The early morning sun played hide and seek through wisps of cloud akin to the fleeting smile on a beautiful women's face. Winter had set in over the Malnad hills. The air was redolent with the music of different bird calls .The village pathways had the odd estate worker scurrying to work. And on the far away blue hill I could hear the distinct call of a male Jungle Fowl. KU KU KU he went hoping to attract a hen, but his lonesome call filled with the promise of love went unheeded.
Grabbing my Double barrel gun and hastily stuffing some cartridges into my jacket I scooted across the narrow estate paths towards the distant hill where the amorous cock waited for his lady love.On the way I plucked a couple of tender leaves from the Dadap plant. In fifteen minutes flat I was at the hill. The early morning mist had not cleared completely and the suns rays struggled to find their way to the ground through the thick trees and the overhanging mist. I positioned myself strategically at a curve on the pathway between rows of coffee bushes and waited .KU Ku Ku ,the call of the cock could be heard from quite a distance .Slowly removing a dadap leaf from my pocket I placed it between both my palms and cupping the folded palms to my mouth I slowly blew ..Theko,thek,thek,thek Theko,thek,thek,thek. The plaintive cry of a jungle hen. I waited .And sure enough came the reply approaching hurriedly Ku,KU,Ku I slipped two cartridges into the gun and waitedexpectantly.
Every city has its season and Bangalore is achingly beautiful in winter. My mind wandered to a winters morning 20 yrs ago. It was a similarmorning with a pale sun trying vainly to put to flight the morning chill. Reema lived on a cul de sac off Cunningham road .I was in my late teens and attending college and she was fresh to college. We had a thing going. It was my morning routine to drive past her house and honk twice and wait for her at the next bus stop.(This was the pre mobile phone era.) Waiting for her to come down the road almost always filled me with a sense of expectation and longing .And when she came around the bend and smiled at me my heart invariably skipped a beat.
As winter turned into summer ,our love deepened ,and we spent every moment we could spare in each others company. Even after all these years it is funny ,that more than the images it is her fragrance and tastes that lingers .I can still remember the fragrance of her skin, her hair, the sweet taste of her lips and the warmth of her breasts. Our love unfortunately, "was written on water". Although the prospect of a long term commitment was never discussed, cause she was too sweet and never wanted to force a decision and I was too much of a coward to bring it up .Things drifted and we let a good love go waste . Not a day has gone by in all these years that I have not thought of her and what could have been. I guess that is the cross of betrayal I'll have to carry for the rest of my life.
Ku Ku Ku ..my mind was jerked back to the present .Charged with passion the Jungle fowl came around the bend huffing and puffing and swaying from side to side .The jungle fowl in the morning sun is a magnificent creature ,with its gleaming multi coloured plumage and the bright red crest on the top of its head. And seeing me it froze as it always does for an instant, as I gathered it in my gun sights. Every hunter worth his salt knows it is all about seizing that moment. For some inexplicable reason I hesitated a fraction too long…………………
About a year and a half back ,I was pleasantly surprised to read an article in the paper ,reporting that the central government was planning to provide broadband facilities to all rural telephone exchanges throughout India within 6 months .Although I was a bit skeptical about the time frame ,I was again surprised when they did meet the deadline within the stipulated time.
I was one of the first to apply for the connection in my village. But I was politely told by the PR man at BSNL that the connections were effective up to a distance of 4- 4.5 km. Now my estate is a good 6 km from the Telephone Exchange. Dejectedly I came home and on the way I met the local telephone lineman, a young man named Arvind. I told him of my problem and his reply was 'Anna, that is at best a minor problem. There is this fellow called D,souza ,who hasn't paid his telephone bill in 3years ,so we have disconnected his phone. He lives in Kogile a remote village about 5 km from the exchange .His cables are lying unused. So if you could provide me with your pick-up Jeep, a driver, a ladder and a couple of torches ,we could go there and get his telephone cables tonight.
That evening I sent Arvind the required equipment, and by midnight the covert operation was a resounding success. A beaming Arvind and my driver arrived with the cables and a couple of Telephone poles, the light aluminum ones.
Now as we all know Broadband signals are provided through the copper cables which also service your telephone. These cables are laid along the road which in hilly areas is usually circuitous .Now Arvinds plan was to shorten these circuitous sections by bypassing them with the new cable and poles .And by this ingenious method I was able to cut the distance by a good 1.5 km. And my joy knew no bounds when the flickering yellow light on the modem finally held. The whole operation set me back by Rs 3500 which I thought was a steal (no pun intended) .
I have enjoyed the broadband service for a good 8 months now .But recently I have been having problems, because a transformer of the KEB(Karnataka Electricity Board)was leaking and as my telephone line was very close to the transformer, it interfered with the signals..I duly called up Arvind who then called up Cariappa a linesman with the electricity board. Cariappa came home and reassured me with these words 'Anna, it is at best a minor problem…”
Growing up in the eighties was so vastly different from kids growing up in todays digital age. Watching movie songs was a rare luxury confined to'Chitrahar' which beamed once or twice a week. English movies released usually a good Year after their American premier.The two kind of movies we were subjected to were the Amitabh bachan dishum dishum types and Hollywood reruns.And boy did we enjoy them!!!!
All this changed for me when a visiting relative from Italy brought me a vhs tape of the movie 'Bicycle thieves' and in this stark movie I sensed the realism and passion and the slick editing which was absent in our mainstream movies .This was to be a lifetime passion for me.And every year I used to wait for the Oscars and try to get and watch the movies which were nominated for the best film in a foreign language. In the early nineties relatives from the USA would get me the movies .Slowly from ,VHS to VCD to DVD to digital downloads I started building a small collection of these movies .Today I decided to take stock and share with you some of the movies that have so delighted me over the years . Not being much of a reviewer I have consulted some of the top reviewers of world Cinema like Roger Ebert ,James Beardenli(I usually look this guy up for all my reviews coz we are the same age so his views will be from my perspective .I am a firm believer that your opinion of a movie is relative to the age of the reviewer).
Bicycle thieves:
This neorealist movie is a simple tale of a man, Ricci, in need of a job ,who finally gets one sticking posters around Rome. One of the reasons he gets this job is because he owns a bicycle .When the bicycle is stolen Ricci's world comes crashing and with his son tries to retrieve it ,but his efforts are futile. The pain and despair confronting the family are played out wonderfully in the confused eyes of his son.The movie closes with Ricci trying to steal a bicycle, thus continuing the cycle. There is an air of quite desperation throughout the movie, and post war Rome is shown as a bleak canvas against which the story is played out.This fim is definitely not for someone weaned on a staple diet of Hollywood/Bollywood fare.
ARTISTIC RATING 7.5/10 COMMERCIAL RATING 4/10
Au revoir les enfants(Farewell,my children)
There are moments in life when we do certain wrong things unintentionally or speak words which ought not to have been spoken. Although such deeds are irreversible, the shame and regrets burn within us all our lives.This movie written and directed by the great Frenchman Louis Mallet takes place in 1944, France in a boarding school. The story revolves around a French boy, who befriends a new entrant to the school Jean. Gradually he realizes that the new boy along with 2 others are Jews, given a new identity by the Jesuit priests' who run the school. Theirobjective being to avoid capture and death at the hands of the Nazis. But one fateful afternoon an unintentional act by Julien leads to the Nazis discovering the Jewish boys and their eventual death in a concentration camp.
Judging by the tears streaming down Mallets face when the movie was screened for the first time in 1988, one assumes it to be autobiographical.(AR:8/10 CR6/10)
Jean de Florette:
Manon des sources(Manon of the spring):
A personal favourite of mine ,considering the movie revolves around agriculture and its harddship.Manon des sources is the sequel. Both are classics in French cinema.Jean de florette boasts of perhaps the finest group of actors to be cast in cinema. The first film begins by introducing us to the two characters around which the entire story revolves. They are Cesar Soubeyran (Yves Montand), a wealthy landowner in rural France, and his only living relative, a nephew named Ugolin (Daniel Auteuil). Since Cesar never fathered any children (or so he believes), Ugolin is the last of the Soubeyrans, and, more than anything else, Cesar is devoted to the continuation of his proud bloodline. So, even though Ugolin is ugly, tentative, and slow on the uptake, Cesar aids and mentors him, intending to set him up financially so that he can attract a healthy wife who will bear him many children. Into this village comes Jean cordett (Gerad Dperdeiu)a city dweller who inherits a plot of land next to Cesar's land. The story revolves around how the rural duo connive a sinister plan to rob jean of his land.,and the repercussions this has on Jeans life, and his wife and little daughter Manon. (AR 8.5/10 CR' 9/10)
The second movie begins ten years after the first ends. Ugolin is a prosperous man, but Cesar is worried that he is still unmarried. Manon (now played by Emmanuelle Béart) has become a recluse, living the life of a shepherdess in the wilds near the village. One day, Ugolin spies her bathing nude and is instantly lovestruck. He begins an inept courtship, but Manon finds him repulsive. . Then the past returns to haunt Cesar and Ugolin, . Learning of how her father had been duped of his land, Manon embarks upon a course of revenge. (AR 8/10' CR 8/10)
It is impossible to watch 'Jean de Florette' and not watch the sequel 'Mannon des Sources'
CINEMA PARADISO:
Another hugely popular movie , If you love movies, it’s impossible not to appreciate Cinema Paradiso, Giuseppe Tornatore’s heartwarming, nostalgic look at one man’s love affair with film, and the story of a very special friendship. Affecting (but not cloying) and sentimental (but not sappy), Cinema Paradiso is the kind of motion picture that can brighten up a gloomy day and bring a smile to the lips of the most taciturn individual. Light and romantic, this fantasy is tinged with just enough realism to make us believe in its magic, even as we are enraptured by its spell.
The story revolves around Salvotore , a famous Director in Rome who gets a call from his village that his friend and mentor Alfredo is dead. The story is then told through lashbacks .His first love at high school ,and how the love for cinema was instilled in him trough the projectionist Alfredo.
This film is sometimes funny, sometimes joyful, and sometimespoignant, but it’s always warm, wonderful, and satisfying. Cinema Paradiso affects us on many levels, but its strongest connection is with our memories. We relate to Salvatore’s story not just because he’s a likable character, but because we relive our own childhood movie experiences through him. Who doesn’t remember the first time they sat in a theater, eagerly awaiting the lights to dim? Who doesn't remember the heady intoxication of our fist love?Will that fragrance ever fade?There has always been a certain magic associated with the simple act of projecting a movie on a screen. Tornatore taps into this mystique, and that, more than anything else, is why Cinema Paradiso is a great motion picture.Perhaps one of the best I've seen. (AR 9/10' CR9/10)
IL POSTINO:(The Postman)
The Postman, an Italian film from British director Michael Radford , is a charming piece of cinema that takes several comfortable formulas and expands upon them in ingenious and emotionally-satisfying ways. There’s a little of everything here: poetry,politics, humor, love, and heartbreak. Best of all, these elements flow together seamlessly in a production characterized by solid acting, balanced pacing, and eye-catching cinematography.'
Mario (Massimo Troisi who incidently died just after filming) is a postman in a fishing village on a small island off the coast of Italy. Arriving there in 1953 is famed Chilean poet Pablo Neruda (Philippe Noiret), exiled from his native country for espousing communist doctrine. Mario is curious about this new resident who, despite his advancing age, has a seemingly magical power over women. Eventually, after delivering Neruda’s mail for a while, he gets up the courage to engage the poet in a conversation about writing. This begins an unusual collaboration, with Mario providing a sounding board for Neruda’s ideas and Neruda teaching Mario about poetry and its relationship to life. Mario uses the sensual Neruda poetry to woo the local beauty. Being a major Neruda fan ,I thoroughly enjoyed this movie (AR 8.5/10 CR 8.5/10)
AMORES PERROS(LOVE IS A BITCH):
It tells three interlinked stories that span the social classes in Mexico City, from rich TV people to the working class to the homeless, and ,and if you liked Quentin Tarantinos 'Pulp Fiction' youll love this one.
The movie is structured into three stories .The movie starts with a car crash at an intersection.And characters from all three stories are involved with the crash.Then the movie is told in flash back and the three stories are told leading up to the crash. Dogs play a major role in all the three stories and in a way it is a study in how people from different strata of society confront adversity.
(AR 8/10,CR 8/10)
THE LIVES OF OTHERS:
Of the recent crop of Oscar winners , that I watched this is an excellent movie.I quite coudnt relate to last yers Oscar winner the Austrian movie 'the Counterfeiters' The movie is set in East Germany before the fall of the wall. The story is told from the perspective of Gerd Weisler a captain in the notorious secret police Stasi .But Gerd is a decent man.He is entrusted with the job of carrying out surveillance of a playwright Dreyman and his girlfriend the good looking Christa.He positions himself above their apartment and day in and day out is involved in their lives. Now the intention of this surveillance is to get some discriminating evidence against Dreyman so that Gerd's superior officer a minister of high ranking can then seduce Christa .The suspense and the dark days of East Germany' and the inherent decency of men like Gerd in a repressive society are wonderfully portrayed. A must watch. (AR 8.5/10' CR 9/10)
PARIS Jet AIME{PARIS I LOVE YOU}
Twenty different directors tackle 18 of Paris‘ most distinctive neighborhoods and base their shortstories on their backdrop. “Paris je t’aime.”– with the City ofLights as its milieu and love as its raison d’etre — is uneven but quite pleasant as a two-hour experience that acknowledges the idealized Paris people carry in their heads while wisely veering off the beaten track. International roster of Directors including our own Gurinder Chada, most of them working with local techies, assures warranted curiosity among the film-savvy — the lure of Paris itself should do the rest. Each story is about 6-7 minutesand'most of them are watchable.(AR 6.5/10CR7/10)
MALENA
Malena, Italian director Giuseppe Tornatore, is a curious mix of whimsy and tragedy.Malena works as an affecting coming-of-age story set against the backdrop of Fascist Italy and filtered through the memories of the narrator. Along the way, Tornatore sticks to the same basic style that served him well in his 1989 international hit, Cinema Paradiso, by employing equal partsnostalgia, comedy, and drama.
The year is 1940 and the place is the picturesque (and fictional) town of Castelcuta, Sicily. 13-year old Renato Amoroso (Giuseppe Sulfaro) is about to experiencehis first major adolescent crush when he catches a glimpse of Melena Scordia(Monica Bellucci). Melena, , has come to Castelcuta to care for her father while her husband is away at war. As Malena walks by, every man’s head turns and women’s tongues wag with scathing gossip. Then Melena’s husband is killed in the war and she becomes free to pursue and be pursued by Castelcuta’s male population. Meanwhile, Renato, whose infatuation develops into an obsession, begins spying on Malena and, in the process, learns that the “real” Malena is much different than his idealized portrait of her.
The story is narrated through the eyes of Renato ,and is a bittersweet coming of age movie and the way war affects people and the choices they make. Monica Belluci certainly won my heart in her role ,and just watching her should be worth the ticket. I don't know what is it about some actresses, it is impossible to conceive of anyone else for that role. Belluciis for Malena ,what Waheeda Rehman ,was for guide and Ingrid Bergman' for Casablanca.(AR 8.5' CR 9/10)
OLD BOY
Oldboy could be considered a mystery. Or a bloody revenge picture. Or a twisted romance. Or a tale of extreme karma. Regardless of how you look at Oldboy, it’s unlike anything you are likely to have seen before. Director Park Chan-wook starts with a great premise, and uses it as a springboard for a flawed-yet-compelling yarn of life-and-death, cat-and-mouse games between Oh Dae-su (Choi Min-sik) and his arch-enemy, Lee Wu-jin (Yu Ji-tae), with the beautiful, vulnerable Mido (Kang Hye-jeong) caught in the middle. And, just when you think you know where Oldboy is headed, the film takes a turn designed to foil all expectations. Be warned there are scenes of graphic violence and some disturbing scenes. (AR 8/10' CR8/10)
HONOURABLE MENTIONS:
LA STRADA ' ' ' ' 'FAREWELL MY CONCUBINE ' ''LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL
CHILDREN OF HEAVEN ' ' ' ' 'NO MANS LAND ' ' ' DOWNFALL
I have a neighbor of mine, a good chum of mine who is a passionate hunter.He gets routine calls from the government when leopards turn man-eaters and terrorize villages and carry away small kids, or rogue elephants destroy crops and endanger human life. During the off season he loves to hunt wild boar. He justifies his actions by saying he is contributing in a small way to eradicating swine flue, and I tell him that the devil can quote the scriptures to justify his deeds. Last evening over a couple of beers we had a small philosophical discussion over the Hindu concept of rebirth, and I told him if there is a God and if he is just he would be reborn a wild boar. His repartee was 'I don't mind being born a wild boar, and don't even mind being shot, but I would mind terribly if some green behind the ear hunter (yours truly) were to shoot me on the rump' (It usually takes a clean shot between the eyes or under the fore thigh to kill a pig instantly. Shoot it anywhere else and it runs for miles and dies a painful death.)
Anyway back home I wondered, given a choice what would I like to be reborn as. After weighing the pros and cons of several animals, I decided onthe common village Buffalo.Strange choice you might think , but of all Gods creatures I am yet to come across an animal as content in its own skin .My mother is fond of running her small dairy on the estate ,and the cattle a mixture of a few cows and a couple of buffaloes are routinely in the morning, let out to graze. A cowherd herds them all around the estate, and interestingly I notice it is the cows with their unruly behavior that get whacked the most. The buffaloes in an orderly and at a languorous pace amble with not a care in the world stopping to graze atpatches of grasses. Once the herd reaches the pastures the buffalos wallow in the thick muck of a nearby pond ('And down in lovely muck I have lain/Happy till I woke again') and there is an air of content as they doze and wallow the whole day. Come evening the herd is bought back to the paddocks and the buffalos are washed and oiled and massaged by the cowherd until they glisten in the fading sunlight .And then its milking time. The teats are oiled and gently kneaded and coaxed to yield milk and looking at the faces of the buffalo, I can sense an air of calm detachment bordering on the ecstatic. Sometimes it opens a disdainful eye as if to tell me ,it wouldn't change places with me for all the riches of the world Now tell me, and tell me in all honesty, which of you would not like to be in its place.
July has been the proverbial cruelest month. The monsoon rains have been unrelenting in their fury. The first 15 days of July has produced 100 inches of rain .To put things in perspective the total rains we received in the 3 preceding years have been 99inches,82inches,108 inches. Bangalore receives30 inches rain annually.
Most Coffee planters were in good spirits what with good blossom showers and a good crop set .But these 15 days of rain have meant that most of their hopes of a bumper crop are dashed .Due to the excess moisture and the ensuing cold ,most of the coffee berries have dropped .Guess there is many a slip between the cup and the lip.
Most planters are holed up in their bungalows as there is no work on the estate and it is treacherous to step out, what with howling winds and pouring rain and the danger of falling trees .Ironically many tourists have turned up from Bangalore to watch and dare I say enjoy the fury of the rain Gods .The home stays are doing brisk business. One mans misfortune is another's opportunity.
I've been in the Plantation business for the past 20 Years so you could say ive seen it all and the continual ups and downs have built within me a stoic approach to most things. I try to look at the brighter side of things,( hey this is an opportunity to catch up on my fav pastime,movies) .Most afternoons are spent with me curled under a blanket on the divan and watching movies .Last afternoon I watched Harrison Ford in "Crossing Over". Although the reviews were bad on IMBD,I thought it was a pretty decent movie. Ford looks old and haggard but the smirk is still in place and can still set many a feminine heart, a flutter ,and in these times of gay rights a few masculine as well.The movie is all about the trials and tribulations of the immigrants who flock to the US in search of the elusive green card. I thought the story of the Muslim family was well etched.
Evenings, most of us brave the elements to land up at the local club. The only cheerful face is the bartender who is sure most members will be going the extra mile to drown their sorrows. Looking around at the glum faces and the pregnant silence,and the wind outside whistling through the trees like wild spirits, and the window panes blind with shower, Im reminded of a verse from Houseman
We for a certainty are not the first,
Have sat in taverns while the tempest,
Hurled their fruitful plans to emptiness,
And cursed whatever brute and blackguard made this earth.
It is the younger lot just fresh out of college and new to the plantations with innovative ideas and grand plans of boosting production who look the dullest .The veterans who have seen it all are in good spirits.What can you say to these youngsters but that
The first time I saw “Out Of Africa” was way back in theearly eighties . I thought it was the most boring movie ever made.I was in aboarding school in Bangalorein the 8th or 9th std and our pocket money was around Five rupees a week,and we were allowed one movie a month. The price of a balcony ticket was three rupees .My friends and I came out of the theatre cursing the damn fool who made this ******* flick. Another group of boys from our boarding had gone to a western called D’jango(if I remember correctly).They were full of stories of their heros gun slinging ability while we were the butt of every hostel joke for weeks to come.
Strange how the perspectives change with the passage of time. I was to view this movie again ,years later ,in the late nineties .By now I was a love scarred veteran of many a broken relationship, and was well versed with the agonies and ecstasies love entails .Needless to say I fell in love with this gem of a movie. Not only does it relate the tale of Karen Blixen,a pioneer coffee grower (my profession),in Kenya but it is also an absorbing tale of the triumph and fallibility of the human heart, all played against the sweeping panorama of Africa at her virginal best. An added bonus for me was I discovered the poetry of A E Housman ,through Denys (Robert Redford)the main protagonist who is in love with Karen. Denys is a big game hunter and a wanderer and carries a copy of Housmans “Shropshire Lad”with him.. Karen a free spirited Danish woman (I love her Accent) .
There is thisscene at the start of the movie in which Karen,after having just arrived from Denmark to Africa is refused admission to the mens only club (bar) by a liveried bartender (Kabir Bedi) while the male(British) members look on bemusedly. Years later on her way out of Africa,after having battled unsuccessfully to set up a coffee plantations ,and having lost the love of her life(Robert redford ,who dies tragically in a plane crash)and having fought for the rights of the natives against the ruling white majority, and yet holding her head high ,through all her misfortunes ,she finds herself at the same club. But this time ,the club president breaking tradition, invites her to join the members for a drink. On being asked “to what shall we toast to” .Karen replies“to rose lipped maidens and light footed lads”. In the movie I couldn’t fathom ,the context of the toast. I later dug out the poem and on reading the full poem I could relate to it better.
With rue my heart is laden,,
For many a golden friend I had,
For many a light footed lad,
And many a rose lipped maiden.
By brooks too broad for leaping,
The light footed lads are laid,
And the rose lipped maidens are sleeping,
In fields were roses begin to fade.
This led me on a quest offinding movies with poetry in it .Then I saw “The Postman”(Il Postino)and again discovered the magic ofthe Chilean poet Pablo Neruda.The postman tells the story of a poor village postman(Massimo trossi,who incidently died of a heart ailment just after filming) ,who befriends Neruda and uses the sensual poetry of Neruda to woo the local village beauty.
Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
you have moon-lines, apple-pathways:
naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba;
you have vines and stars in your hair;
naked you are spacious and yellow
as summer in a golden church.
Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails -
curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
and you withdraw to the underground world,
as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:
your clear light dims, gets dressed - drops its leaves -
and becomes a naked hand again.
Poetry if used well in movies can be an intoxicating mix.Another movie with good use of a poem to heighten the emotional content of a scene was the use of the poem 'funeral blues' (by Auden )in the movie 'Four weddings and a funeral' .Somehow the poem being recited in a Scottish brogue was the highlight of that movie for me.
After the monotony of the monsoons ,it is almost with a sigh of relief' that we look forward to the wintry months of December and January .But it is the interim period ie September ,October and November that Nature is on her best behavior .All the surrounding countryside are a majestic sight to behold ,the mountains are clad in a green mantle .The streams are crystal clear and ripe with fishes .Small rivulets course through acres ofpaddy fields and are home to the delicious little fish called mallalemeenu ,which is a local delicacy ,and families are known to have fought vicious battles over the days catch in the not too distance past. The fighting continues even in the present generation but now it is all good banter.(although there is an occasional cold war in the odd year when the fish is notplentiful and demands are high)
' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' Another' reason we see the local populace in good humour is because all crops are ripe for harvest. In the plantations the coffee berries are turning cherry red, the paddy fields are a sea of shimmering gold ,and the areca trees are pregnant with orange bunches of nuts. The plantations are fragrant with the warm smell of pepper ripening ,mingled with the sweet smell of heavily laden orange trees. There is music in the air with the local women singing' ' as they harvest the paddy with bent sickles. There are a lot of local festivals celebrating the harvest (an excuse for the men to get drunk on the local toddy).But I guess they have reasons to celebrate, for after battling the vagaries of nature and putting in a lot of work throughout the year it is time to collect the harvest and look forward to a couple of months of rest and visiting relatives and finding matches for their offspring'.
''''''''''''''' I ' just love to sit out on the front porch, at night, all by myself with a glass of the goodstuff and listen to the myriad insects chirping away and the night sky bedecked with a million stars .Like they say the best things in life are for free.
''''''''''''''' Invariably every year it is at this time of' the year that I make my annual pilgrimage to CASABLANCA. Ever since I first saw this movie some 20 years ago on a VHS,I have viewed this film almost every year. Most movies get dated and dont' give in to repeated viewing, and it is amazing that more than 60 years after it was released it is still as fresh ,and attracting legions of new fans by the year.Its years since Bogart and Bergman have passed on ,but for me Rick will always be cynical and Bergman alluring.
'''''''''''''' With the daily dose of bad news on the telly everyday with people getting laid off , recessions, crashing stock markets, bombs and terrorists, it is always refreshing to go back to Casablanca. Like Rick said “Guess it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of “little people like us don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.”
As far back as I can remember ,my family has been in the movie business,(not producing,just watching). But only on the paternal side. I remember coming home from school for the holidays from boarding school and being taken to the movies in the local village theater .In fact my father owned the theater ,not a multiplex (in case your imagination is running wild)or anything fancy,just a tent made of canvas,with a projector(something similar to the one in Cinema Paradiso).I remember waiting anxiously along with local film aficionadosfor the reel box to arrive,and on its arrival by the local bus,the collective sigh of relief .Although I was too small to understand the intricacies of the love stories being played out on the screen ,I could decipher that the buxom ladies (with thunderous thighs), were well appreciated, by the local's periodic cat calls and whistles.And my dad would eulogize on the histrionic skills of a Madhubala or a Nargis for days to come much to the annoyance of my mom. I still recall sitting on my dads lap out on the veranda ,at night ,the moonlight silvery against the coffee plantations,a glass of whisky in his hand ,the faint smell of cigarette on his breath, humming "toote hue khwabo ne" in his broken voice.Those were the best days of my life. The theater went bust, but not my dads passion for movies.
My mom,oh she was a tough nut to crack. She hated our cinematic ways,and tried to dissuade us ie me and my sister ,by evoking a distant aunt who had presumably gone insane from watching too many movies.But in spite of our tender age we could see through her sinister schemes ,by the smirk on my dads face ,who obviously had not heard of this fictional aunt.
Time has flown by and i have graduated from watching buxom aunties prancing around trees ,to svelte models gyrating around poles.
My sister ,oh shes kept the familys filmy flag flying high .Her kids are cut from the same cloth. During summer holidays when all of the family comes home to the plantation it is a veritable film festival. Revisiting old classics and catching up on movies released on DVDs.And discussing the pros and cons of the latest Oscar awards much to the annoyance of my wife.
My wife unfortunately fails to understand our passion for cinema.My mom and wife, disagree on most things ,but they somehow get together and jointly raise the banner of revolt when we sneek into the home theater .My dad almost always gives a wry smile knowing fully well that it runs in the blood .
In the spring of 1985, while at school,at Bangalore, I was introduced to the joys of poetry by an Anglo-Indian of Irish descent (the last remnants of a fading British empire) ,Mr Heartwell Yeats,who strangely enough taught us mathematics.Now no two subjects can be as diverse as literature and mathematics. But it is ironic that 'years later I still find an'''''''' enduring passion for poetry, and a continual distaste for all things mathematical. Conversely the world today is largely mathematical and poetry in need of defense.
Back in those days interschool sporting rivalries were intense and after having lost a closely fought hockey match to our arch rivals, the mood in the class the next day was understandably somber. In walked Mr Yeats and noting our sullen faces ,without uttering a word proceeded to write a verse from Kiplings 'IF' on the black board:
If you can meet with victory and defeat
And treat those two imposters just the same.
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds of distance run
Yours is the earth and everything in it
And which is more you'll be a man ,my boy.
Now although it was little comfort to a little boy ,those many years ago, I took the lesson in this verse to heart and to this day in all my endeavors both sporting and of life, I take heart from the lesson learnt so many years ago. I try not to lose heart in defeat nor be overtly elated in victory. I try to treat those two imposters with equanimity.
Back then another poet I admired intensely was John Keats. He was after all the quintessential poet of youth. It was easy to admire Keats not only for his poetic genius but also for the courage and grace with which he lived life, knowing fully well he was dying of tuberculosis. Truly can it be said of him 'an hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name'. Keats died at the age of 26 but what a rich legacy he has left behind.
As I grew older and the exuberance of youth had mellowed into the wistfulness of mid life my poetic preferences changed. I was fortunate that at this particular juncture in my life I discovered Tagore, through the introduction of ironically another Yeats, William Butler, the symbolist Irish poet. .In 'Gitanjali'I at last came across poet whose imagery and odors were distinctly eastern.Travellers in dusty dresses, maidens bedecked in flowers, the monotony of the monsoons and golden marigolds were all images I could identify with. Love both religious and amorous is the recurring theme in Gitanjali,and they run parallel throughout the poems and at certain places they blend into a harmony all too unique to Tagore'
In todays intensly materialistic world were pleasures are instantaneous and can be bought off the nearest shelf,and 'fame is a somewhat flippant lover'poetry is an necessity. The world needs it for its vitalizing strength.It takes us back in time to places that have grown dim with the passage of time.It holds a mirror to the turbulent time we live in. It entertains ,and if needs be it comforts.
I thought it apt to end with a verse from Grey's Elegy, a reflection of the times we live in:
The boast of heraldry,the pomp of power,
And all that beauty and all that wealth ever gave,
This is my first foray into the world of 'blogging. AlthoughI have been followinga lot of blogs ,I was always hesitant to sit and put mythoughts down ,(primarily because I was afraid of the criticisms)but I kept deluding myself it was bcoz of the abysmally slow internet speeds we have here (guess diff parts of India live in diff centuries).Then I told myself what the heck might as well give it a go.' Most of the bloggers had an urban centric view to most things .So I just thought id add my penny worth of rural thought. I kind of liked the way Sameera wrote considering we both had a common passion for movies (with a bias to good foreign language ones) and her take on the fickle nature of lifes ups and downs' .But I guess im jumping ahead of the script and id better start by introducing myself' ,and my environment. Im from the deep south ,300 kms off Bangalore in a tiny village called Banakal ,nestling atop the fringes of the western ghats. I grow and sell coffee for a living and make an occasional sojourn to the city (ie Bangalore) when the need arises. My work requires me to monitor the estate on a day to day basis. Although there are no strict schedules or time tables to adhere to when it comes to my work, it still has its pleasures and its pains like your average city life. And at present its mostly pain.
At the risk of sounding very pedantic I have to digress a bit on the cultivation aspects of coffee to better explain myself.' Coffee is an annual crop ,ie we harvest one crop every year.The average life of a coffee shrub is around 40 years. There is a cycle to the progression of the bean from flowering to' fruition to your cuppa. March and April are critical months in a planters life.It is during these months that a planter is made or broken according to the whims of nature.This is prime flowering time .Good rains and your crop is assured (well almost,there are a host of other contributing factors).If the rains fail you 'do too ,period(no other factors count).These life giving rains are called blossom showers.
And getting to the mostly pain part ,we had unusually early showers in January (a good 3 months earlier)resulting in the crop maturing in early September as against the usual December.And in my part of the world the monsoons are as regular as clockwork between May' and September, resulting in the crop ripening in the midst of' rainfall.Its mayhem here with most of the coffee dropping off the shrubs and what little we have plucked not drying due to the rains. Nature heartless, witless nature. Guess we all have our meltdowns. Some manmade and some natural.
'But on the flip side I have a lot of free time to indulge in my passion for movies. Most' evenings after a days work I can sit down with a sundowner(whisky and soda for the uninitiated-that enduring legacy from the British planters life) ,and catch a movie. Today I just watched 'Oldboy' .A well crafted Korean movie ,definitely not for the faint hearted, lot of gore, mutilation and a stunning finish .Although I don't normally watch movies with a lot of violence, I thought' Chan wook park's movie had a method to its madness. Ranks close to 'The Usual Suspects' for the quality of its finish.
