A play of art, words and music

Nigel Britto

In an outdoor amphitheatre on a cold Wednesday evening, Lou Majaw strums classic rock tunes on his electric guitar-the soothing, Dylanesque kind that have been lost in time. They present a refreshing change from the cacophonous beats that fill the air every December night in Goa.

Born and bred in the rolling hills of Meghalaya, Majaw is Shillong's original rock star. Closing the Goa Arts and Literary Festival, the Dylan nut, clad in a vest and very short shorts with a guitar and a bag slung over his shoulders, wasn't the only person who didn't conform to the norm.

One of the many joys of the small yet elegant festival was the deliberate exclusion of staples-there were no Chetan Bhagats and Suhel Seths floating around.

"I'm impressed by the choice of participants and the fact that it didn't go mainstream," Bilal Tanweer, a Lahore-based social scientist and the only delegate from Pakistan, told TOI.

Instead, the five-day event was a celebration of great works by lesser-known writers. It gave pride of place to locals, and uniquely, also featured several writers, poets and musicians from the north-east, that oft-ignored part of India that usually comes into the national consciousness only in the event of some unpleasant occurence there.

The festival conjured up a finely balanced cocktail of both the ingredients that are usually characteristics of a successful literature festival-scholarship and performance, although some argued that a third- scheduling-was in short supply.

While veterans such as Gulzar, Amitav Ghosh and Kiran Nagarkar were the star draws for panel discussions and book-signings, the walls that separate a writer from his reader were slowly chipped away as the festival progressed; by the final day, most attendees, by now familiar with their fellow-delegates, pleasantly greeted each other in a friendly manner of camaraderie consistent with the spirit of the host state.

Informality aside, another highlight of the festival was the spotlight on the younger brigade, led by three writers who stood out throughout the festival. Their works comprise long, hard looks at the cities they've lived in.

Nigerian-American novelist Teju Cole wrote 'Open City', about an African psychiatry resident who takes long walks around New York City. It has been listed as one of Time magazine's top-10 fiction books of the year. Sonia Faleiro's 'Beautiful Thing', which takes a look at Mumbai through the lens of a bar dancer, is a formidable work of narrative journalism and its title regularly features in several international best-of lists.

Naresh Fernandes's 'Taj Mahal Foxtrot-The Story of Bombay's Jazz Age', though released at the festival, is already being looked at as a significant chronicle of the city through the perspective of the defining musical genre of that era. During their sessions, Cole, Faleiro and Fernandes exhibited extraordinary mastery of their material, presenting it in a way that held captive the fickle attention of the small, scattered audience.

While the audience size was cause of bother for some, most took it in their stride-Majaw, for instance, whose concert attracted a princely 40 people. "It's not a rock concert. It's a literature festival, with its niche audience," he says. Vivek Menezes, the festival's organizer, concurred. "The attendance was predictable, considering the number of events in Goa happening simultaneously. But we're happy with the line-up. We had a few writers of the moment here."

With men of caliber such as Shehan Karunatilaka, author of the outstanding 'Chinaman', and Sudhir Kakar, who just won Germany's highest civilian honour, as participants, Menezes can hardly be faulted for saying so.

But Anjum Hasan, the Shillong-born author of 'Lunatic in my Head', expressed disappointment with the surprising absence of youth. "I intended to reach out to younger audiences. I got may be 50% of that," she said.

Small crowds, along with the rescheduling of a few panels, were the common grouse of most attendees. But Hasan was quick to add, "The festival was not small in terms of the line-up. I met several people who I've read but never met in person before." Karunatilaka, too, says he found the panels "very interesting", adding that "the Goa coast is very similar to the Sri Lanka coast, where my work is based".

However, the festival was far more than just literature. A play by Isabel de Santa Rita Vas, staged on Liberation Day, was highly-appreciated, as was an electrifying session by artist extraordinaire Atul Dodiya; New York rapper Himanshu Suri of 'Das Racist', who had a fiery session with American editorial whizkid Jonathan Shainin, also broke out into an impromptu rap in another session with Teju Cole, moderated by TOI's former art critic Ranjit Hoskote, who is now a prominent poet. "It was great spending so much time meeting with and talking to writers," Suri told TOI. "Now, I'd definitely want to write more."

But perhaps the most inspired participant was the Khasi rocker Majaw himself. Originally scheduled to perform only on the first day of the festival, the musician enthusiastically attended almost every session. He then wanted to play again on the last day, "out of love", and he did, thus closing the curtains on the festival as well as having the final word. "This was a beautiful gathering and my experience in Goa was truly enriching," he told TOI. "I will go home energized."

This article was first published on The Times of India's Goa edition dated December 23, 2011.

A co-operation movement

Why is Hasan Elahi sending the FBI pictures of the public urinals he visits?

Nigel Britto

Life changed for Hasan Elahi on June 19, 2002 at Detroit International Airport. The university professor was flying back home after an exhibition overseas. In those distrustful months following 9/11, every Muslim was a potential threat, even a naturalised American like Elahi, whose family migrated from their native Rangpur in Bangladesh to America in the '70s, when he was just seven. 

No sooner had his flight landed than he was detained by the FBI. After a series of conventional security-related questions, they cut to the chase - where were you September 12? Luckily, Elahi is in the habit of keeping detailed records of his daily appointments and movements, so he pulled out his PDA and told the FBI that, among other things, he had paid a bill for a storage unit in Tampa, Florida on that day. The FBI wanted to know what he was paying for. Furniture and winter clothes, he replied. The agent asked, "No explosives?" The Feds had been tipped off that Elahi was hoarding explosives. 

This was the start of Elahi's long relationship with the FBI. Back home in Tampa, he found himself being trailed by the FBI, and had to live through half a year of intensive questioning. "Have you participated in any acts that may be detrimental to the US or a foreign nation? Do you belong to any groups that wish to harm the United States? To which he deadpanned: "I work at a university. " 

Six months and nine polygraphs later, the FBI said: "Everything's fine. " "I know, that's what I've been trying to tell you all along, " he replied. Yet, he was advised to inform them of any travel plans. He did, but for someone who travels so much, he realised that it would only be a matter of time before he was detained again. So Elahi, who was brought up in New York, decided to take the battle to them in a subversion of that popular Jim Carrey movie, The Truman Show, which chronicles the life of a man in a constructed reality TV show, broadcast round the clock to millions of households across the world. Initially oblivious, Truman soon gets suspicious and learns the truth. Elahi offered himself as a willing, compliant Truman. He turned his daily life into an art project that broadcasts the activities of his waking hours to anybody who cares to know. He called it - what else? - The Orwell Project. 

"So, when I travelled, I wrote to them telling them where I was going, my flight details, etc, " said the 39-year-old affable, well-built professor who sports a funky haircut. "However, the mails became longer in due course;some even had pictures and travel tips. " Sometime later, he decided that if the FBI was going to keep tabs on him, he might as well do it himself. "They needn't waste energy and resources on tracking me, I would track myself. " 

So, he proceeded to create an online record of his every move. Details of every flight he took reached the FBI. Soon, pictures of meals he ate, shops he visited, and even urinals he went to reached the FBI. "They wanted to know my business, so I had to tell them, " he says, pointing to a screenshot of the 100-odd urinals he had visited. 

What started out as a self-surveillance mechanism - he refuses to call it a 'mockery' - gradually evolved into an art project. "As of this morning, 47, 196 images have been sent to the FBI. " How does he do it? "My iPhone, I just send the images and the server does all the back-end work like categorisation, etc. " It's not just the FBI that can access his information - anyone in the world can by logging on to his website www. trackingtransience. net. 

It's performance art taken to an extreme but Elahi, who teaches of digital cultures and creativity at the University of Maryland, says he's more interested in the methodology of working rather than disciplines, mediums or techniques. "What I'm into is creative problem-solving, " he says. "Artists tend to react to situations differently from normal people. " In the last nine years, the professor has done almost a hundred exhibitions around the world and shared his story with millions. 

He vigorously counters the notion that he's exposing his whole life to the world. "Even with the stuff I upload, " he says, "I live a fairly private life. You really know very little about me. This is all factual evidence, no emotions. In any case, not just me, 800 million people are doing it (on Facebook, etc). Today, there are as many producers as consumers. " He has supporters too. "Some of my most vocal supporters are anti-government, libertarians and people who don't want the government in their lives. " The Patna-born, US-based novelist Amitava Kumar's new non-fiction book, A Foreigner Carrying in the Crook of His Arm a Tiny Bomb, which explored the US government's bumbling war on terror, also features Elahi's project. 

Elahi's website is remarkably user-unfriendly. "The stuff is all there, but you have to really sift through it to make sense, " he says. "For instance, the pictures could be anywhere, but only when cross-referenced does it begin to make sense. " He gives an example. "I send photos of supermarkets I visit to the FBI, but only when it's cross-referenced by a neutral third-party, which in this case is my bank, will you know what I bought and whether I was really there. " 

And when does Elahi plan to stop putting out his life on the web? He answers with a counterquestion : "When will you stop tweeting and sending out text-messages ? Sending out data has now become part of me, and I'm not going to stop. It's been a journey of self-discovery. Looking through my records has definitely enabled me to know myself a little better."

This article was first published on The Times of India's Crest edition dated November 19, 2011.

Is ThinkFest the new TED?

Nigel Britto

In Goa, rarely can any place which is not a church, manage to garner a full house, rapt with attention, at nine o'clock on a Sunday morning. At least one resort in North Goa proved otherwise, as the concluding day of the ThinkFest ideas jamboree saw almost 2,000 people walk in to experience and partake in the power of ideas. Aamir Khan spoke on Bollywood and Sudhir Kakkar on love; Sam Pitroda and Ashish Nandy sang cautious praises to the republic, but as if to warn against complacency, two citizens of the other India, Himanshu Kumar and Kopa Kunjam from Chhattisgarh, emerged with tales of horrific state-sponsored terror against tribals that raised questions about the nature of Indian democracy. Deservedly, despite the star statures of others, the two ground warriors got the biggest standing ovation of the day.

It wasn't just ideas on display at ThinkFest. A galaxy of entertainers, led by India's top comedian Papa CJ and singers like Sain Zahoor and Kailash Kher, also performed for a few select guests. Between lectures, too, pianist Anil Srinivasan entertained and educated with short yet laudable performances. The festival's worldview was evident in its line-up of speakers. While Thomas Friedman, America's most influential columnist, was the top draw on Saturday and a galaxy of top scientists and entrepreneurs strutted their stuff, Sunday saw the focus shift from science and the developed world to more humane issues-green revolutions and the problems of the third world. If Afghanistan MP Shukria Barakzai gave a compelling account of life in her country and Chinese economist Zhang Weiying in his, Esther Duflo and Abhijit Banerjee spoke about how India's schools are getting it all wrong.

Perhaps to balance the scale, a surprise session on art was thrust upon the audience. Earlier, Pavan Sukhdev argued for the need to shift to a green economy. But perhaps the most off-beat session was the last one, 'Of love and other demons' a discussion by a panel comprising eminent psycho-analyst Sudhir Kakar, Tarun Tejpal, Nayantara Sahgal and for some reason, Chitrangada Singh, who seemed totally out of sorts on the panel. At the fag end, Tejpal said the words everybody wanted to hear-ThinkFest will be back, same time, same place, same state, every year, an announcement that was greeted with wild applause by the by-now-fagged-out crowd, which comprised a fair number of Goans.

Of and by itself, it was a festival to rival TED. However, a string of controversies regarding it pushed under the spotlight-dubious links emerged when Union minister Jairam Ramesh refused to attend it because the hotel's promoter is a 2G scam accused. What's worse, Tehelka editor Tarun Tejpal's irreverent, off-the-cuff remark on the opening day ("eat, sleep with whomever you want") was interpreted by activists and sections of the media as an affront on Goan identity. A furious war of words between Tejpal and theatre veteran Hartman de Souza, who alleged the Tehelka editor compromised a story detailing Goa's illegal mining in exchange for support from the Goa government, only made things worse.

Also disappointing was the absence of many key speakers. Apart from Jairam Ramesh, other high-profile speakers who didn't turn up included Nobel laureate Leyman Gbowee, Anna Hazare, Nandan Nilekani, and also others like Rohini Nilekani, Amina Khairat and Adi Ignatius, all of whose names were still featured as 'speakers' on the ThinkFest web site even after the festival was over.

This article was first published in The Times of India's Goa edition on November 7, 2011.

Bridging nations through music

Merck orchestra from Germany enthralled classical music lovers in Goa

Nigel Britto

The thousand-odd that thronged Kala Academy on Monday evening entered the DMK auditorium with high expectations; after all, this concert was pitted as the high point of the state's scattered classical music calendar. The long queue they had to stand in all seemed worth it a few hours later, when they walked happily away, after giving the orchestra three standing ovations and demanding three encores, all of which were obliged. Clearly, the Deutsche Philharmonie Merck didn't disappoint.

Clad in brilliant black, the German orchestra won hearts and minds straight away, commencing with a startlingly beautiful rendition of Jana Gana Mana, closely followed by their own national hymn, Deutschlandlied, which set the mood for the evening. It also established the reason for the concert-60 years of Indo-German friendship. After a little diplomatic rhetoric and a few instructions from the compere, Fr Eufemiano Miranda (switch off mobiles, don't cough, and don't clap between movements), the orchestra got down to business.

The selected repertoire comprised Beethoven, Mozart and Brahms; the beauty of the orchestra's sound, especially that of its brass section, was notable right from the beginning. Leonore Overture No 3 Op 72, one of the four overtures Beethoven wrote for his only opera Fidelio, was first on the list. Ideally, an Overture sets the mood for the opera to follow; in this case, its near-flawless construction makes the opera itself slightly redundant, perhaps explaining its popularity with orchestras playing it in isolation of Fidelio.

The DPM's rendition of the Overture, in little over 13 minutes, captured the entire trajectory of the opera, from imprisonment to triumph, complete with an off-stage trumpet call that led the surge towards a thrilling and electrifying coda, symbolizing the lofty ideals of liberty and emancipation Fidelio is about, and which is also in sync with Beethoven's own political beliefs.

The conductor, Wolfgang Heinzel, led the pack with aplomb; he had the air of a wizard armed with a wand and engaged in a fierce duel; the orchestra was no different; they'd played the previous night in New Delhi and woken up at 4 am on Tuesday morning to commence their 16-hour journey here, after which they didn't sleep. Theoretically, they should have been tired. No sign of it. Only a few musicians sat comfortably in their seats; the rest were perched as if on air-bows galloping and heads swirling in tandem with their conductor's baton, sending an ominous warning to any tiredness that might come creeping by.

After Beethoven came Concerto No.2 in D major; it is essentially an oboe concerto reworked for the flute by Mozart, whose dislike for the instrument is legendary ("I am... always reluctant if I have to write for an instrument I can't stand," he once wrote.) Thankfully, one needn't take the great man's statement seriously. The concerto was the highlight of the evening; the affable and uber-expressive soloist Henrik Wiese didn't need sheet music; like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, he relied completely on memory for all three movements to lead the show from where Beethoven left, displaying an impish sense of humour and phenomenal breath control that kept the audience engaged throughout.

The last item was Brahms' Symphony No 3 in F major, the shortest of his four symphonies. It may not possess the explosiveness of his first or comparative serenity of the second, and is sometimes considered a tad boring. Not this performance; the apprehension at seeing a moderately-sized orchestra trying to tackle a Brahms symphony was soon shot away with great vigour. The orchestra, over 35 minutes, constructed a distinct picture of an old Brahms reminiscing about life while taking a walk in the woods, the solitude of Poco Allegretto (little, if any, Allegretto) giving way to a high voltage Allegro finale, resulting in a long standing ovation that pulled the conductor back and forced three encores out of the orchestra.

Two of them were Brahms' Hungarian dances by conductor's choice, and one short flute solo after a lady in the audience specifically asked for the return of Wiese, who quickly became a crowd favourite after his virtuosic performance earlier on. The orchestra's enthusiasm seemed to have rubbed off on the crowd, who were responsible for only a couple of mobile alarms, a few cough concertos between movements, and the odd whining baby, all of which signified considerable progress. When all was done, the musicians trooped out of Kala Academy, instruments and baggage in tow, to earn themselves a well-deserved rest.

This article was first published on The Times of India's Goa edition dated September 29, 2011.

Game On

The stakes are high for Casino Royale's World Gaming Destival

Nigel Britto

It's Friday night at Casino Royale and the gaming deck, a large rectangular hall the size of a football field that is filled with tables, slot machines and all kinds of gambling paraphernalia, is milling with people. 

This weekend there's more activity than usual. Faces, some contorted in concentration, are eying the tables as the dealers, most of them from the Northeast, size up both the players and the games they are priming themselves up for. The stakes have been declared and there's big money to be won at the World Gaming Festival.

Anish Dedhia, who visits Goa at least once every two months, and not for its sand, sea and sun, is one of the eager bunch of about 300 gamblers who have each paid upwards of Rs 1 lakh per game to participate in the competition. They are all sweaty with excitement. After all, the total bounty of each game is the number of participants multiplied by Rs 100,000. The winner can take home 50% of this; silver gets 30% and bronze 10%. The next two after that pocket 5% each. So if 20 people register for a game, there's Rs 20 lakh in the kitty, out of which the winner gets 50% — Rs 10 lakh. 

To add to the atmosphere, the casino has provided registered players free return airfare, concierge services, five-star accommodation, lavish buffet meals, chauffer-driven luxury transfers and even entry to some of Goa's hottest parties. On the floor above the gaming deck there's live music and a restaurant, on top of that a sundeck and helipad. This is the high life, Goa-style. 

Organizers say the event will incorporate elements from some of the best gaming festivals around the world. "I travelled to 14 countries before deciding on the festival's format," says Narinder Punj, the casino's managing director and the man who conceptualized the gala that will conclude on Monday. Players compete in five games — Texas Hold'em Poker, American Roulette, Baccarat, Indian flush (a kind of teen patti) and Blackjack. Most gaming festivals in India test the players in only one game. The Asian Poker Challenge, held here since 2010, is one such event. It is this difference , according to Punj, which makes the World Gaming Festival unique. 

But is Punj looking at the WGF to be a regular event? "Yes," he says. "Perhaps we'll have it once or twice a year. It's now a registered Intellectual Property, so we can go pretty much anywhere in the world with it". 

Fuelled by the reputation of being a 'cheap' destination, millions of backpackers kept trooping into Goa 50 years after European travellers first discovered it. A few years ago, the Goa government realized this and, not wanting to host only the poor sorts, it took an apprehensive gamble. If Goa offered legal avenues for gambling , older tourists with higher spending capacity would eventually come. 

As it turns out, they did. 

Four years ago, Goa's gambling industry comprised the solitary Casino Goa and a handful of slot machines in the state's five-star hotels. In 2007, the government took the step of forking out more licenses in order to attract tourists who take a detour to Nepal, where gambling is legal, and perhaps to emulate Macau, the world's gambling capital. Now, there are six floating on the river Mandovi alongside Panaji, and 13 in hotels, or 'on-shore' as they're legally classified. 

According to the Goa Public Gambling Act, 1976, cards and players and dealers are only permitted off-shore while electronic slot machines make up the industry on land. Seasoned gamblers will tell you gambling on slot machines is about as interesting as watching a game of golf on TV. Yet, rough estimates indicate revenue generated from the industry has gone up from Rs 40 crore to Rs 300 crore in just three years. 

"There has been considerable growth in the casino industry. We've seen a 100% growth in revenue every year," says Xavier Vaz, who runs the casino at the Goa Marriott Hotel. Mumbai-based Delta Corp is one of the earliest entrants in the sector and is the only listed company in this space. It owns two off-shore casinos in Goa —Casino Royale and Caravela, and plans to add another one, Kings' Casino, next year. Delta Corp's gaming and hospitality revenue has increased from Rs 11 crore in 2008 to 101 crore in 2011. As a result, a bunch of individual investors led by billionaire Rakesh Jhunjhunwala has put in Rs 280 crore in Delta. 

But not all is hunky-dory. Policy needs to be sharpened and streamlined. The growth of the industry is severely hampered by an utterly-confused government that, in the words of one casino owner, "doesn't know its ass from its elbow". For one, the state seeks to bar local from entering casinos for gambling by bringing an amendment to the Goa Public Gambling Act, 1976. Early in 2009, it increased the entry fee for all casinos from Rs 200 to Rs 2,000, resulting in a drastic drop in visitors — in six months the number dropped from around 90,000 to little more than 15,000. 

Industry insiders are unanimous in their view that an authority on the lines of the Nevada Gaming Commission (for Las Vegas) or the Gaming Inspection and Coordination Bureau (for Macau) be established. "The industry is growing and government policies must be transparent and consistent. Sadly, that is missing at the moment," says Shailendra Singh, who runs four on-shore casinos. 

Macau, Goa's Portuguese cousin that was given to China in 1999, is oft-cited as a shining example of what a healthy and well-regulated gambling industry can do (see box). The inconsistency of Goa's policy on casinos can be blamed partly on the opposition and an active moral police whose concerns revolve round prostitution , crime and money-laundering. 

In one particularly interesting incident , former CM Manohar Parrikar quoted his gynaecologist friends to say there has been an increase in abortions in Panaji — a statement he promptly blamed on 'wrongful activities' on riverborne casinos and called for the entry of women and children to be regulated. 

"We employ both men and women. If they fall in love, how can you blame the casino?" asks Punj. Fr Maverick Fernandes of the CSJP, the social wing of Goa's powerful Catholic church, counters that and says, "Gambling is a vice and revenue can't be justified by vices; tourism should promote values rather than vices". Hoteliers, too, are reluctant to come out in support of the industry. "It is our policy not to comment on casinos," a Taj Vivanta official said when contacted by Sunday Times. 

But perception about casinos among locals has seen change that industrywallahs call healthy. As recently as five years ago, few parents wanted their kids working in a casino. "Today, around 75% of my staff is Goan," says Punj. Chances , another casino, has locals filling up almost 100% of the jobs. "There are few employment opportunities in Goa, and any industry that generates employment needs to be encouraged," says prominent Panaji career counselor Abhijeet Naik. "If regulated properly, the industry can bring in a fortune in revenue, and this is a gamble the government cannot afford to miss out on."

This article was first published on The Sunday Times of India nationwide in its edition dated September 25, 2011.

The real Monsorates

Nigel Britto

Ronnie Monsorate is a man of many talents. Pianist, singer, bandleader and arranger, in the limelight or behind the scenes, the portly, bespectacled Monsorate can step into any or all these roles and perform them like only he can. He comes from one of Goa’s, and India’s, most successful families of jazz; his father Peter Monsorate, the brightest trumpeting star that ever shone over this country, was called the Harry James of India. Thus, it is no surprise that five of his sons, Ronnie among them, now form the Monsorate Brothers. What is a surprise, of course, is that the magnificent Big Band’s concert this Saturday will be its first on Goan soil.

Apart from playing only their second gig together in nearly 30 years (the first was this May near Amsterdam), the band showcases a unique sub-genre of jazz that was popular in the 1930s and is nearly defunct now—The Big Band. Ronnie, a Duke Ellington of sorts with a Louis Armstrong-esque vocal box, leads the pack; his brothers Joe and Bosco play the trumpet, Blasco the trombone, and Rex the drums. Curiously, their two other brothers, Octavious and Clareto, were also musicians in the 80s before switching careers and moving abroad. These days, bass guitarist Steve Frances and saxophone player Shyam Lal usually accompany the Monsorate Brothers.

The brothers, who normally perform individually, rose during the vibrant hotel jazz scene in the 70s, alongside now-iconic names such as Braz Gonsalves, Dennis Rosario, Charlie Shephard and others. In 1978, the year of the first Jazz Yatra, Joseph and Bosco were part of the big band formed by US trumpeter Clark Terry. However, as was the norm then, the Monsorates diversified from jazz and teamed up for world tours with a series of film industry veterans such as R D Burman, Lata Mangeshkar, Illayaraja and Bappi Lahiri, Laxikant Parallel, Kishore Kumar, and much later, contemporary stars like A R Rahman and Adnan Sami. Through their Bollywood years, the Brothers remained faithful flag-bearers of the Big Band genre, a kind of jazz musical ensemble which was popular during the Swing Era; it usually consists of reed, wind, rhythm and vocal sections.  While smaller bands that play conventional jazz music usually improvise and spontaneously create the music, Big Band music is heavily ‘arranged’, or prepared beforehand and notated on sheet music. Typically, improvisation or solos are played only when the arranger calls for them.

The versatile Ronnie Monsorate is also widely credited for orchestrating and arranging Goan superstar Lorna Cordeiro’s return to the music world after nearly quarter of a century of self-imposed exile; he directed her highly acclaimed comeback album, Hello Lorna. Incidentally, the ‘Rain or Shine, Konkani Rocks’ banner under which Saturday’s concert is being held, had another concert in July last year, which Lorna, accompanied two of the Monsorates, Bosco and Blasco,   headlined. Remo Fernandes too had joined in the fun, singing ‘Bebdo’ with Lorna to the delight of the thousand-odd fans.

The Monsorate Brothers’ reunion this Saturday is to celebrate World Goa Day, August 20, which, since 2000, has celebrated Goan culture and music throughout the diaspora. Founder Rene Baretto, a London-based Goan, told TOI that his aim in starting it was to “unite Goans across the world, under one banner. The date was chosen because it was the day Konkani was included in the Eigth Schedule of the Indian Constitution.

Interestingly, the Monsorates won’t be the only ones paying tribute to their motherland at Gonsalves Mansion this Saturday. They will be accompanied by well-known local musicials such as Olavo Rodrigues, fadista Sonia Sirsat, Varun Carvalho, Veeam Braganza and others.

This article was first published in The Times of India, Goa, in its edition dated August 19, 2011.

Hero of childhood dreams

Harry Potter, in my opinion, should be made compulsory reading in schools.

Nigel Britto

Fantasy isn't everyone's cup of tea. It was the last thing on my mind when J K Rowling released Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in 1998. I was three years late on the Potter bandwagon. When I first met Harry in 2001, he was 11 and I was 14. Back then, my lit diet consisted almost exclusively of Wodehouse, Dickens and Enid Blyton, all of whom I still adore. I loved Sorcerer's Stone and hoped that J K Rowling would manage to sustain the momentum of what I thought had the potential to be a brilliant series for a school library to stock. 

Ten years, seven novels and eight movies later, Harry Potter doesn't quite seem the same. In circles a 24-year-old frequents, confessing to liking the tales of a boy wizard is akin to saying you suck your thumb at night. Way too many people, most of whom consider themselves above such 'childish' literature, fail to recognise the beauty of a series that made a generation tear away from television and video games and run to their libraries to appreciate the beauty of the written word. 

Critics say the books are no Lord of the Rings and the movies not quite Narnia. There again, I doubt they were ever meant to be so. Harry Potter grew with me, as he did with a few million others. At first, we were greeted with easy reads that talk about a 11-year-old going to a magic school. Later, to keep up with the reader's growing maturity and depleting attention span, the books get progressively darker and more complex, dealing with a variety of subjects such as alchemy, love, philosophy, and splitting of souls. Today, at 24, I can see and appreciate that. The fun part? Almost certainly, Harry Potter inadvertently opens the gates to C S Lewis's allegoric worlds, to Tolkien's misty mountains, to Pratchett, Steinbeck and the massive world of fantasy fiction beyond Hogwarts. 

There's something about Harry Potter that's genius. J K Rowling is not the best writer you would encounter, but her storytelling and creation of magical worlds is second to none (perhaps the literary version of George Lucas?). They're not literary masterpieces;in fact, some would argue that they're not literature at all. However, right from their inception, the books struck a chord with readers everywhere. The series' epic finale, Deathly Hallows, proved that Rowling lost none of her touch and it's no accident that the Harry Potter movies are the most successful in film history. 

That success is perhaps due to the way they handled the constant danger that accompanies all book-based movies - the fear that they might fall short. The Potter movies resolved that problem by casting brilliant albeit rather unknown British actors rather than famous American ones. Alan Rickman as Prof Snape, Dame Maggie Smith as Prof McGonagall and Gary Oldman as Sirius Black ensured the books were brought to life as thoroughly as they could possibly be, effectively mentoring and complementing the young trio of Radcliffe, Watson and Grint. 

Why, then, is it that I will remain a lifelong Harry Potter fan? To me, the most ingenious bit was the confluence of the wizarding and muggle worlds, and that magic had to be studied. 

To me, Harry Potter is a hero of childhood dreams. An ordinary boy who has potential for greatness, and who through dedication and able guidance, thwarts all plans to stop him and eventually emerges victorious. The storyline is creative, the supporting characters are built up beautifully, there's a dash of subtle feminism throughout the series, and magic is described as a technology or talent rather than a sword. Rowling has created a 'book of virtues', a story that prizes loyalty unto death, sacrifice, compassion, courage and friendship. The message is timeless. And if I had ever to recommend one series of books as compulsory reading across schools, this would be it.

This article was first published in The Times of India's Crest edition on June 23, 2011.

Parikrama: Journey on and ahead

Parikrama, the big daddies of Indian rock, turn 20.

Nigel Britto

Many years ago, Parikrama ceased to be just a band. To most of India's rapidly expanding rock brigade, the New Delhi classic rock behemoth is a national institution; to the Maiden-obsessed Indian teen who wants to play a distortion guitar for a living, Parikrama is the epitome of rock achievement. The band, ambassadors for English music in a country and time when anybody and everybody was going Hindi, turns 20 this week. Over two decades, the merry bunch have lost none of their sheen. 

In ways more than one, Parikrama is perhaps the most unique rock band this country has produced. Firstly, few rock bands have a tabla player and violinist as part of their line-up. Also, not too many frontmen go around bellowing "go ahead and pirate our music" to the crowd. Known for showing zero regard for copyrights, Nitin Malik, Parikrama's vocalist, lyricist, guitarist and founding-member, says the band "wants to be heard by as many people as possible". The band's website proclaims "not the musicians, but the music for free". 

"People pay good money and come for our concerts, so the least we can do is offer our music free to our fans, " Malik says. Parikrama's songs, all of which have their lyrics written by Malik, are available for free download on the band's website. The band's most popular and enduring hit, But it rained, a haunting song penned by Malik about kidnapped and missing persons in Kashmir, has been downloaded over 5 million times. The popularity of the song was amply evident in Bangalore in 2008 when 40, 000 sang along - It's been so long, so long a time, still I miss Daddy at night - as the band opened for British metal legends Iron Maiden. Though Parikrama has never recorded an album and doesn't intend to, Malik says the band will continue to record original music and give it free to fans. 

The band gained most of its massive fan-following in the '90s and early 2000s, when it firmly resisted 'warnings' from music czars to 'go Hindi or go bust'. During its formative years, its set consisted mainly of covers of popular songs like AC/DC's Highway to hell, Guns N' Roses' Sweet child of mine, and the sing-along, collegegoer's favourite, Pink Floyd's Another brick in the wall, where the crowd chanted rebellion against education before pushing off back to college the next day. 

Somewhere in the middle of the 2, 600-odd concerts the band has played to date, Parikrama started pushing originals into its set list, a successful experiment that has resulted in the band performing mainly original music in its recent concerts. "People understand, demand and appreciate original music much more than before, which is really, really great, " Malik says. Till I'm no one again is a slow ballad with violin and tabla taking centrestage. Superhero was written for Bill Gates, a cheeky tribute to a programmer: (Springs up from the bed with a crossword in his head. . . /prays to all his gods, even captain Kirk/ hoping he can make it in time for the bumpy ride), Rhythm 'n blues (with Usha Uthup), Am I dreaming was inspired by Lord of the Rings, and Open skies is a slow violin instrumental that gradually accelerates to a rousing climax. 

Nitin is the younger Malik in the band;the other is his big brother Subir, who plays keyboards and manages Parikrama and Parikrama Inc, one of India's biggest artiste management companies. Some of the country's biggest acts across genres such as Soulmate, The Raghu Dixit Project, Them Clones, Indian Ocean, Rabbi Shergill and Mohit Chouhan, are managed by the elder Malik. Outside of the band, he also has his finger in various pies including event promotions and a music school. 

He's not the only band member to have a life outside Parikrama. Nitin has his own studio, youngest member and drummer Srijan Mahajan plays for two bands apart from Parikrama, guitarist Sonam Sherpa heads his own music school, bassist Chintan Kalra is a video and music producer and Saurabh Choudhary has a master's in business administration. The line-up, which usually also includes Imran Khan on the violin and Shambhu Nath on the tabla, has jammed with a variety of personalities including violinist Sharat Shrivastava and actors Saif Ali Khan and Farhan Akhtar. 

Over the years, Parikrama has built a reputation for throwing its weight behind a number of causes such as Free Tibet. Frontman Malik is a brand ambassador for animal-rights group Peta, and the band's official slogan is Peace, Trees and Rock n' Roll, a cheeky and goodhumoured take on the Sex, Drugs and Rock n' Roll lifestyle many bands end up following. Their very first gig in 1991 was for Aids awareness. 

Since then, they've taken their music to England, Canada, the USA, the Middle-East, Bhutan, Nepal and South-East Asia. The England concert came about when they opened for Maiden in Bangalore, 2008, and Mighty Maiden themselves walked out to see the band. They then invited Parikrama to open for them elsewhere too. Some time later, Parikrama played at the Download Festival alongside established acts like Dream Theater and Motley Crue on its UK tour, which Subir Malik then described to TOI as "an awesome experience". 

Back home in India, they've inspired many a young musician such as Deepak Nair, frontman of Punkh and Bandish. "Parikrama's song list and showmanship dazzled me as a young rocker, " he says. "Back then (in '96), most upcoming bands wished to open for them...I guess they are a perfect example of a band that has stuck together through thick and thin. Definitely India's answer to the Rolling Stones. " Delhi-based communication designer Piyush Singh describes himself as the band's biggest fan. He's been to over a hundred Parikrama concerts. "Twenty years and they are still going strong. This itself is the biggest proof of their wonderful connect with the audience. You won't often find bands that manage to magically blend Western and Indian instruments and make it sound so appealing. Not only have they been around as a band, but also as a source of inspiration to many youngsters who claim that they started their bands because Parikrama inspired them. " 

What has changed in these 20 years is its view of Hindi music. Back in the '90s, it was a symbol of a musician's compromise. Not today. "Honestly, Bollywood has changed leaps and bounds in the last decade," says Nitin Malik. "From the kind of films being made to the kind of music that's there now. And it has done so for the better. Now there are some awesome off-beat films which actually have Hindi rock music, some even have English songs, so I don't think it's that much of a taboo anymore for anyone. " So will Bollywood ever get a touch of the Parikrama magic? "If something really interesting and off-the-road comes along, I think it surely will be worth thinking about, " he says. 

This article was first published in The Times of India's Crest edition dated June 11, 2011. 

Shine on, crazy Dylan!

Bob Dylan, the poet-laureate of rock 'n' roll turns 70

Nigel Britto

In his twenties, he was called Judas for plugging in an electric guitar, much to the chagrin of the folk brigade. In his thirties, he found Jesus, to the chagrin of the rock brigade. Earlier this year, he performed a suspicious-looking set in communist China, to the chagrin of those who still expect him to be the conscience of the world. Back when the counterculture took shape, the poet laureate of rock 'n' roll captured the zeitgeist like no other musician, poet or philosopher. At seventy, when most retire to a life of solitude, Bob Dylan carries on. He ran away from home several times when he was a boy and said that for the rest of his life he has just "kept on running". 

Not only does he still create top-quality music, he's still touring with a frequency that would kill artistes half his age. Dubbed the 'never-ending tour', he's been on the road since June 7, 1988 (for a little perspective, Rihanna was 4-months-old then, while Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber were yet to be born). He is one of the few giants from the '60s - along with Paul Simon, Leonard Cohen, Paul McCartney and Willie Nelson - who is still relevant today and not just living off his reputation. Look at the numbers: He has 34 studio albums, over 500 songs, 3, 000 concerts, 11 Grammys, an Oscar, two doctorates (he fell asleep during one ceremony) and nominations for the Nobel Prize for Literature. 

No musician in the history of rock 'n ' roll has had his life scrutinised so closely as Dylan. To mark his 70th birthday, the University of Bristol has organised a conference titled 'The seven ages of Dylan'. There are hordes of self-proclaimed Dylanogists, led by AJ Weberman, who questioned his every lyric and interpreted his every move. Weberman, who Rolling Stone magazine called "the king of all Dylan nuts", was once beaten up by the singer for going through his garbage to find clues to deconstruct the man born Robert Allan Zimmerman. This was in the '60s, when Dylan's 'finger-pointing' lyrics chronicled an era of huge social unrest in America, marked by the Civil Rights movement and Vietnam war. Blowin' in the wind, The times they are a-changin', and Like a rolling stone, which was later named the greatest song in rock 'n' roll history, became anthems that echoed the contemporary conscience. 

While many believed that his early lyrics espoused a particular political cause, a closer analysis reveals that they addressed the larger human issues of justice, freedom and love. He's continued in that vein to this day. His latest and most controversial set of concerts in communist China and Vietnam, his critics said, contained song lists that were censored by the government. "He took his pile of communist cash and left," wrote one bitter critic on the internet. Another disagreed, "The fact that Dylan showed up there was sufficient to portray the voices of protest." A little later, Dylan posted a typically sarcastic clarification on his website explaining his position, saying that the government approved the list of songs he sent them without any changes. He ended with a sardonic flourish aimed at the myth-makers: "Everybody knows by now that there's a gazillion books on me either out or coming out in the near future. So I'm encouraging anybody who's ever met me, heard me or even seen me, to get in on the action and scribble their own book. You never know, somebody might have a great book in them."

Dylan has never really cared about what people think of him. Even in the '60s, when he "struck the chords of American history", as Bill Clinton described it, he wasn't pretty rock star material. He didn't have Joan Baez's vibrato, Jimi Hendrix's passion or Jim Morrison's aura. His hair was messy, his voice strange, his tendency to suddenly bring out a harmonica unusual, and his habit of routinely taking up 'political' issues unheard of. But instead of grooming himself to be what a rock star was expected to be, he created an image and personality entirely his own. Rock music, which was described as "a bunch of raving shit" by Lester Bangs, suddenly had a heavy dose of intellectualism injected into it. Primarily responsible for that was the "unwashed phenomenon", Bob Dylan. 

Yet, like the times he sings about, his music too keeps changing. The clean-shaven man who used to sling an acoustic over his shoulder has taken country, blues, rockabilly, folk, swing and jazz in his stride. In 2009, he even released a charity Christmas album, confounding critics, as he has done consistently for 50 years. The 'political' lyrics, which he preferred to call 'finger-pointing' have disappeared in his recent works, and his writings now suggest that he's an aging rocker coming to terms with the injustices of the world. "Big politician telling lies/Restaurant kitchen, all full of flies. . . Wives are leavin' their husbands, they beginning to roam/ They leave the party and they never get home / I wouldn't change it, even if I could/ You know what they say man, it's all good." 

Despite living under a spotlight, Dylan has managed to retain his reclusiveness. The aura of mystery that he has wrapped himself in is something today's overexposed musicians would die to have. He reinforces his contrarian reputation before every concert by mocking all the honorifics thrust upon him down the years: "The poet laureate of rock 'n' roll. The voice of the promise of the '60s counterculture. The guy who forced folk into bed with rock. Who donned makeup in the '70s and disappeared into a haze of substance abuse. Who emerged to find Jesus. Who was written off as a hasbeen by the end of the '80s but who went on to release some of the strongest music of his career. Ladies and gentlemen - Columbia recording artist Bob Dylan!" 

To his legion of followers, he's all of this and none of it. He famously said what's important to him is "for me to come to the bottom of this legend thing, which has no reality at all. What's important isn't the legend, but the art, the work". His fans disagree. For most, the cult of Dylan is as important as his works. It's another matter that even if he passes on without another song, his songbook will stay forever young.

This article was first published on The Times of India's Crest edition dated May 28, 2011.

On Vagator beach, a prayer for Japan

Nigel Britto

For those not used to it, Tibetan sacred music can be a rather rattling experience. No gentle sounds of running water and flutes calm the mind, and no pleasant melodies by stringed instruments lull the soul. 

When the robed Tibetan monks began their chants for Japan on Vagator beach on Friday, it was with an intense, low guttural growl. With little by way of musical accompaniment except cymbals and the piercing Dungchen horns, it was only the monks' formidable vocal cords that provided an aurally magical and transcendental experience for the few hundred gathered around. 

In the distance, much like William Wordsworth's Daffodils, the Lungta flags were fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Illuminated by bulbs in painted black bottles at their bases, they stretched in a never-ending line, along a spiral path into the lofty hills beyond. 

The six hundred vertical flags, named after a mythical Tibetan horse that carries prayers from earth to the high heavens, represent the six million people of Tibet. In the midst of the serenity, many an individual seeking solitude meditated to the flapping sound and the cool sea breeze that surrounded it. 

Then, in the lit up area on green and red carpets, the monks started dancing. If the singing ones wore a bright yellow Shamu hat, the Cham dancers wore an elaborately coloured and crafted costume with a black hat. The twirling dance, somewhat reminiscent of the Sufi dervishes of the middle-east, is an annual ritual to exorcise evil, and is rarely seen outside a few, inaccessible Buddhist monasteries in the upper realms of the Himalayas. 

Beyond the dances and the flags, a full-blown Tibetan cultural festival was in progress; locals as well as tourists made a beeline for the stalls selling necklaces, pendants, cuisine and the famous Tibetan singing bowls. Many of the stalls had chants playing, and interested foreigners browsed through, holding them on their palms and testing their tones. 

The Tibetan vendors, known by reputation to be a largely honest bunch, resorted to no annoying sales gimmicks and peacefully demonstrated the utility of their wares to any inquisitive soul that cared to wander by. 

The installation and festival were conceptualized by artist Subodh Kerkar when he visited Sikkim in 2009. "I saw the flags on the mountains, and was immediately struck by their beauty, simplicity and peaceful nature," he told TOI near the Lungtas on the beach. He then decided to install them in Goa by the sea. 

"Then, last month, I met His Holiness the Dalai Lama, who blessed the project and asked me to have it on March 10, which is the 52nd anniversary of the Tibetan revolution", he adds. 

Kerkar then contacted the Tibetan community in Goa and asked them to be part of the project, in what is probably the first time an effort has been made to assimilate Goa's Tibetans into the community. 

A firm believer in the Tibetan cause, Kerkar got the flags shipped in from Sikkim, and dyed them at his studio at Pilerne. Up in the Himalayas, the flags symbolize the carrying of blessings to all beings; as the flags age, the Tibetans install new flags alongside the old, a metaphor of life moving on and always being replaced by the new. 

Here in Goa, Kerkar says it symbolizes the ocean praying for the freedom of snow, referring to Tibet's troubled relationship with China and its freedom struggle. 

"The Tibetans sell jewellery, but lack the most important jewel of all—freedom", he trails off. The Lungtas will stand on Vagator beach till March 17. 

This article was first published in The Times of India's Goa edition dated March 13, 2011.

Coomi and her Faithful

Nigel Britto

The Mormon Tabernacle Choir, perhaps the world's greatest choral group today, was once described by Ronald Reagan as "America's Choir". To him, it epitomized the spirit of America. The 160-year-old choir, which is made up entirely of volunteers, was also called "a national treasure" by another US president, George H W Bush. In a country where the choral tradition is as strong as its military prowess, the Tabernacle choir's ability to constantly evolve its craft and stay ahead of the many hundred choirs in America is unmatched anywhere in the world. 

India, on the other hand, is not a land of choirs. Its rich musical tradition focuses on the individual rather than choral prowess. Since 1950, Mumbai's iconic Paranjoti Academy Chorus has been India's best answer to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Like its American counterpart, the Paranjoti has a long, unbroken tradition, volunteer members, a dedicated conductor and a constantly evolving repertoire. As the flag-bearers of the choral tradition in India, the choir has toured the world extensively, to great response, and performs in a mind-boggling 22 languages, many of them Indian. 

It's 8 pm at the majestic Chapel of Our Lady of Monte at Old Goa, and there's a gardi (crowd) at the door. This is a free concert, and the Paranjoti are performing here after over 40 years. Inside, people wait patiently for the recital to start;soon, two rows of men and women file in. The men are in dapper black suits, the women in purple saris. Even the Chapel's resident owl, who's usually hyper-active, knows it's time to be quiet, and sits peacefully on a ledge above the altar. At first glance, the choir looks like any other. And then they start to sing. 

There is no amplification here, so the choir's extraordinary sound - rich in dynamics and extremely powerful - has no support. As the sound ricochets off the 400-year-old walls, it makes one think that this is what the angels surrounding god's throne in the high heavens must sound like. 

The Paranjoti members are as varied as their repertoire. The youngest singer is 18 and the oldest close to 80. Its formidable conductor Coomi Wadia has been with the choir for over half a century, first as a singer and then its conductor and director of music. Some of the singers are students, some professionals, one is a vice-president of a multinational bank, one is a prominent HR consultant. Some are Christians, some are Parsees, some Goans, some Mumbaikars and some South Indians. What makes the choir's performance so incredible is the singers' ability to memorize entire presentations in different languages. In addition, they normally perform acapella (without instrumental accompaniment), as they did in Goa, and the absence of both accompanists and musical scores makes it even more challenging to hit the right notes at the right time. 

The choir is named after its founder, Dr Victor Paranjoti, who led and groomed it till his death on February 1, 1967. A little later that year, the choir, under the baton of his protêgê Coomi Wadia, performed a tribute. During Paranjoti's lifetime, Wadia sometimes led the choir when he was unavailable, so in 1967, "I was unanimously chosen to lead, " she says. From then till the choir's most recent performance in Goa, Wadia has led the choir and, despite members drifting in and out, maintained a standard rarely seen in Indian ensembles. 

Sitting on a bench inside the majestic stone basilica where her choir gave a short recital after Sunday Mass, she recalls her early days as conductor. "When I first took over, many people thought I wouldn't last, " she says. And if it hadn't been for her husband Nariman, who also sometimes writes music for the choir, she wouldn't. "I'm where I am today because of his constant support. Over the last 50 years, my life has revolved around the Paranjoti chorus, every decision I take has to bear in mind the choir, " she says. Although happy with the giant strides the choir has made, the constant turnover and the way members float in and out continues to be a source of concern. 

Wadia also has another choir, Singing Tree, made up of young children. Some of these members eventually graduate into the PAC, like doctorin-training Ranzelle Fernandes and commerce student Freya Mazda. They're the youngest members of the PAC, have been so since 13, and are open in their admiration of their conductor. "I adore her, " Fernandes says. Both say "she's a perfectionist and it's a privilege to work with her". Another member, Christopher, who has sung with the choir for 25 years, describes Wadia as "a class apart". 

In Goa, the choir started with a Konkani song, followed by original compositions, songs based on the Upanishads, Negro spirituals and innovative adaptations of popular hymns. Of late, many other Indian choirs have expanded their repertoire to Bollywood to garner new fans. But Wadia will hear none of it. "We're a choral group, " she says. "We'd rather bring people to our level than go to theirs."

This article was first published in The Times of India's Crest edition dated March 12, 2011.

Song to the Sirens

Jane Russell, who died recently, was among of the best-known of classic Hollywood's sultry sirens

Nigel Britto

It all started with Jean Harlow. If she'd lived, she would have been 100 this month. In her first major role in Hell's Angel, she shocked audiences with her generous exposure and the immortal line: "Would you be shocked if I put on something more comfortable?" She was 18 and the year was 1930. A little later, she played an adulteress in Red-Headed Woman, another role following the same underlying theme - using her sexuality to stop at nothing. In an era when curves were out and being flat was the rage, the platinum blonde was the first actress to peddle her bosom, as it was called then, as an object of erotic fantasy. 

Across the Atlantic, Marlene Dietrich was German director Josef von Sternberg's Harlow;he cast her in several perverse dramas;in her iconic role in The Blue Angel, she played the cheap floozy Lola Lola, a manipulative and scratchy-voiced cabaret singer who reduced a professor to a smitten cabaret clown when he went to find out why his students were circulating pictures of her. The then-shocking role, along with her trademark song Falling in love again, introduced Dietrich to the worldwide audience. Later in Hollywood, she would go on to become one of the highest-paid actresses of her era. 

If the early sirens set the tone for sexuality in cinema, which was still taboo back then, Jane Russell broke the glass ceiling in 1942 in The Outlaw. Her 'twin-engines' were the driving force behind the film;when the controversial film's director Howard Hughes realized that his cameras didn't do justice to Russell's huge assets, he deployed his engineering skills to invent the now-legendary cantilevered underwire brassiere with an innovative design that allowed the 'bosom' to be generously exposed. 

Russell acted in several other films, mostly comedies, post-Outlaw that partially erased her notorious image;but when she died last week due to breathing complications aged 89, most tributes and obituaries still focused on her obvious. Once introduced as 'the two and only' by comedian Bob Hope, Russell was the last of the trio that opened the floodgates for sexual content in mainstream cinema. Though Harlow and Dietrich laid the groundwork with their blip-on-the-radar roles, it was Russell's devil-may-care on-screen attitude that is today seen as the most avant garde of all early siren's roles. 

Today, roles like those of Russell, Harlow or Dietrich would probably elicit a 'meh' from an informed moviegoer, but back then, it was addressing the figurative elephant in the living room. In the modern era, 'leaking' a sex tape may be an established path to celebrityhood;family dramas and even some animated serials have sufficient explicit content to make a seasoned sailor squirm. 

Yet, in the 40s and before, Russell's roles were indeed a big deal. In addition, she also laid the foundation for the popular acceptance and admiration of Marilyn Monroe, the greatest sex symbol of all time and the person whose image comes to mind whenever the two words are used together. The impossible combination of physical characteristics she possessed have never been captured better than in the promo for the film The Seven Year Itch. 

Norma Jean, as she was born, largely built on the groundwork Russell had laid down and arguably influenced the subsequent golden age of sexuality which came in the form of Hugh Hefner's Playboy Empire. The musical Gentlemen Prefer Blondes pitted Russell and Monroe as best friends - it was the brunette's lightning-quick wit against Monroe's legendary, more memorable role as the gold-digging Lorelei Lee. 

Half a century later, sex symbols continue to come and go;society's perception of what's sexy and what's not may have changed, but its objectification of beauty hasn't. Cinema has sold female sexuality right from the silent movie era: the first striptease was by Louise Willy in the 1896 film Le Coucher de la Maria. The same year saw perhaps the first instance of censorship in Fatima's Coochie-Coochie Dance, her gyrating pelvis was too much to handle, as was May Irwin Kiss, a less-than-a-minute-long film which was branded pornographic and caused the Vatican to call for censorship. 

Today, lip locks of that kind appear on primetime TV and are hardly considered embarrassing. The change in perception of sex symbols is hardly exemplified better than the male variety. Generally, male stars have never been branded sex symbols, and have not lit up the sets the way the women do. In the 1920s, Rudolph Valentino was everybody's dream man - called the Latin lover, he's one of the most-recognized faces of the silent movie era. 

A little later, women preferred the supersophisticated charmers;Paul Newman's blue eyes and prominent locks, Cary Grant's tuxedos and slicked hair, Fred Astaire and his top-hats, and then Sir Laurence Olivier's attitude and impeccable accent. Legend has it that when the ultimate female and male sex symbols met on the sets on The Prince and the Showgirl, Olivier refused to acknowledge Monroe as an equal. Cinematographer Jack Cardiff writes "Olivier went out of his way to be a pain in the arse to Marilyn". He even invited his wife, Gone With The Wind star Vivien Leigh, to the sets to freak Monroe out. 

Today, the perception of sexy has gone from debonaire to grungy. Not too long ago, the rugged Johnny Depp was voted the sexiest man alive. Known for his rather unconventional roles, his multiple tattoos and weird fashion sense, he is a far cry from the well-polished, three-piece tuxedo-clad dream men of yesteryears. Ditto with the fairer sex;the Gibson girl, an artiste-created personification of the feminine ideal at the turn of the century, has given way to sex symbols of all flavours;the not necessarily attractive vamps (Clara Bow), the shortskirted flappers (Louise Brooks), the bombshells (Harlow, Dietrich, Mae West), the girl next door (Judy Garland), the playful gamine (Audrey Hepburn), the bimbos (Farah Fawcett, Adrienne Barbeau), and the ambitious (Madonna, Megan Fox) while Rudoph Valentino has given way to the bad boys (Marlon Brando), the gentleman (Richard Gere), the vulnerable (Dustin Hoffman) and the rebels (George Clooney, Denzel Washington). 

Towards the end of her career, Jane Russell switched roles. From ultra-liberal to ultra-conservative, she founded the Hollywood Christian Group, a weekly Biblestudy for Christians in the movie business. A little later, she described herself thus: "These days, I am a teetotal, mean-spirited, right-wing, narrowminded, conservative Christian bigot, but not a racist". She also expressed concern about the decreasing morality in movies. And when a confused fan asked her about her change in roles, she replied, "Hey, buddy, Christians have big breasts too".

This article was first published in The Times of India's Crest edition dated March 12, 2011.

These dwarf the Oscars

Nigel Britto

On the first-floor balcony of a sprawling mansion in Parra, thirty-odd amateur video journalists sit cross-legged on blue and orange mats, chattering excitedly in anticipation of what, to them, is a ceremony far bigger than the Oscars. 

They are community journalists of the 'India Unheard' campaign; change-makers from some of India's most remote districts and marginalized communities, who use their cameras to shout from the rooftops the ills that plague their world. The backdrop is open and simple; it's only a big 'India Unheard' banner that breaks the monotony of the trees beyond. 

The awards ceremony is part of a longer training workshop, where these 'community correspondents' sharpen their skills and are helped to master their craft. Even the shoddy development around is a far cry from the Maoist and prejudice-infested areas many of them come from. As they prepare to receive their awards, their constant chatter and laughter rises to the yellow corrugated tin roof; this bunch, whose videos appear on a private national TV channel in what is the first programme of its kind in the world, are heroes of the other India, one that is fast-threatening to break the status quo. 

As the ceremony starts, actor Abhay Deol, who's come to present the awards, seems as much in awe of them as they are of him. "I deeply respect those who take up philanthropic work as a career," he told TOI; he's been associated with the India Unheard movement for a year and a half now. As he distributes the awards, the changemakers who comprise this motley crew take notable pride in the accomplishments of their colleagues. 

Here's how they work: the 'correspondents' select issues in their locality they need to highlight, get it approved by an editorial board, and when they shoot it, they courier the DVD across to Goa along with a paper edit, where an editorial board follows the instructions and puts the villager's dreams into concrete form. "We have a zero-rejection policy," says their long-haired and multilingual leader Stalin K, India director of Video Volunteers, the organization that's behind this movement. "This is the first time in the world a TV channel has paid to use content from the poor," he adds proudly. 

But then, even this apparently simple model can afford hardships. Daniel Mate, 26, is from Manipur and has travelled seven days to get to Goa. His village is so remote, he travels 80 km just to get to the nearest town (Imphal) to post his videos. One of his films on health issues, which he uploaded on Facebook, was watched by Manipuris in Bangalore, and in a few days cartons of medicines found their way into his village. 

Ajeet Bahadur, who reports from a village near Allahabad, exposed self-proclaimed spiritual man Satyam Yogi's misdeeds on the internet, and sarcastically says that "he's an expert in Kriya Yoga and land-grabbing". The land he grabs is of dalits, who are usually too afraid to speak," he adds. When the editorial board warned Bahadur about taking on the powerful Yogi, he accused the board of 'being cowards' and went ahead with the story anyway. Bhan Sahu, a gutsy woman who reports from Rajnand in Chhatisgarh and won an award here for her courage, is often branded a Naxalite for her relentless non-violent fight against injustice. Satyavan Verma from Haryana was sarpanch for five years before he joined the team. "I feel empowered and responsive towards the community," he says. Jay Kumar from Ludhiana is a geology major, but left it all to effect change. 

Apart from the 'predictable' awards, the ceremony also featured quirky categories like 'Most promises made and not kept', the winner of which promptly thanked the politicians from whom he draws inspiration. 

The million dollar question: Is this massive project likely to effect change? "Yes," says Tamara Gordon, a media veteran who's worked at the Community Programme unit of the BBC for over two decades. "I've seen this concept develop over 20 years, when we distributed 400 cameras to communities in England and encouraged them to come out with their own videos... These guys here are brilliant," she says, gesturing around the room and adding that the videos are of a very high standard, apart from being empowering and hard-hitting. 

The 'India Unheard' campaign has also found a fan in Avatar star Stephen Lang. "Video Volunteers is creating a kind of grassroots Reuters. They have created an alternative media in places that don't have cinemas or TV or even regular electricity. As an actor, it is amazing to see people who have so little producing such interesting media," he says. 

This article was first published on The Times of India's Goa edition on February 27, 2011.

Oscars, why no comedy?

Nigel Britto

As he grows older, Uncle Oscar seems to be losing his sense of humour. The Oscar nominations are rarely easy to agree with. Most of the time, the Academy voters seem rather clumsy and biased. The 2009 Oscars exemplified it perfectly, when they left Dark Knight and Wall-E out of the Best Picture race. The following year, they partially redeemed themselves: nominating District 9 and the animated Up were rather unique choices. 

This year, the AMPAS is back to their conservative best. Perhaps realising that pickings were slim this year, the Academy evidently stuck with the same list of films that have been recognised and applauded by all and sundry over the last few months. Black Swan leads the nominations with 12, but will the Academy 'like' the Facebook film better? 

Whatever the decision, this year's nominations have continued a long tradition that has confounded fans for decades: Why does the Academy persistently refuse to honour comedies? The last time a pure comedy won the Best Picture Oscar was when Annie Hall got the award in 1977. Before that, it was It Happened One Night in 1934. To be fair, the Academy off-and-on does nominate comic performances, but chances of winning are virtually zilch. Charlie Chaplin, perhaps the greatest comedic genius of all time, probably deserved an Oscar for every category imaginable, but he never won an Oscar for his directing or acting, and only in retrospect was he given some special awards, also known as the 'sorry we didn't think you were so good' awards. Even when Uncle Oscar was younger, his sense of humour was Tr. In the 1930s, some comedies did win Best Picture Oscars, but the era's true masters, Laurel and Hardy and The Marx Brothers, were ignored. In the 50s, he ignored the ageless Marilyn Monroe-starrer Some Like It Hot, and till the '70s, only three more films were accoladed. Since then, the funniest Best Picture statuettes have gone to slightly funny films like Driving Miss Daisy (1990) and Shakespeare in Love (1998) which are hardly laugh-out-loud creations. The ones which occasionally pick nominations are amusing, dramatic films, but none that would throw people in guffaws. 

The trend could have been changed in 2009, a generally depressing year because of the recession. But no, the AMPAS refused to budge. Of course, there is no Oscar for Best Comedy (" What do you think we are, the Golden Globes?" is the famous argument). Hence, in the recent past, films like the outrageous Borat and the ridiculously funny Hangover, both obviously not made to impress the purist but with the sole intention of making people laugh, have had to remain outside Uncle Oscar's radar. Although over the years the need for a Best Comedy Oscar is pretty evident, the ageing guru insists on keeping his focus on feel-good fare with rather morose and largely solitary and lovelorn characters (think Slumdog Millionaire). 

In a world that's increasingly getting filled with death and destruction, there's no time like the present for introducing a Best Comedy Oscar. Agreed, it's a lesser art form - one US commentator described it as being like the girl you sleep with but never want to marry - and it's a medically proven fact that everybody needs a good laugh, so why not appreciate the power of humour and tell some director, "Ok, dude, that was bloody hilarious. Here's your Oscar" ? The Animation people got their own category in 2001, so the Academy is open to new categories;and unless it does so and starts this long-overdue category, it will be the Oscar agnostics who will continue to have the last laugh.

This article was first published in The Times of India's Crest edition on February 26, 2011.

The Academy's royal snub

The Oscars honour the best cinema every year. Over the years, however, they've committed a bunch of phenomenal goofs.

Nigel Britto

If it weren't for Margaret Herrick, we wouldn't be calling them the Oscars. In 1931, the executive secretary of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) saw the little statuette and famously remarked how the little golden guy reminded her so much of her "Uncle Oscar", a nickname for a cousin, Oscar Pierce. Over the years, the nick has flourished;the Oscars have evolved into the most prestigious, publicised and sought-after accolades of the movie world. But when it comes to consensus, Uncle Oscar seems to be a grouchy old man. In his 83 years, rarely, if ever, has he concurred with critical opinion. He tends to laud feel-good movies rather than those with true artistic brilliance (remember Hurt Locker winning over Avatar last year?) When the 120-odd nominations were announced this year, the internet was abuzz with outrage at one shocking omission: Christopher Nolan. 

By all accounts, he is the director of the decade gone by. Perhaps, the Academy could be forgiven for ignoring his directorial genius in Batman Begins, but ignoring it in Dark Knight at the 2009 Oscars was a shame. Even host Hugh Jackman, during his tribute, sang, "How come comic book movies never get nominated? How can a billion dollars be unsophisticated?" If that snub was travesty, this AMPAS' decision this year not to nominate him for Inception is sacrilege. Critics and audiences around the world testify that the movie displays serious film-making virtuosity rarely seen before. But there's no love lost for Nolan. He lost the nomination to True Grit's Ethen and Joel Coen, who, unlike Nolan, were not nominated by the Director's Guild. Hans Zimmer, who composed the music for Inception, says Nolan was robbed of the honour. "My instinct tells me that because it was a commercial success, suddenly they took the idea of artfulness away from him", he said. 

The curious case of Christopher Nolan bears some similarities with that of Steven Spielberg. Much before he eventually won three Oscars, he wasn't quite a favourite among the jury. In 1975, his seminal work Jaws, the year's greatest hit, received a nod, but there was nothing for him. It was only in 1994, with the groundbreaking Schindler's List, that he finally got his hands on the elusive little fellow. Nolan is 40 now, and his Oscar nominations count add up to zero;Spielberg, by 40, had at least a few;his 1985 hit, The Color Purple, had 11 nominations, but strangely none for best director. 

If Nolan doesn't find favour with the Academy soon, he will join a long list of great directors that have been snubbed by Uncle Oscar. Top of the list is Martin Scorcese, arguably the greatest director of our time. Nominated five times, he won his first Best Director Oscar only in 2007, after all his finest work was ignored. Alfred Hitchcock, on the other hand, whose distinctive directorial style of evoking fear and suspense in audiences is unmatched to this day, won five nominations, but never an Oscar. Neither did Stanley Kubrick, whose epic 2001: A Space Odyssey still confounds viewers after over 40 years, or the extraordinary Buster Keaton, whose perpetual deadpan expression in his trademark silent movies gave him the moniker "the Great stone face". Critic Roger Ebert called Keaton "perhaps the greatest director-actor in the history of movies", but the AMPAS jury wasn't impressed. 

Neither were they impressed with George Lucas, creator of Star Wars and Indiana Jones. During the 2007 Oscars, when he, Francis Ford Coppola and Steven Spielberg presented their friend Scorcese his first Oscar for direction, Coppola and Spielberg spoke about the thrill of winning an Oscar, light-heartedly poking fun at Lucas, who has never won a competitive Oscar. Another director in the same category is Norman Jewison, the brain behind musicals Fiddler on the Roof and Jesus Christ Superstar;he too, hasn't won a competitive Oscar yet (both Spielberg and Jewison have won Thalberg awards. They're named after the former head of Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer studios, are based on works spanning an entire career, and are not competitive). Closer home, Satyajit Ray, perhaps India's greatest director, too never won an Oscar for best direction, but Mel Gibson has - ostensibly, he's a better director. 

It's not only with directors that the AMPAS plays truant. Actor Peter O'Toole exemplifies the unpredictable nature of the Oscars. He has been nominated eight times for Best Actor, starting from 1963 (for his role in Lawrence of Arabia) to 2007 (Venus), where he finally won it. Previously, he had lost it to some career-defining performances that included those by Gregory Peck (1962, To Kill a Mockingbird), Rex Harrison (1964, My Fair Lady), Marlon Brando (1972, The Godfather) and Ben Kingsley (1982, Gandhi). While Fred Astaire, one of the greatest actors of all time, never won an Oscar, Art Carney won the 'Best Actor' award in 1974 for going on the road with a cat. In doing so, he beat Al Pacino in Godfather II and Dustin Hoffman in Lenny. Go figure. 

An institution that goofs up more than it gets it right cannot accurately claim to be indicative of good Hollywood cinema. This is an institution that gave Slumdog Millionaire an Oscar the year Dark Knight didn't get a nomination;an institution that ignored Charlie Chaplin's best works (notably Great Dictator) for reasons best known to them, an institution that gave Forrest Gump the Oscar in the year of Pulp Fiction and The Shawshank Redemption, an institution that never lauded Marilyn Monroe, who, apart from being a sex symbol, was a brilliant actress especially in films like Laurence Olivier's The Prince And The Showgirl and Billy Wilder's Some Like It Hot;and above all, an institution that, in 1941, gave an Oscar to How Green Was My Valley while ignoring Citizen Kane, which is often considered the greatest film ever made (director Orson Welles was just 25); and one that gave the 1933 Oscar to Cavalcade, when the year's seminal film, King Kong wasn't even nominated. 

That the AMPAS is a highly political organisation with intense lobbying rather than true merit deciding the final winners is a foregone conclusion. Add to that, the increasing length of the ceremony with the same rhetoric every year (thank you speeches, "I couldn't have done it without..." botox, etc) reduces its appeal even further. Till the AMPAS gets its act together, the Oscars will continue to be a win-or-lose gambling game that sparks more debate and discussion all other entertainment awards combined. 

Now, a look at some of Uncle Oscar's biggest misses over the years: 

KING KONG (1933) | Best picture | 

The snub that started the rot. The original King Kong, about a gorilla on an island who had a thing for the blonde Ann Darrow, got nothing at the Oscars. The subsequent Kong Kongs didn't quite match up to this one. 

INGRID BERGMAN (1943) | Best actress 

Humphrey Bogart's lost love Ilsa Luna in Casablanca may have gotten her immortality, but not the Oscar. The Best Actress award went to Jennifer Jones for The Song of Bernadette. 

CITIZEN KANE (1941) | Best film 

The greatest film ever made should have won at least four Oscars, but it instead took home just one measly Oscar, that too for Best Screenplay! Best Picture went to How Green Is My Valley 

JUDY GARLAND (1939) | Best actress 

The competition was close, but most believed 17-year-old Garland's performance in The Wizard of Oz eclipsed Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind. Garland wasn't even nominated. 

STANLEY KUBRICK (1968) | Best director 

Kubrick would be on anyone's list of top-5 directors, but his epic 2001: A Space Odysseyhad to make do with an insignificant Oscar for Best Visual Effects'. Carol Reed won the Best Director award for Oliver! 

FIGHT CLUB (1999) | Best actor, Best picture 

One of the most talkedabout films of all time, Fight Clublost the Best Picture Oscar to American Beauty. Norton, too, lost to Kevin Spacey in the same film, which is hardly his best role. 

PULP FICTION (1995) | Best picture 

It will take millennia how to figure out how Forrest Gumpwon Best Picture when the competition comprised Pulp Fiction and The Shawshank Redemption. The Consolation? Best Original Screenplay 

TOPOL (1972) | Best actor 

Playing a poor peasant in pre-revolution Russia, Topol almost single-handedly led the 3-hour-long Fiddler On The Roof in arguably the most prominent role ever played in a musical. He lost the award to Gene Hackman in The French Connection

This article was first published in The Times of India's Crest edition dated February 26, 2011.