Hyderabad Weekend Destinations: Araku & Konaseema

My idea of traveling has always involved forgetting and frontiers. That makes sense - to forget one must escape, as far as possible, to the farthest, remotest corners of one's world, of one's imagination, in both space and time. That's where one forgets; that's where one gets healed; that's where one finds solace.

However, in reality, traveling is something more, or something else, than mere romantic meandering. To me, as I have realized lately, traveling means negotiating with something that goes wrong in the way. What goes wrong? Something, or something else, which can't be per-determined. I believe that traveling involves responding to a surprise, and enjoying the response as it unfolds. Later, what matter is only the response; and years down the line, when rest is forgotten, it forms the theme of the trip. What remains in memory is not where you traveled but how you traveled.

Stay home if you seek comfort, or can't live without your air-conditioned bubble. For as soon as you step out of your home, your comfort is more or less compromised. What do you get in return then? Nothing, if you don't enjoy the experience of stepping out.

At the same time, quite ironically, we travel only to feel homesick. It took me years of restaurant tourism to realize that the hackneyed saying - that home-made food is best - might be hackneyed but not hypocritical. There is something in our banal existence that we decide to settle for it despite its banality. Traveling is as much about coming back home as about leaving home.  

Having said that, we do try random cuisines on weekends, indulge in harmless flirting once in a while, and take occasional flights off our perches. 

We took one such flight last weekend, to the place hailed to be the most fertile, the greenest, in Andhra, an otherwise barren land for travelers, excluding pilgrims. Konaseema is like a dash of Kerala in Andhra, minus the sea and the backwaters, of course. Still, you can enjoy staying in a houseboat, which is not as ornate as its richer backwater sisters, but houseboat nevertheless, technically speaking, and far less annoying.

Dindi, Konaseema

As I write this post, the moment that has frozen in my memory finds me entranced, sprawling on the roof of our humble houseboat, which swam in the vast waters of Godavari, brimming with seasonal voluptuousness. The banks were flanked by a vegetation that reminded me of the opening scene of Coppola's "Apocalypse Now". Soon after, I had to try not to think about "The End" sequence.

There was hardly a man in sight. The weather was charming, drizzling now and then, and the wind was blowing kisses in air. No wonder flowers were flying around, having colorful, designer wings fluttering with delight. I tried to think something poetic to honor the occasion. But all I could think of was this - that oxygen must be actually 21% there in that atmosphere. Too much for poetry! I gave up with a resigned smile and closed my eyes to see how much of the sight I can see with my eyes closed.

Later in the night, well past sunset, when I sat by the side of the boat, while staring into the river aglow with mysterious light coming from luminous horizon, and waves slapping against the sides, I remember to have seen something that I can only call reverse mirage in want of a better expression. After looking long enough, I saw our boat being stuck in a desert, and the waves of sand shifting in direction of wind. The black magic of night had transformed the dirty water into sand dunes. As promised in zmm*, the more I looked, the more I saw. Many years back, by the side of Mine, I had felt similarly.  

I must have been high on something. How else I would have thought this - that the sound of water is not only soothing but also therapeutic, to the extent that if two felon-enemies are to cross a river in a boat, and they happen to listen to the music in silence, as I was listening, they will end up forgetting their enmity by the time the boat crosses the river. If water cleans the body, the sound of water cleanses the soul. If only we could sit by a river everyday, I am positive there will be no sin in the world.

The next day was spent on road, which ran beneath canopy of trees, casting running shadows on the glasses of our cab. Looking out, it would seem that the whole world was made of banana and coconut trees.

At this point I would like to contrast Konaseema with Araku, another popular weekend option from Hyderabad. I had visited Araku a couple of years back, and I don't feel like writing about it in length. Unlike the former, latter is hilly and good for trekking. For bikers, both are paradise; both are green, Araku a shade more, but Konaseema is Kerala-esque, and more gorgeous therefore. Ultimately, it will be a draw since Araku has Borra Caves, something that I have seen nowhere else.       

*Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Robert Pirsig)     

10 Less-Known Hindi Songs

For me, this post is not only about the joy of selecting 10 songs but also about the pain of not selecting many others. In the end, it has primarily been an exercise of elimination, based on certain criteria, most importantly accessibility. For instance, I had intended to add couple of K.L.Saigal gems but later decided against it. Thanks to Google, he is still reachable if you want to reach him. In comparison, I believe that the likes of Pankaj Mullick are relatively inaccessible to this generation because we don't even know how to search them. You can't search unless you know the keyword, can you?

Also, what easy to see is easy to miss. We feel rather, forgive my choice of word, saturated with Lata that we hardly bother to find out how she might have been 60 years back. After all, she started early and lasted as long as she wanted. She couldn't have been the same artiste all through these years. 

Finally, selecting something based on some romantic sentiment, and not respect, would have defeated the purpose. The purpose is to realize that there are many melodies that we have lost in the noise, and they are worth looking for. In the end, this post aspires to be but a beginning for those who happen to enjoy these songs and would like to explore further. The keywords will still not be there but perhaps there will be desire. These unsung people have made great songs, and there is no reason for them to remain lesser-known in the age of information overdose. After all, time has to level things.   

1. Yeh Raatein Yeh Mausam (?, ?)

Music - Pankaj Mullick

Lyrics - ?

Singer - Pankaj Mullick

Evidently, I don't know much about the who's who of this one. For a long time I used to believe that this song is sung by Lata. Later I came to know that her version is just a tribute to the original. Hers is also good, but but the original is precious.

Here is the link. Enjoy.

2. Dil Ko Hai Tumse Pyaar Kyon (?, ?)

Music - Jagmohan Bakshi

Lyrics - ?

Singer - Jagmohan Bakshi

Ditto for this. I don't know much about this one either. And truly, what matters is experience, not trivia. Here is the link. Let the song speak for itself.

3. Tumhare Bulaane Ko (Ladli, 1949)

Music - Anil Biswas

Lyrics - ?

Singer - Lata Mangeshkar

1949 was a landmark year in Hindi Cinema. With Mahal arrived Lata Mangeshkar, and charmed the nation with her ethereal Libran voice. In coming years, the landscape of female playback singing was going to be changed forever. Such was her force that the reigning queen, the sublime Geeta Dutt barely managed to float. No wonder not much is known about others.

There is another gem by her in the same year. The music is composed by Shyam Sundar for Nargis starred Lahore. But between the two I would go for this.

4. Tere Baghair (Jahaan Tum Wahaan Hum, Unreleased)

Music - Madan Mohan

Lyrics - Raja Mehdi Ali Khan

Singer - Md. Rafi

Of all the songs composed by Madan Mohan that never saw the light of day, this is my pick.

Rafi has sung many songs that can be included here. But I can't add all of them. Let me add this one for you. This is not the best, but certainly different. At this point it's difficult for me not to share this too, another differently rendered masterpiece, this time with Lata joining the party.

5. Khayaalon Mein Kisi Ke (Baawre Nain, 1950)

Music - Roshan

Lyrics - Kedar Sharma

Singer - Geeta Dutt, Mukesh

Geeta Dutt is at her mellifluous best in this duet, complemented well by Mukesh. Notice how their voices blend in the background music. And the occasional strum of Veena (or Sitar) is divine. Enjoy. 

6. Lehron Pe Leher (Chhabili, 1960)

Music - Snehal Bhatkar

Lyrics - Ratan S

Singer - Hemant Kumar, Nutan

Nutan is a revelation in this song. And nothing soothes like the baritone voice of Hemant Kumar. Together, they are absolutely mesmerizing in this full-moon melody. Check this out.

There is a solo version too.

7. Kitni Haseen Ho Tum (Yeh Dil Kisko Doon, 1963)

Music - Iqbal Qureshi

Lyrics - Qamar Jalalabadi

Singer - Md. Rafi, Asha Bhosale

This song contains both honey and moon, lot of it. The usually earthy Asha is unusually ethereal here. And Rafi sounds rather besotted. It's geriatric to remain sober when something like this is poured into your senses.

8. Woh Tere Pyaar Ka Gham (My Love, 1970)

Music - Daan Singh

Lyrics - Anand Bakshi

Singer - Mukesh

Mukesh sounds sincere and vulnerable. That's why, despite his technical failings as a singer, his sad songs hardly ever fail to move. This song is neither an exception nor exceptional. But, you might not like to miss this anyway. 

9. Tere Khayaalon Mein Hum (Geet Gaaya Pattharon Ne, 1970)

Music - Ramlal

Lyrics - Hasrat Jaipuri

Singer - Asha Bhosale

I am not absolutely sure about this one. But certainty is elusive while doing what I am doing.

10. Khamosh Sa Afsana (Libaas, Unreleased)

Music - Rahul Dev Burman

Lyrics - Gulzar

Singer - Lata Mangeshkar, Suresh Wadkar

I am a steady fan of RDB-Gulzar compositions. They are not just the best in their league, they are only one in their league. There is a lot to be said about them, which warrants a separate post.

Libaas was never released. Perhaps that why this song remains relatively anonymous. The music is typical RDB and the lyrics is typical Gulzar. And the effect is typically magical. Rendition-wise, I would rather have Lata one note down, but Suresh Wadkar hits right on the spot. 

The little party is over. Or may be the party is yet to begin. This was just a teaser, as it were. It couldn't have been anything more than that. However, in the end, one can't help feeling frustrated.

Watch Man

She opened the door, tossed her bag on the bed, and flung herself on the sofa. As I followed her, she sank within, and her hands rose up to hide her face. Knowing her well, I knew that she would try hard not to lose control. However, her anger steamed out hissing through her breath, and her pain escaped through the veil of her fingers.

Sitting there, I felt like a voyeur, an unwanted witness to something I was not supposed to see. After all, pain is a personal thing. Her pain was hers, not mine. Yet, surprisingly, I could not stand her pain. It seemed to have come between us, alienating me, incriminating me for the crimes I had not committed. It was a difficult situation - I could not help but see her pain, and then I could not share it. I have always believed that there is something intimate about sharing pain. Pleasure is shared with all, but not pain. I just didn't have the rights.

I was obliged to wait.

- Come on, forget about it.

- I have been trying for a long time to forget it.

- May be he was just following the rules..

- Which rules? Written or unwritten?

- What do you mean?

- Leave it, you won't understand.

- Let me try.

- You get a congratulatory salute when you bring in a woman guest. But when the same woman invites you, she gets a stare, and a rule-book.

- Oh come, it's not like that.

But I knew she was right. That's how it was like. There were unwritten rules being followed all over. And we could do little about it. I felt like hugging her to console her. That's all I could do. Or I couldn't do even that. I didn't have the rights. 

RSS and Indian Culture

What is culture? I don't really know. I don't remember anybody telling me about it in school. But we all talk about it, perhaps without knowing what we are talking about. Or perhaps we do know it, but we can't nail it down in exact words. In that way, culture is like love. Just because one can't define love doesn't mean he doesn't know what love is. Romeo loved famously without perhaps knowing (or caring to know) about love.

Can someone be called cultured without him/her knowing what culture is? I'm not sure.

Based on my experience, my understanding of culture involves cultural relativism relativity, meaning one is more cultured than other. Frequently, those who talk more about culture are usually considered more cultured. That makes many of us culturally talkative, as it were, to win the cultural argument. The talk of White Man's burden obviously makes the white man look cultured than a colored man. Similarly, an upper caste Bengali gentleman raised on Ray and Tagore, and more importantly, talking about Ray and Tagore, is likely to look more cultured than a lower caste peasant. 

At this point, it's pertinent to wonder how's culture different from civilization? In school, these words were used often either together or interchangeably. I have a vague understanding that civilization primarily involves application of technology and architecture to build civil infrastructure - and that's why West seems to be more civilized than us, since our cities don't even have decent drainage systems or proper pavements for pedestrians. On the other hand, culture involves the human elements, apart from the more visible works of art and aesthetics.

The visible works of art - that explains why there are many who believe that culture is something to be reached out to, and to be seen, in art galleries, in theaters, and in musical concerts. This is the type of culture they show in those incredibly misleading "Incredible India" campaigns, in which you see snapshots of our cultural bestsellers like Ravi Shankar, Kuchipudi and Tajmahal. This is type of culture that the business class people collect and display in their drawing rooms. 

On the other side, many believe that culture is something that reaches out in to you and that you can't run away from. It's in the air; it's something you breathe in and breathe out all the time. It forms you and shapes you. For instance, in Hyderabad, much more than Kuchipudi, what shapes you is the sound of beggars knocking the window panes of your car at every other traffic signal, and your learning to look away in strange mix of pathetic exasperation and indifference.

That way, one's cultural health depends on one's cultural environment. The culturally conscious could afford to keep cultural hygiene to some extent by confining themselves to galleries and keeping away from what's going around in culturally polluted world, but complete cultural immunity is impossible. Culture, or lack of culture, is uncannily contagious.

Then there is an interesting divide between cultural practice and cultural precept. What is Indian culture - what we practice or what we preach? Female feticide or "Yatra Naryastu Pujyante, Ramante Tatra Devata"? Or both? Or is this duality absurd?

Well, the thought of absurdity takes me to RSS. 

I have met many of them, in different stages of my life, and all of them had one thing in common - they were all very difficult-to-like people. Without exception, they came across as supercilious and pig-headed to me; and their know-at-all and morally presumptuous attitude towards others seems grating. Worse, they manage to prick the worst in you, again and again. Long back, when I was in intermediate, I bumped into one of them in train. As revealed later, he was not at all impressed with my appearance, since I was wearing a pair of denims. Besides, I had music plugged in, which he might have assumed to be loud and anarchic. After exchanging a few casual words, if that could be called exchange at all, he handed me over my cultural report card which had reds and crosses all over. He commented that I belonged to a culturally dislocated generation. Valentine's Day had passed recently and he had a thing or two to say about that too. He hardly bothered to believe, ever listen to, my opinion. I tried to reason with him but after a point I felt that I had had enough and I decided to stop his juggernaut of nonsense.

I said it's rather cheap on his part to enjoy all the blessings of West and cursing their culture at the same time. Why didn't he mount a bullock cart instead, if that was Indian enough? As for the Indian railways, railways had been given by the British, and whatever was Indian in the Indian railways was rather unflattering - infernal filth and stink, beggars and eunuchs and pickpockets harassing the hell out of you in their own unique ways, occasional news of robberies and horrible accidents, outrageously frequent delays and people sleeping like dogs on platforms, not to mention deafening noise, theft of public properties ranging from rails to fans to even mugs that they keep in lavatories and finally, people, people all over, tides of people pushing and stepping on one another in mad rush of everyday Indian life. 

That's what you see all around yourself and that's Indian culture for you! What is kept in museums is not culture; it's a mere showpiece. Moreover, the defeated races like ours should retrospect and effect a comprehensive reform instead of hanging on to some imagined history and preserving the very things what led to our defeat at first place. Otherwise, extinction is just a matter of time. 

I knew I was not completely correct. But I had to offset the wind to hit the target. He retreated into his cocoon. After that, I don't know why, I felt sorry for him.