death of a legend

Today is indeed a black day in the world of music as the legendary King of Pop, Michael Jackson passed away at the age of 50. Fans of MJ will no doubt mourn the loss of a man with indefatigable energy and talent. A man who made the world dance to his tunes (literally). The twinkle toed singer who introduced the world to Moonwalk. The shy gawky teenager bursting into the world of popularity, paparazzi and crazy fans. 

I have not been a die-hard fan of his (having been introduced to English music pretty late in life).  But whatever songs of his I have heard, I have relished them all. Even today it’s a treat to watch his Thriller, Beat It, They Don’t Really Care About Us, Black or White We are the World, Heal the World videos. But somewhere he too like his predecessors lost the plot and gave in to human follies. By the late 90s, he was embroiled in child abuse cases, was in and out of 2 marriages one with Lisa Marie Presley and the other with a nurse Deborah (with whom he had 2 children), a third child followed (whose mother is still unknown). His fans were subjected to his idiosyncrasies like dangling his children from hotel windows, covering their faces to avoid paparazzi, his numerous rhinoplasties, his sudden change of skin colour (something he blames on a skin disorder) and very lately his alleged conversion to Islam. 

But everything said and done, his fans consider him next to God and for the musical delight that he offered them they are willing to let go of all his follies. In an earlier post I had mentioned about my cousin brother introducing me to MJ’s music. It’s ironical that both exited this world in 2009.

MJ’s death follows close on the footsteps of Sarod maestro Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and Sarrah Fawcett of Charlie’s Angels Fame. 

All we can say is RIP – these mortal souls have left us with immortal memories.

lost in the banyan tree…

Moving on from Bard’s influence, we now come to a very interesting exercise (one that I found slightly challenging). It was to describe a ‘tree’ to a visually impaired person using our senses. For want of any other quick option, I chose the ‘banyan tree’. Here it goes…a banyan tree through my eyes, ears, touch and smell.

This is a banyan tree. How would you identify it? Touch the trunk, it’s huge. Encircle the tree completely once to know it’s girth, all the while placing your hands on it. A trunk is the portion of the tree above the ground like a human trunk i.e. above the waist. Also while circling the tree feel the threads tied round it. Well these are tied by married women praying for a happy and long life. So the banyan tree is also symbolic of wedded bliss. Feel the coarseness of the bark like the human skin. It is smooth in some places and uneven at others. Smell the mud on the bark. the fragrance is similar to the wet soil in the first rains along with a hint of incense sticks (agarbatti), vermillion (kumkum) and flowers.

Next you touch the base of the tree and feel the beginning of the roots. These roots go deep into the earth and the deeper the roots, the sturdier the tree. Feel the roots to know it’s strength. They are like your legs that hold on to your entire body.

Raise your hands now and touch these hanging ropes. Well they are not ropes but hanging roots, another speciality of the banyan tree. Anytime you want to know if a tree is a banyan tree, raise your arms and try to touch any hanging ropes. If you manage to find any, then it is indeed a banyan tree. Feel these roots, they are thick. Tug at it, they are strong. Push it and it requires some effort. This means that they are sturdy and not flimsy enough to sway in the breeze. If ever you are falling fom above and manage to get a hand on them, hold tight and you’ll be safe.

These are the branches. They are also thick and strong and when you run your hand through it’s length, you realise that it’s long. They are like your shoulders that balance your body. Each branch further splits into smaller branches that gives the tree a dense look. Just like your hands and fingers.

Now try to hear the birds chirping. The banyan tree because of its strength and density is home to lots of birds and insects who feel secure and protected. It is not easy to cut down a banyan tree and because of this it is often attributed to a family. Just like a family has all the members who are together and indivisible, so is the banyan tree.

Lastly touch the leaves. They are slightly oval shaped (just like your heart) and coarse as they are dusted with mud. Also when the birds peck with their beaks or insects crawl over it, the smoothness tends to be lost. But some leaves are so smooth, you can slide your fingers on them. Leaves are like hair that cover the topmost part of the tree and also add beauty to it. They are also helpful in bringing us rains.   

So now you know what’s a banyan tree. Here, sit on it’s branch, swing you legs and chill.

so said the bard…

Thank you for all the comments and feedback…it’s very heartening and amusing to know your take on the articles. Continuing from where we left, in this exercise Pat had listed down words that were coined or connected by Shakespeare in the course of his plays and which subsequently became part of the English vocabulary. We had to use as many of those words as possible and weave it into a story. We did this exercise at 9.30pm post dinner by which time I was ready to hit the sack (since I hadn’t slept a wink the night before leaving for Khandala). I barely managed to keep my eyes open and found it a Herculean task to churn out a story that made sense. I have underlined the words selected from the list:

The madcap entered the monumental hall with a swagger looking all majestic. He raved and ranted about the remorseless savagery and torture meted out to him following the scuffle. A mountaineering champion with a lustrous career, today he was a worthless olympian with dwindling fortunes. He has been accused of cold blooded assassination, damaging circumstantial evidence and creating discontent. Branded a bandit, his tranquil world is now lacklustre, lonely and frugal. A hidden blood stained blanket in the luggage on the lower rack reminds him of his compromise with his principles. He looks back at his advertising days with amazement and wonders when alcohol took over him.  

Trivia: We had to count the number of words we used from the list and I must have counted over 5 times but never managed to complete it as I was so sleepy that I would lose track of the numbers in between .

a relaxed summer afternoon

This was an interesting exercise. Here Pat gave us pointers and we had to fill in with our details and then use them in a short story. Details as below (the left hand is what Pat gave us and the right hand is what I chose):

Mood – relaxed, Protagonist – woman, Verb – sitting, Adverb – lazily, Era – present, Setting – book store, Object – square cushion, Adjective – earthy brown self coloured cover, Name of the Protagonist – zoya

Here goes my short story…

It is a warm saturday afternoon with the sun shining bright. Thankfully, passers by did not break into a sweat as there is a pleasant breeze cooling their parched skins. Seeking respite from the sun, Zoya saunters into a bookstore. Her slow gait gives one an impression that she is in no particular hurry. As the blast of the AC cools her flushed cheeks, Zoya manouvers her way to the now familiar ‘Fiction’ section of the bookstore.

She runs her fingers through the tomes lining the shelves and deliberates in her mind as to which book to read. Train to Pakistan by Khuswant Singh (naah…too heavy for a hot noon), Sultry Nights by Shobha De (too trashy), The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (too tragic for a relaxed afternoon). She picks some books, reads the summary, feels the touch of the crisp pages on the finger tips and smells the fragrance of the printed pages (just like one would a freshly brewed coffee).

No…she wanted a book that would be light reading yet not crass, humourous yet not crude, thin volume yet not the blink and you’ll miss it kinds. As her eager eyes search the oak panelled shelves, a magenta-pink cover catches her eye. Gingerly she brings it out and turns it over to read. Yes…this is it…the perfect book for a relaxed breezy afternoon. She takes The Diary of a Social Butterfly by Moni Mohsin and moves to the couch where she is now sitting, resting her back on the square cushions with self coloured brown covers and tassels at 4 ends. At present, Zoya is not in Bombay, but transported to Islamabad where she is one with the Paki creme-de-la-creme devouring their social life with a smug indulgent smile. She knows she has all the time in the world and wishes for a cappuchino to complete her relaxed ambience.

Zoya, forever the dreamer believes in carpe diem.

citric affair

Thank you all for your comments to the earlier post. For the next exercise, Pat passed around an orange and asked us to feel it, smell it, observe the inside of the peel and finally each of us got a piece to eat.  The exercise was to describe an orange using our 5 senses – touch, sight, sound, taste, smell. so here goes my version…

When I saw the orange, its lime green colour with a hint of yellow and orange captivated me. A small round object with thick dimpled skin…coarse at some places, smooth at others, the texture of the orange felt like a stress buster in my hands. No sooner did I bring it near my nose than it unleashed a dominant citric fragrance that set my taste buds salivating. The rind was fresh and juicy, a very good clue as to how the fruit would be. As I popped a piece of orange in my mouth, its tangy flavour burst open within leading to a sweet sour taste. I could distinctly hear my molars grinding the fruit to a pulp while my tongue mingled with the juice. Finally the fibrous pulp slid down my throat leaving a lingering citrus after taste.

Thus ended my brief affair with an orange.