Where there is a 'Will', there is a way!

The clock behind the counter had struck eleven. Rich Matthew was almost done for the day; he was packing the last of the things kept on the shelf outside the store. Autumn had begun to raise its head; and with it the American festivities of 'Halloween' and 'Thanksgiving were to follow. Quite content with the day's sales: he decided to leave an hour early. He had nearly locked the store when his phone started ringing.

"Damn, who is it now?" Thought Rich furrowing his brow.

"Hello". Rich barked.

"Rich! Its me Gracy, Mary called a few minutes back informing that Appachan had suffered from a second stroke. He has been admitted in the ICU and is in a critical condition. I guess we may have to leave for Kerala."

"Alright, I'll be home in fifteen minutes."

About 8000 miles away and; 15 minutes later:

It was the third day of the month and the bank was busier than ever. 'Diwali' was just two days away and the notorious Delhi winter a month. Sunny Matthew had settled into his work. He was allocated to the 'Cashier's counter' today. He had almost breezed the onslaught of customers when his manager called for him urgently.

"Yes sir did you call for me"?

"Yes, your wife had called, and requested me to inform you, to call her immediately!

"What happened Anne, why did you call?" Sunny inquired on the phone.

"Mary had called some time ago and told that Appachan is in a critical condition, had a stroke again. We may have to leave as soon as possible."

About 1400 miles away; and a day ago:

Thomas Matthew had withdrawn into his room after dinner. The television was switched on; but Mr. Matthew paid no heed towards its offering. He had other things on mind. A self-made man- Mr. Matthew, had established himself in rubber business. But ever since handing over the reigns of his business to his youngest son Baby a year back, the senior Matthew was enjoying an indifferent domesticity, until a week ago. He was asked for a strange request by someone in the family, well 'strange' was his initial reaction; but later on the point was driven home. Eventually he complied. Tonight he wasn't feeling his usual 'well'. What he thought of as 'indisposition' was relegated to the background. He had other matters of grave concern at hand.

“May I speak to Rameshan Iyer.” Thomas Matthew requested on the phone.

“Mr. Matthew, its me Rameshan speaking.” Mr. Iyer said.

Perhaps, it was at two thirty or three, the exact time couldn't ascertained; Thomas Matthew succumbed to another 'heart attack' (what he shrugged away as indisposition) and this time it did him in.

The aforementioned location; and five hours later:

Mary: Baby's wife, was up early as usual. After sending her daughter off to school she was busy preparing breakfast for her husband and the paterfamilias. She had found it to be a rather pleasant day; but a shock awaited her in the next room.

The screech awoke Baby from his slumber; and it was not long before the gravity of the situation sunk in. Baby decided against informing his brothers of his fathers death, until they discover it themselves.

"Play down the news, tell them he is in critical condition, that's all." Baby told Mary.

Sunny Matthew and his family had arrived late in the evening on the same day and; Rich and his family arrived a day later to discover their father's death.

The funeral was held in much fanfare in compliance with all Syrian Christian rituals. As believed by the Roman Christians: the dead has merely lost its flesh but its soul is on the heavenly abode. Thus it should be a reason for celebration and not sorrow.

The cost of the funeral was borne by the eldest in the family: Rich Matthew.

Rich: just like the name suggested was financially well to do, his behaviour too tilted between vanity and ostentation: especially when he was in his hometown of Kerala vis-à-vis New York. A flamboyant gentleman, he loved to show off his jewelery consisting of thick gold chains and bracelets. Rich also had a penchant for silk 'Jubbah' with starch white 'mundus'. Loved being called as an "American return." His passport to America was his wife Gracy. Gracy being a nurse had got a job in New York. Rich opened a general store (the kind which caters to nostalgia struck Keralite immigrants) having got there and was well settled in the American way of life. But he never let complacency set in; he wanted to open another store, perhaps another general store; and if everything goes right, perhaps build a franchise of his stores. For that he needed capital and the 'Will' he hoped would help him fulfill his dream. At least being the eldest has its advantages, or so he thought.

After all the niceties were observed, it was time to get to the business.

"I had spoken to Rameshan Iyer yesterday itself; and he is expected later in the day." Informed Rich to his younger brothers.

Rameshan Iyer was at their doorstep exactly at eleven.

"Please come in Sir." Mary said and went in to call everybody.

"Would you care for some tea or coffee, Sir? Rich inquired.

"Just a glass of water please, thank you." Came back the reply.

Rameshan Iyer had barely managed to hold his disdain towards Rich whom he considered an exhibitionist. 

“Good morning Mr. Iyer!” Sunny Matthew welcomed him.

“Good morning Sunny!” Came back the reply.

Rameshan Iyer had an affinity towards Sunny: whom he regarded to be a humble human being.

Sunny Matthew was the everyday 'common man' we are so very well aware of. Having a disregard towards his father's business, he had moved to Delhi after marriage. He lead a simple life and had very simple needs. But the world is a brutal place for such a simple man. His family: consisting of his wife and two daughters expected more from him. His only solace: his wife- Anne was an astonishingly understanding woman for a middle class wife, commiserated with his helplessness. But it were his daughters whose demands for things fashionable, he couldn't cope with. Besides, he had other loans to be paid off. His daughters' education to be taken care of. He was mired in a pool of helplessness, when his father's death came as a blessing in disguise.

The 'Will' was the only way he could redeem himself. Or so he thought.

“I hope everything's fine with you and your family in Delhi?” Mr. Iyer inquired.

“Couldn't have been better!” Lied Sunny.

“Baby is not to be seen?” asked Mr. Iyer.

“I was in the other room Mr. Iyer!” Announced Baby joining them.

Baby: Thomas Matthew's youngest son, and the inheritor of his father's business was the proverbial good son who was always an aide to his father. Thomas Matthew completely trusted him and had groomed him to take on the mantle after his stint. He wasn't as successful as his elder brothers working in New York and Delhi, and had incurred some debts and the 'Will' was the only way of atoning himself. Though he knew his brothers wouldn't give in that easily, but being the favourite of his father also had some advantages, or so he thought.

“May I begin?” requested Mr. Iyer.

“Please go ahead!” said everyone in unison.

Mr. Iyer cleared his throat.

“As you all are aware, I am the executor of Mr. Thomas Matthew's will. Until a few days back the will was very simple. He called me on the night before his unfortunate death, and told me to revoke the earlier will and draft a new will immediately, and to get it to the house as quickly as possible for his approval. I did so without asking any questions as a dutiful lawyer. But I did raise some concerns as an old friend of his; but he was hell-bent.”

“What does the new will say Mr. Iyer?” asked Rich impatiently.

“The new will says that after liquidating all the assets and stocks of Mr.Matthew which roughly amounts to Rs. 35,00,00,000/- will go to an NGO by the name of 'Aasra' which looks after the lesser privileged children and their education.

'Matthew Rubbers' stays with Baby. Mr. Mathew has divested his holdings to Baby.

Baby is now the sole owner of 'Matthew Rubbers'. Mr. Matthew was of the opinion that since both Rich and Sunny have found their ground in their own respective profession, it would be only fair if Baby- who has known no other business than rubbers, be given complete authority. Mr. Matthew has also advised Baby of off- loading (only if wishes to) 10% shares to my bank to fend off his debts which he has incurred lately, owing to some unsound investments.

Rameshan Iyer waited with bated breath for the brothers to revolt. But surprisingly for the next couple of minutes none of them spoke.

“I'm catching the very next flight to America!” Rich announced.

“Its okay Rich, the money will be used for a better cause.” Sunny tried consoling.

“Besides, if it had been given to us we would have never been satisfied with it. Furthermore, we would have been ended up fighting or litigating.”

A day later:

The wives were returning from their daily ritual of prayer service.

“So finally everything went according to the plan.” Gracy said.

“Thank God! It didn't take much effort to convince Appachan to donate his entire wealth to charity.” Mary said.

“If left to the men they would have fought over it their entire lifetime.” Anne concluded.

       

How Wilson Varghese found love and lost it in a jiffy.

The cool draught of air from the air-conditioner welcomed him. It was always such a respite from the maddening heat. It was the month of May, Bombay was experiencing its worst summer in the last five years. Still it didn’t deter the determined Wilson Varghese from visiting the book store. A self proclaimed bibliophile, coming to the Strand was the weekend activity he always looked forward to.

After acknowledging the store owner, he set aside his bag near the counter. Though the store owners never asked for such a gesture, intrusion was something the Strand always advised against, besides, Wilson being a regular customer they all knew him. Nevertheless, he thought it was a polite way of taking care of their apprehensions (even if they had any).

After the initial prerequisites and formalities were taken care of, he set about moving to his favourite section, where they housed the works of Ustad Mirza Ghalib. A late entrant to the world of the poetry, but as they say “better late than never”, Wilson began reading and collecting the works of great poets from Eliot, Frost, Yeats, Wordsworth and so forth. Urdu poetry had smitten him lately, after having read a translation of one of Ghalib's ghazals. Though he couldn't read Urdu, nonetheless he immensely enjoyed the translations in English. After having spent a fortune in collecting the works of Ghalib (much to the consternation of his room mates, who grappled with space constraints due to the increasing number of books he brought back), he only needed one book to complete his collection. The book which eluded him happened to be Mirza Ghalib: Selected Lyrics and Letters by Dr. K.C. Kanda: a collection of Ghalib's correspondences. He didn’t find it on the shelf. The store owner with whom Wilson had placed a request couple of weeks earlier came up to him with the book.


“Here’s what you are looking for!”


“Oh! So you’ve finally managed to get it.” Said Wilson, a sense of relief clouding his face. 


“Yes, you see this is the only book which is out of print lately, some issues with the publishers it seems. But we managed to pull some strings and get it for you, you see we believe in bending our backs for our customers."

Wilson thanked them for their kind gesture, with an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment laid his hands on the book and started moving around. From the corner of his eyes, he could see a girl looking at him, though looking would be an understatement, she was actually staring at him. Having not experienced such pleasures quite often, Wilson was basking in it. Occasionally looking back at the girl. The girl Wilson had to admit looked very pretty. She was wearing a beige kurta with skinny blue jeans. Accessorized it with the some bohemian beads as a necklace. Her hands were covered with bangles complementing the necklace. Her eyes were kohl lined. Given the kind of egoistic bloke Wilson was, he expected the girl to come forward and introduce herself. Few minutes passed, there was no initiation from the Girl’s side. 
“Dash it, I will go and talk to her.” Thought Wilson and approached the girl. 
“Yes, how may I help you?” said Wilson. 
“Oh! Please don’t misunderstand me, I er… just happened to overhear the conversation you had with the store owner. You see even I am looking for the same book which you are holding in your hands, yes Mirza Ghalib: Selected Lyrics and Letters by Dr. K.C. Kanda. You see I am doing a thesis on Urdu literature, and wish to know more about the poet Mirza Ghalib, and apparently I have been made to believe that to learn more about how Mirza Ghalib lived, I will have to read his letters as his poetry in Urdu is incomprehensible and won't help me much.


"Go and find it on the internet then!" Wilson thought of saying, but being as civil as Bertie Wooster and besides, a chivalrous regard for the sex kept him from saying so. 
“Perhaps, you can read it and give it to me later.” 
“Well, you see I hate lending and borrowing books. I like owning them instead.” Explained the girl. 
“ I share exactly the same sentiments about books.” Wilson retorted back. 
“Okay, you can have it, I will buy it some other time.” Said Wilson and handed the book over. “That’s so very kind of you! How about a coffee, can I buy you a coffee in return for the kind gesture?” said the girl ecstatically. 
“Sure why not!” Said Wilson with a gleam of hope.  
                                                                                    
The coffee shop 'Bombay Cafe' was unlike the kind revolutionized by the 'Starbucks' and closer home by the 'Baristas' and the 'Cafe Coffee Days'. For a start the walls were painted red and were adorned with pictures of communist revolutionaries: Guevara, Lenin and their likes, the other wall with literary greats like Shakespeare, Dumas, Hemingway, Orwell. The third wall with western classical musicians: Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Brahms. And the fourth with movie directors like Kurosawa, Orson Welles, Kubrick, even Satyajit Ray with Guru Dutt merited to be hung on their wall of fame. It had wooden benches and chairs, nevertheless looked comfortable. The waft of coffee hung in it permanently.  


"Quite a place this, I've never been here!" Wilson said looking around. 
"Oh yes, caters to the arty and the intelligentsia." The Girl said with some amount of haughtiness. 
"Shall we sit on the table near the window?" 
"Alright, by the way we haven't introduced ourselves, my name is Wilson!" 
"Oh yes, how silly of us, hi my name is Geeta."
"So what do you do Geeta?"
"I am doing my Mphil, and what about you?"
"Well, I am a film student, learning to direct films!"
"Hey thats brilliant, this is just the kind of place for you and me"!
"Yeah, absolutely, I liked it. Its design, its concept, can you tell me what is being played in background?" 

"Hey thats simple, its Chopin and its 'Fantaisie Impromptu'. " 

Wilson was amazed, not only did she get the name right with the right pronunciation (yes people the name is pronounced as 'shop-an' and not 'chop-in') but also got the composition bang-on. 

Just the kind of girl I want to be with Wilson thought.

The bearer shimmered in, "would you like to place any request sir?"
"Oh yes what would you would like to have?"
"A cup of Cappuccino for me."
"Same here." 
"Do you frequent this place?"
"Usually with my friends after watching a play at the NCPA, we come here to discuss on it over endless cups of coffee."
"You know we have so many things in common, thanks to poetry we discovered each other, but we also share a penchant for western classics, and theater." 


The cell phone rang, it was the unusual 'phone-ring', again something the purist Wilson appreciated.
"Excuse me I need to take this call." Geeta said picking the phone and started moving out.
"Sure, go ahead." Wilson nodded affirmatively.
The bearer came in and placed the Cappuccino.
"Would you like anything else Sir?"
"Not at the moment, thank you!"


Wilson had to admit, he started liking this girl. But was she the one? Might be too early to say but a perfect companion to be with. Intelligent, suave, well read. He promised himself to ask the girl out as soon as she comes in. He gathered some courage and thought of some lines to tread the proposer's line.


But what happened next was something Wilson was not prepared for at all. So silly of me to have not anticipated the other possibility. 'The other man'. Geeta walked in with another guy, he was everything what Wilson wasn't. Was around 6' 2" tall, fair, with a chiseled physique. 


"Meet my new friend Wilson. Wilson he is Rajveer my fiance. Rajveer is an investment banker with Citibank in London. 
"Hi Rajveer, nice to see you!" 


Rajveer: those MBA grads from IITs, IIMs and I I have no clue from where else, perhaps from LSE's and LSD's.

Wilson thought what he lacked in appearance, he might gain in the area of intelligence, but this guy trumped him in every mentionable department.

"Hi! So Wilson, what do you do?"

"Well er.. I am into directing films.

"Hey, thats interesting, so all the best Wilson, Geeta, shouldn't we be leaving, remember we promised Shalini aunty that we will be at her place for dinner tonight!  

"Oh yes, we need to go, see you Wilson, be around and thanks for the book.

Wilson only smiled. Cursed his luck. 

"May I present you the cheque sir?"

"Oh yes!" Wilson said in a losers tone. Lost the book, lost the girl and lost the love all in a jiffy.

  




  
  
     

  

          

Gulaal

Everyone has a list of movies to watch on a rainy day. Gulaal had to feature on mine. I was under its spell in the first viewing itself. And that single outing was enough to convince me to buy its DVD to ruminate over. A few days back, I had a chance to see it again. And this time too I discovered things unexplored earlier.

The movie directed by Anurag Kashyap is set in a fictional town of 'Rajpur'. The central character of the story is Dileep (Raj Singh Chaudhary, who also happens to be the co-writer of the film), a student who comes to Rajpur to study Law and is mired into college politics. The story unfolds against a backdrop of local political intrigue.

I won't dwell much on the plot summary (you can read it elsewhere, perhaps on Wiki, though I would advise against it, firstly it colours your thoughts and secondly it reveals the plot).

The talking points about the movie surely is Anurag Kashyap's style of direction. Never before, have I ever seen the amount of detailing done in a movie. Be it in the character's mannerisms, their costumes, the sets, the dialogues. The last time I had seen such detailing was in Ashutosh Gowarikar's 'Swades' (perhaps another blog post), but Swades was a simple story without many layers. Gulaal on the contrary is more complex, perhaps not in scale but surely in terms of ideas it tries to convey.

The most arresting aspect of the movie is the cinematography by Rajeev Ravi. Red or Gulaal is the overwhelming colour you would't miss to notice. The red tinged scenes might suggest violence or revolution in a viewer's mind. Though Rajeev Ravi has completely dismissed the idea that it was intentional. Ravi tries to give a 'play-like' feel to the movie, by avoiding close-ups, though nothing very fancy was tried by Ravi in terms of camera movement, nevertheless it still holds one's attention.

What is Gulaal trying to convey? The movie can be said to be set in a futuristic era/time period, where Democracy has failed India, and the Rajputs are trying a separatist movement in order to regain control over their princely states. The name of the liquor brands 'Democracy' whisky and 'Republican' beer also stands out in the political backdrop.

I read in one of Anurag Kashyap's blog that he has poured all his anger and displeasure he had at the time in Gulaal with the Censor Board, (his first movie 'Paanch was yet to see light of day), the film fraternity (nobody was willing to buy his movies) and the Indian government (for creating two different states Uttaranchal and Jharkand). Its his most violent movie to date. 

Gulaal though has also been said to be inspired from the songs of Guru Dutt's movie 'Pyaasa' particularly from "Yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaaye toh kya hain"

The soundtrack too stands out, it was something that was very-much-unheard-of before. Piyush Mishra treats us with some revolutionary poems, with 'Aarambh hai Prachand' but my favourite is his version of 'Sarfaoshi ki tamanna', consider this line in particular:

 Oh re Bismil kaash aate aaj tum Hindustaan

Dekhte ki mulk saara kya tashan, kya thrill mein hai

Aaj ka launda yeh kehta hum to bismil thak gaye

Apni aazaadi to bhaiya laundiya ke til mein hai.

For me the most relishing factor is the references to various things which Kashyap holds dear, and in this case it can't be called subtle because they are quite loud to miss. It reminded me of Quentin Tarantino's 'Pulp Fiction' which is full of homages to other movies. One particular scene in the movie where Butch (Bruce Willis) and his boss Marsellus (Ving Rhames) are held captive have around 10-12 references to various movies. 

The 'John Lennon' locket worn by Prithvi Bana (Piyush Mishra) is a tribute to John Lennon, as Anurag Kashyap is a huge Lennon fan. The Lennon-esque reference is also evident in the last scene where Dileep takes to violence. The plastic frame glasses and the MK 2 helmets allude to the John Lennon movie 'How I won the war'.

 

A scene where Kiran (Ayesha Mohan) plays a Pink Floyd song 'Goodbye Blue Sky', might be also be a tribute to Pink Floyd, but for me it reflected her thoughts, "Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter when the promise of a brave new world unfurled beneath a clear blue sky?"  

Homage has been paid to 'Tabu' in a form of poster and one of her movie songs 'ruk ruk ruk', which was relegated to the background though. The old British bar where Dileep stays has posters of Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley. I found it quite ironic though that Gulaal is replete with such western references, but the movie is set in a tier-3 city, where the people barely speak English save for some royalties who blabber in Angrezi at times.

What I found more ironic and satirical was the fact that none of the cast save for Abhimanyu Singh, were Rajputs. Kay Kay Menon, Piyush Mishra, Ayesha Mohan, Aditya Srivasatav are certainly of different descent. It also reflects Kashyap's humour in a certain way.

Another gem is the scene where Prithvi Bana talks over a dead phone to the President of the United States, lamenting about the fact that they can't celebrate Diwali, as they are left with no oil to light the 'Diyas'. All the oil apparently has been used up by the Americans. 

Gulaal is filled with such satire and humour. And that is what makes it all the more compelling to revisit. 

  

  

  

Alice, Caroll and me in Wonderland!

     Alice in Wonderland was written by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson under the pseudonym Lewis Caroll with illustrations by John Tenniel in the year 1865.
      
      I am sure the readers of this blog (if there are any, that is) might have come across this book in their school days. To some, it might have left an indelible impression. And for some, and in this case me especially, might have been just another English lesson to be dreaded.
     
     Now, being part of a book club, has many advantages and with it some disadvantages as well. The disadvantage being, you are disrupted from your preferred choice of reading, and made to read books which you wouldn't have dared or cared to read in normal circumstances. The advantage being, you discover treasures at times by this mode of 'forced upon' reading. I re-discovered 'Alice in Wonderland', thanks to 'Cloud Watchers Society'.


     When I read it for the first time in school, I always thought Lewis Caroll was a woman ( 'Carol' being the name of one of my teachers who taught us 'Hindi') . My English teacher too, didn't prove to be of any help. With no background of the author discussed, we were thrown into the 'Rabbit Hole' with Alice. Thus the story was a no brainer for me right from the beginning. Save for some play of words, some mind warping poems, and a weird tea party the book held no interest for me.


       Now, talking about the author Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, who was better known by the pseudonym Lewis Caroll was also a mathematician, logician, Anglican deacon and a photographer besides being an author. Some called him a pedophile for his interest in child-photography, besides his disinterest in women were fostered by his various biographers. Many were led to believe 'Alice' was also an extension of his pedophilia.  The myth of Mr.Caroll's pedophilia were later quashed by one of his biographers Ms.Karoline Leach. She coined the term 'The Caroll Myth' after the traditional image of Lewis Caroll held by many. She asserted that the suggestions of pedophilia evolved only after many years of Mr.Caroll's death. This due to his family's efforts in suppressing all the evidence of his affairs with women, in order to protect his identity.  


      My re-discovery happened with the 'Annotated Alice' by Martin Gardner. This book incorporates the text of Lewis Caroll and the original illustration by John Tenniel. Its extensive annotations explain the poems, the mathematical concepts, word play which had left me confounded, even in my second attempt at reading it, after leaving school. 


      Reading the 'The Annotated Alice' made me realize, the fact that the book has so many dark undertones, (which my untrained mind couldn't interpret) it surprised me even further when I recalled the fact that this book was said to be a children's book in the first place. Many meanings have been drawn out of every silly thing done by Alice, I wondered if Mr.Caroll (quite an oxymoron for me!) had a hidden agenda whilst writing the book.


      Take this for instance, 'The jar of orange marmalade, for example, is a symbol of Protestantism (William of Orange; get it?). The battle of the White and Red Knights is the famous clash of Thomas Huxley and Bishop Samuel Wilberforce. The blue Caterpillar is Benjamin Jowett, the White Queen is Cardinal John Henry Newman, the Red Queen is Cardinal Henry Manning, the Cheshire Cat is Cardinal Nicholas Wiseman, and the Jabberwock "can only be a fearsome representation of the British view of the Papacy. . ." '.


       If  'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland' wasn't enough to bewilder you, you also have the sequel to it 'Through the Looking Glass', which is all the more puzzling and mind bending. And Mr.Caroll completes his 'literary nonsense' masterpiece with two of his famous poems 'The Hunting of the Snark' and 'Jabberwocky'. 


       But what I found very fascinating was the language used by Lewis Caroll. The play of words, be it in his poems or prose they are certainly worth 'drooling' over. My favourite happens to be "You mean you can't take less," said the Hatter; "it's very easy to take more than nothing." The book is replete with such masterful prose and puzzles.
       
        Surely some might find it silly as I did for the first time, but the 'Wonderland' beckons you! And its worth taking a plunge into the 'Rabbit Hole'!