets, waiting to strike when the good souls sleep...

Torn between hate and love is humanity!

If only - if only, love could conquer all...! IF Allah, Father and Vishnu could take form to save this warring world.

If such a miracle needs a sacrifice, let this be the very last, Oh, God - let this be the very last!

Ode To A Murali

"My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains..."

But twas not the cuckoo's call. It was my mobile that rang with the familiar sparrow song that I've assigned to indicate that the call is from one of my Favorite People. One of them was calling to inform me about another.
The first couple of days were the harshest. Tears came in spurts, almost stealthily at un-announced intervals. It was because of Murali. WAS?

Less than 72hours ago, I was talking to my precious friend about things which only we talked about. And barely 3days later, Murali evaporates into the past?! Cruel. Hell is this. Earthquakes. Tsunamis. Holocaust. Think of every possible calamity that can strike the human race, surviving which is the biggest challenge for civilisations. Now how does one survive Murali's death? It's a colossal loss. A terrible blow. One swift slap of Fate on one of the finest people I know. How does one do a quick 'cut & paste' of a petal that's fallen off rather abruptly from my treasured Magnolia?

Like a solid punch in the solar plexus, we reeled and fell back as anuerism attacked Murali leaving him with a brain haemmorrhage in split seconds. A flow of blood in the wrong place at the right time of his life. A paralysing moment that cannot be undone anymore. An emptiness that cannot be filled. Sharing our pain did not take it away. It only made us aware that without Murali, things would never be the same again.

Murali is/was (I will never be able to decide) my 1am friend. From telling me how to get my driving license to discussing diamond jewelery with my mom; from giving an O P Nayyar tune for me to hum the lyrics to mimicking the background score for a Hemant Kumar song; from arranging weekend get-togethers for his large family to being there when my parents were hospitalised one after another...Murali did oh! so much, kept doing so much, for so many of us that maybe, just maybe, he fell down, exhausted? Maybe for him Life was enough? But alas, we had not had enough of him.

When I saw him lying there, up in this ICU, with tubes jutting out of his every pore, I whispered his favorite song, 'Tere Mere Sapne' from Guide...thanking him for being there for me always. I foolishly thought my singing will bring him back to life; will make him open his weak eyes and that his usually grim face would break into a smile. He had collapsed the night before with a very brief awareness of pain. He was, as I saw him that morning - peaceful.

Murali laughed rarely and never laughed loud. He was a buddy - a complete team-mate. A reliable un-selfish human being who always wanted things to work out well for those he cared for. I'm glad Murali cared a lot about me. We have had a whole bunch of memories with the other petals of my Magnolia, that it is so very hard to let Murali go. Maybe we never will.

Your chair will always be kept for you Murali, with your RC (no ice & just water). We will order from Sangeeta your favorite Kichchadi & Poori...and in the reverie of the rare evening rain, you will hear the refrain of 'Tum Pukar Lo'... that will transcend the clouds and reach you...shining bright, wherever you are!

"Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music (Murali): - Do I wake or sleep?

A Call away & yet...

Last night was one of music - we drove, we sang and we laughed and cried. Presenting the lyrics of one of my most favorite songs. Hemantda at his very best - soulful, simple yet what a calling this one song is?! Strange that the name of the film has to be Khamoshi when the song is all about saying it all...! How many times have we felt the urge to say it but we dont...we stop, we ho and hum and one day let it go. A song in waiting for someone to do the calling. A unique emotional juxtapose that seeks yet is waiting to be sought.

Even though you're just a call away...

Tum pukar lo.......Tumhara intezaar hai......Tum pukar lo.

Khwaab chunrahi hai raat beqarar hai - Tumhara intezaar hai - Tum pukar lo

1. Honth pe liye hue dil ki baat hum - Jaagte rahenge aur kitni raat ham

Muqtasar si baat hai tum se pyaar hai - Tumhara intezaar hai - Tum pukar lo.

2. Dil bahal to jaayega is khayal se - Haal mil gaya, tumhaara apne haal se

Raat ye qaraar ki, beqarar hai - Tumhara intezaar hai.

Tum pukar lo.

Even though you're just a call away. Hmmm...!

Climb

I wonder.

Thinking...till my head aches.

Crossroads.

Ways ahead, long & uphill.

Suddenly, the path reveals a road taken by very few.

In the hills, are flowers of varied hue.

A mighty vaccum - descends.

And the ear is struck by pain.

The feet are falling,

Eyes sore with tears mundane.

Darkness for a friend, stillness for oxygen.

Fingers find the walls - the moment is balanced.

In one, long, deep breath,

The foot finds its hold, step by step.

Huff & Puff, all the way UP.

Whoever said Climbing was meant only for the mountains?

Empty

Empty pages.

Empty days.

Does Empty mean Vaccum?

"Maybe...somewhere in the Moon," said He.

"Maybe...somewhere in my Heart," said She.

To Each His & Her own -

Their Own,

Emptiness.

To Those I Really Love

To those I really love
I do not know how to show affection.
I am afraid of excess.
Truth gets in my way - a clumsy dog.
Im abrupt with them - a minute later regret my abruptness.
And do it again.
Only now when Im alone, as now,
Hands stroke invisible hair.
Endearments break in a flood.

- South Asian Love Poetry

A Rejoinder to Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore is my all time favorite Classic Indian writer! The romance, the mischief and his ease of language in poetry and prose, though dramatic, endears him to me like none other. Yes, I know I'm talking about a Nobel Laureate, but I like his works for the contradictions in characters and the 'picking up moments from real life to elevate them onto a higher realm of thought'! To him goes the credit for penning down the most famous words on the Taj Mahal (even a google search will only give you his quote for at least 6 pages, followed by Urdu poet Sahir Ludhianvi's verse on how he would like to choose a place other than the Taj to meet his love!!)

"... the Taj is like a teardrop on the cheeks of time...!" - Tagore

As I sit here, musing over a heart searching for solace in the moonlight of the world's wonder, I couldn't but write some lines of my own. What audacity to say tis a rejoinder to Tagore! Am I forgiven if I say its nothing but an impression drawn from the great writer's lines?

The Taj - a wonder alright, but also a monument of pain, longing and love.
The Taj - a symbol of heaviness that comes with separation, which is common to the poor man and the King. The Taj - an expression of an emotion beyond the mundane - much like love, though un-welcomed, comes laughing by, enters every pore of the human form & mocks at the helplessness of the mind ... that falling... falling... falling... falls!

Its dark here, where I belong.

Tonight...

The Moon is partial to the Taj.

Your silent Teardrop looks on ... listens.

Awaiting its Time to fall.

Yes -

Its dark here, where I belong...

I'm awake - My palms open - a Cup.

IF I were in my English class and were asked to interpret these lines - this is how it will read.
He, with his chest heavy - full of sorrow, of separation, of losing someone very dear, awaits the exact moment to let go - to cry. He is in front of the biggest Teardrop - The Taj, hence his own tears swell up only in the corner of his eyes, which are looking on...at what else but the Taj Mahal!
She - is far away, aware of his pain, in the stillness of the night, opens her palms (like a cup) to hold his tears... to hold him from falling! The Taj - is the only witness to this moment, where Time stands still! The opening of the palms is also an allegory to the fact that this is a monument built by a Muslim King - the opening of the palms is the Muslim way of prayer.

This work of pure fiction - brought to you by Yours truly!
Those that wish to whip or worship the ground I walk on, are welcome to do so by all means!