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.

Gary Moore strums no more

Irish blues legend dies at 58

Nigel Britto

The blues has lost some of its melody. Last Sunday, in a hotel room in sunny Spain, Gary Moore, the renowned Irish axeman whose exploits on the guitar made George Harrison once complain, "He makes me sound like a skiffler, " passed away after a suspected heart attack. He was 58. During a forty-year career, first as a rocker and then a bluesman, he could make his guitar weep, moan and scream. His guitar work, songwriting and vocal prowess put him up there in the Irish holy trinity along with blues giants Rory Gallagher and Van Morrison. 

Moore began playing the acoustic guitar at 8. His early influences were BB King and The Beatles, but it wasn't until he saw Jimi Hendrix in Belfast that he developed the blues-rock sensibility that became his dominant style. Another early influence was Peter Green of Fleetwood Mac. Moore unashamedly and passionately promoted his mentor throughout his career, especially with his 1995 release Blues for Greeny, which consisted entirely of Green's work. Till the end, he would continue his on-and-off love affair with the blues. 

At 16, he moved from Belfast to Dublin to join Skid Row, where he made his mark. A little later, he met Phil Lynott, with whom he would team up to form Thin Lizzy, one of the most influential hard rock bands of the era. Through the late '70s and early '80s, his involvement with bands did not stop him from pursuing a solo career, right from his first release, Grinding Stone, in 1973 to his last, Bad for you baby, in 2008. He dabbled in a variety of music styles from rock to metal to dance. 

Generally associated with rock in the prime of his career, his 1990 album Still got the blues, his most famous one, marked his return to his favourite genre. The title track, along with Parisienne Walkways, his first big hit with Phil Lynott in 1979, is among his most seminal and instantly recognisable works. He remained a bluesman till 1997, when he experimented with dance beats in Dark days in Paradise. The sudden change left his fans angry and confused, but not for long. In 2001, he released Back to the blues, and remained a bluesman to his death. 

An unusually quiet and reserved personality, Moore collaborated with a multitude of artistes that included Andrew Lloyd Webber, Ozzy Osbourne and George Harrison. His low-key demeanour meant he lived in the constant shadow of the high-profile Eric Clapton, and this was a constant source of annoyance to Moore's fans who felt that Clapton was considerably less skilled on the guitar. 

"To say that his (Moore's ) death is a tragic loss doesn't seem to give it the justice it deserves, " his longtime friend Ozzy Osbourne told a magazine. "It's terrible, 58 is just too early, " said Queen's drummer Roger Taylor. "Virtuosity is something we really don't have now. " Bob Geldof called his playing "exceptional and beautiful", saying "he's one of the greatest blues players ever;we won't see his like again", while Bryan Adams called him a "guitarist extraordinaire". 

Silence has fallen on Parisienne Walkways. The only consolation for his fans is the enormous body of work he has left behind and the knowledge that nobody can or will bring the guitar to life as Gary Moore did for a long, long time to come.

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

The end of a Jazzman's yatra

One of India's most sophisticated jazz musicians ever, Braz Gonsalves lays down his saxophone

Nigel Britto

For most of the younger generation, he’s ‘Uncle Braz’; the quiet, pious gentleman who occasionally plays hymns on his saxophone. Mention his name to a jazz enthusiast, though, and jaws will drop. In his 77 years, Braz Gonsalves has donned many hats. From jazz pioneer to spiritual flop, redeemed son of God to musical mentor, the story of one of India’s greatest musicians will unfold at a momentous concert at Kala Academy on Thursday.

He was born in Neura in 1934, the young Braz inherited his father’s musical legacy; Laurence Gonsalves was the choirmaster of Santana for three decades. Braz was the fourth of seven siblings, and the only one inclined towards music. Initially trained at parochial schools, his unique soprano vocal range took him to parishes around Goa; his repertoire included everything from Latin masses to Motetis to Gregorian chants. “That was the real music,” he reminisces.

It would be many decades later that Gonsalves would become a fierce soldier of God, but the roots of that eventuality were sown in his childhood. At seven, he lost his mother. “I felt lonely then,” he recalls. Oftentimes, he wandered around Church, looking at the various pictures and statues that adorned its walls. It was then that he found solace in the Virgin Mary, the first step of his spiritual journey. “Jesus gave me his mother since I didn’t have my own,” he says, matter-of-factly. Even then, in the ’40s, music was an integral part of his life. He hadn’t yet met his beloved saxophone; his musical studies were limited to the clarinet and violin; the sax, which was to bring him worldwide renown, was the logical next step.

His debut as a performer was rather unflattering—a band at the Kamala circus, where he was spotted while touring Delhi. A jazz band in the capital, tired of its own saxophonist’s drunken ways and health complications, asked Gonsalves to replace him. At 19, this was a dream opportunity; he moved to Delhi. Unfortunately for him, the saxophonist recovered as soon as he reached. He was jobless in a strange land, but not for long. Gonsalves got his break when the saxophone player of another Delhi-based band migrated to Goa. Quickly, he made his mark. He was offered a gig in Srinagar, which, before it became a strife-torn hell, was a hotbed of jazz and the British club culture.

“That was my first band,” he wistfully recalls. A six-month contract was sufficient time for Gonsalves to make a name for himself. After impressing one and all in Kashmir, he returned to Delhi, jobless but inspired, and then to Mumbai. A Neura club there became his regular hangout zone. At this point, “I practiced a minimum of eight hours a day,” he says. It paid off. His reputation as a master of his instrument grew; his solos on radio made him something of a household name. His reputation spread across the country to Kolkata, where he joined his first ‘big band’. At 21, he led its reed section. “We played complex bebop music then; those were the days of Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker. I began to improvise by ear,” he says.

On his return to Mumbai, he met Chic Chocolate, who was then one of India’s finest trumpeters, who bore a close resemblance to Louis Armstrong. Gonsalves’ interest in Chocolate transcended his musical genius; on 27 November 1967, Gonsalves married his daughter Yvonne. “Soon after, someone told me about a talented pianist from Darjeeling called Louiz Banks,” Gonsalves says. Soon, the duo began performing in 1971 with singer Pam Craine in what came to be known as the Louiz Banks Brotherhood.

The collaboration clicked immediately, perhaps because it was the first time two virtuosos joined forces for the love of music. Soon after, Gonsalves suggested to Banks that they move from Kolkata to Mumbai, where the former’s wife, Yvonne, would sing. Banks consented, and having moved from the city of joy to the city of dreams, their stratospheric rise reached epic proportions.

It was at the height of their popularity that Niranjan Zaveri, an entrepreneur, stumbled upon the idea of establishing the Jazz Yatra, an event which would become the quintessential festival for the genre in India. During its first edition in 1978, Gonsalves and Banks were the only Indians in a formidable line-up that boasted saxophonist Sonny Rollins and singer Joe Williams. Gonsalves and Banks were to become regulars at the festival, often overpowering their more illustrious foreign counterparts by the sheer force of talent. Zaveri then requested that they include Indian music in their set too, so the duo teamed up with a Carnatic singer to form the Jazz Yatra Sextet, which debuted to widespread critical acclaim.

It wasn’t long before the duo embarked upon their first Europe trip. “The tour was a massive success; our music was very well received, and we got several offers to go to America,” Gonsalves says. Although intoxicated with the sweet smell of success, Gonsalves also says that spiritually, those were the worst days of his life.

 “I went to Church, but never heard mass. I went for confessions, but never confessed,” he whispers, aware of the moral lacuna he was spiralling into. On a stop in Munich, he stepped out to buy gifts for his family back in Goa, and tripped and fell. “There was no one around, and I was in severe pain,” he says, gesturing towards his wrist, which still bears the sign of that incident. “Lying there in the biting cold, I realized instantly that I had gone too far”, he says, marking the moment that turned his life around. “I screamed to my God, it was just Him and me”, he trails off.

Then, he returned to India. “My wife immediately realized something had dramatically changed,” and she even went to the extent of asking him “why didn’t you just become a priest?” In the months that followed, Gonsalves balanced his musical career with his new-found spirituality. “I fasted every Friday, and repented every night.” Some time later, he wanted to migrate to Canada. He spent three years there before deciding he didn’t like the place; yet, during his years there, he again teamed up with old buddy Banks, for a tour of China and Germany.

Then, he embarked on what he thought would be the last leg of his tour. “I had severe bronchitis, so I wanted to come back to Mumbai and die there,” he says. Though his health was failing, his musical career resurrected, earning him huge amounts of money which afforded him a comfortable lifestyle. Yet, he says, “I thought that this is enough; it’s time for me to serve the Lord.” Any offer he had to play on a Wednesday had to wait, because nothing could clash with his prayer meetings. This was his second innings, one that’s still going strong.

It was only in the early 90s that he completely stopped playing commercial music. “After one concert, I saw a lot of drunken people engaging in questionable behavior and using foul language. I just packed my up saxophone, told the owner of the venue never to call me again, and walked out,” he states with the conviction that comes with rock-solid faith. In 2006, he moved back to his beloved childhood home, Goa. His jazz days are over, he says, and all he plays these days is music that would glorify his God.

Thursday’s concert, an attempt to raise funds for a retreat centre north of Goa, affords the last chance for jazz enthusiasts to witness a spectacle that will in all probability never happen again. Gonsalves and Banks will team up again after decades for the former’s final curtain call. The event, planned to depict Gonsalves’ life, will also feature leading Goan musicians like drummer Lester Godinho, guitarist Savio Martires, percussionist Bondo, and the band Syndicate, among many others. During the second half, jazz will metamorphose into Gospel music, with a bunch of young Goan singers taking the stage, providing the final touches to a towering personality’s career that glitters as brightly as the instrument he now lays down.

This article was first published on The Times of India, Goa, in its edition dated February 3, 2011. A version of the article was also published on The Times of India's Crest edition dated February 12, 2011.

Dude, where's my Grammy?

The Grammies' long list of snubs raises questions whether or not the NARAS really knows what it's doing

Nigel Britto

The Grammies are the holy grail of the music world. No other trophy carries the glamour of the golden gramophone. And yet the award, handed out every year by the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences (NARAS) has been notoriously inconsistent in distinguishing the 'good' from the 'trendy'. 

Classic rock tops the list of Grammy casualties. Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd need no introduction. Neither do Bob Marley, Diana Ross and The Who. The Grateful Dead radicalised the concept of 'jam-band';Rush pioneered progressive rock. Jimi Hendrix is the greatest guitar player of all time. Queen could do anything from rock to jazz to opera. Bohemian Rhapsody is one of the most intricate pieces of music created in the last 50 years. 

Evidently, NARAS wasn't impressed. Not by them or by The Doors, Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, Buddy Holly, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Yardbirds or Neil Young. 

The rot set in in the '60s. 1966 was the year of The Beatles' Eleanor Rigby and The Beach Boys' Good Vibrations. But Winchester Cathedral by The New Vaudeville Band won the award for Best Rock 'n' Roll recording. Few people have heard either the song or of the band since. Of late, NARAS has started doling out Lifetime Achievement awards to the artistes they refused to honour. The Who and Jimi Hendrix are two beneficiaries of these 'consolation prizes'. In the '60s, The Beatles were at the top of their game churning out hit after hit. People fainted at the sound of Paul McCartney's guitar, but the NARAS mandarins weren't among them. The Grammy only acknowledged their presence by naming them 'Best New Artist' in 1966. 

When Rolling Stone magazine released its definitive list of the greatest 500 songs of all time, The Beatles made it to the list 23 times. None of their songs were good enough to win a Best Record Grammy. Yesterday is reportedly the most covered song in history. John Lennon's Imagine could have won the Nobel Prize for Peace. But the golden gramophone went to You've got a friend by Carole King. Strange decision, but not quite as ridiculous as obscure disco band A Taste of Honey pipping Elvis Costello to be named best new artiste a decade later in 1978. 

Two years later, albums of five artistes were nominated for Record of the Year. Four of them are recognised legends: Frank Sinatra, Billy Joel, Barbra Streisand and Pink Floyd. The fifth name won. Christopher Cross. Not one Grammy, but five. Record of the Rear, Song of the Year, Album of the Year, Best New Artist, Best Arrangement. Again, few have heard of him or his music since. 

In 1988, heavy metal was added as a Grammy category, thanks to its growing popularity, largely due to the world's biggest metal band: Metallica. If Black Sabbath's Tony Lommi invented heavy metal, Metallica's Kirk Hammett and James Hetfield improvised on it, and were largely responsible for the metal epidemic that conquered the world in the mid- '80s, where kids grew their hair long, sported tattoos and flashed the devil horns sign. So when metal entered the Grammy fray, there was only one real contender: Metallica. If there was another, it was Iron Maiden. But metal's first Grammy went to Jethro Tull. Many argued that a band whose frontman stood on one leg and played the flute could neither be considered heavy nor metal. And when Metallica finally did win their first Grammy in 1992, drummer Lars Ulrich thanked Tull "for not putting out an album this year". 

In 1992, music faced a revolution of sorts. Nirvana, led by the iconic Kurt Cobain, released Smells like teen spirit, a song that Salinger's Holden Caufield would have been proud to sing, and one that inspired hordes of subsequent rock bands and single-handedly symbolised the grunge era. It wasn't deemed worthy of the Record of the Year award, though. That accolade went to Eric Clapton's mellowed-down version of the '70s hit, Layla. In the '70s, it would have been a fair comparison. In 1992, the knives were out. It was as phenomenal a goof as giving the King, Elvis Presley, only one Grammy, that too in the Gospel category! 

Many fans, especially those who love classic rock, have lost faith in the Grammies. Nitin Malik, frontman of Parikrama, India's biggest classic rock band, says, "The fact that the greatest bands have not really been honoured by the Grammies only means that something is very, very wrong." 

The Grammies aren't the only awards playing truant. Slumdog Millionaire winning eight Oscars to City of God's none is somewhat akin to Rakhi Swayamvaar winning an Emmy over The Sopranos. For the record, Alfred Hitchcock never won an Oscar. In this context, Sant Chatwal's Padma Shri last year seems an appropriate choice.

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

Dr Karan Singh on Vedanta

Nigel Britto

For many with only a passing interest in national affairs, he is the man who could have been president; that somebody else got the top job is another matter. Karan Singh, a former prince whose father signed the historic treaty that made Kashmir part of India, is a personality as towering as his physique. Many Goans with a spiritual bent of mind believed the magic of this year's Kosambi festival of ideas was that the best was saved for last. The man in black didn't disappoint. 

Surprisingly agile for his almost 80 years, he was described as 'today's Vivekananda' by compere Subodh Kerkar. Singh, born in Cannes and a former Indian ambassador to the US, didn't waste time belting rhetoric. "Scriptures should help us meet our contemporary conditions," he said, explaining how the Vedanta is the high watermark of world culture. Distinguishing India's history to the rest of the world, he said, "In our civilization, everything evolved from dialogue. Therefore, it is open to reinterpretation from age to age." 

Not only does he believe that Vedanta is India's greatest contribution to the world, he also asserted that "it is not intimidated by the growth of science and technology". Though armed with notes, he hardly had to refer to them. His presentation smacked of erudition; with eloquence and authority, he propounded the concepts of Brahman and Atman, the all-pervasiveness of the divine, and the presence of the divine in all human beings. He said that it's necessary to develop the inner light so as to yolk together Atman and Brahman. 

With the air of a seasoned university lecturer that instinctively gauges the intellectual prowess of his audience, Singh spoke in impeccable English, joked, switched to Sanskrit when required, and even paused to review points every few minutes. 

Then, he explained the four main kinds of yoga, Gyan yoga (the mind's way), Bhakti yoga (the heart's way), Karma yoga (the hand's way) and Rajya yoga (the royal way). He stressed on the importance of working with dedication, asserting that "the attitude with which you work is more important than that the work you do". He also gently chided the definition of 'Yoga' as understood by the west. "What they think is yoga, those physical exercises, is only a small part", he said, adding that "standing on your head is not condition precedent to spiritual enlightenment". He said the four forms of yoga represent the holistic philosophy of life. 

Singh, who went ahead with his presentation unperturbed despite the mobile phone menace that's fast becoming as integral a part of the festival as the lectures themselves, then explained three concepts that evolved out of the Vedanta teaching-The world as a family, essential unity of all religions, and the welfare of all beings. "We have to accept the multiplicity of paths to the divine," he said. 

Singh, who also heads an organization called Temple of Understanding that promotes inter-faith dialogue, expressed regret that inter-faith understanding is still at the periphery and has not reached the centre of public consciousness. "Environment, for instance, started out at the periphery but has now been identified as a major concern," he said, prophesying that "unless there is harmony between religions, we will not have peace on earth". 

At one stage, he challenged his audience. "I don't want to embarrass you, but how many of you know that the Constitution has fundamental duties, and how many", he asked. "In India, people vigorously protect their rights, but nobody wants to talk about duties", he added. 

Arguing against Vedanta being branded a philosophical concept, he said, "this is not just alternative philosophy for scholars; it needs to be imbibed by all... There may be over 200 countries in the world, but at the end of the day we're just denizens of a speck of dust", he said. 

Responding to a question after his presentation, he stressed the need to introduce value education in schools. "We can't give religious instruction, because it's banned by the Constitution, but we can and should teach our children values," Singh said. To another, political, question, he responded sharply, "this is political, not Vedanta. You can't get two lectures for the price of one." At the end, he expressed sorrow that "a nation based on Satyameva Jayate is sinking in a mire and morass of corruption".

This article was first published on The Times of India, Goa, in its edition dated February 11, 2011.

Justice Sachs as Kosami festival

Nigel Britto

Clearly, the crowds that stormed Kala Academy for the first four days of the D D Kosambi festival of ideas grossly underestimated the stature of justice Albie Sachs. His name did not have the instant recognition of the Dalai Lama or APJ Abdul Kalam, but the humorous South African legal luminary with an inspiring life story made sure the 700-odd people who came to hear him had an intellectually stimulating evening they're not likely to forget. 

Clad in a printed silk shirt and sporting a red dot on his forehead, the iconic judge who abolished capital punishment, legalized gay rights and founded South Africa's constitutional court didn't speak much; the rainbow nation's Ambedkar preferred to let his achievements speak for themselves. As a white screen rolled down and Sachs walked down to the front row beside his friend Charles Correia, he led his audience to a virtual tour of the institution he started and nurtured, South Africa's Constitutional court. He explained the quirkiness of its architecture and design, and explained how every little detail used in its construction had its roots in South Africa's rich colonial and cultural history. 

Sachs, who was appointed judge by Nelson Mandela in 1994, retired from his beloved court in 2009, and while he was there, often led tours around it, detailing how the building serves as a symbol of the South African people's new-found rights. 

Much like Mandela, Sachs too had to undergo torture, imprisonment and exile before returning triumphant to his homeland. During his travails in the former Portuguese colony of Mozambique, he was the target of an assassination attempt. When a bomb placed in his car exploded, Sachs lost his eye, but retained his vision; he lost his arm, but retained his spirit. 

Like the former pope did before him, Sachs later met his assailants to extend his forgiveness. The story goes that they cried for two weeks after the emotional meeting. In any case, tears are not alien to Sachs; he says he wept when a particular judgment of the court restored the rights of an HIV positive man to work for South Africa's national airline. "I cried because I was so happy to be part of a court that can finally protect people's basic human rights," he said. 

Even in the auditorium, when conducting the virtual tour of the court, several members of the audience had to dab their eyes with handkerchiefs as Sachs explained how every aspect of the court (built on the grounds of a former prison) and its procedure served as a metaphor of a nation reborn. "We realized we needed to stop locking each other up and figure out a way to live together like decent human beings," he said. The happy design of the court does just that; outsiders can look through the windows at proceedings, "justice has to be transparent, not secret", he said. 

Even the colonial procedures were done away with. "We didn't want to be called 'My Lord' or 'Your Honour'," he said. Also, "instead of black or red robes, we wore green ones to symbolize the nascent court. We discarded Latin terminology too. Instead of words like inter alia or contemplate, we used 'among others' and 'envisage' respectively." Sachs also made sure the constitution he fathered did away with legal jargon and was worded in the most accessible language possible. 

Known for his funny side, the judge once started a judgment with 'does the law have a sense of humour?' Even after his recovery from the assassination attempt in Mozambique, he twisted Descartes' words and said, "I joke, therefore I am". He also recalled how he told himself jokes during the darkest moments of his life. 

Speaking about India's contribution to South African jurisprudence, he said, "South Africa learned a lot from the Indian judiciary; in the 1970s and '80s we received a lot of good judgments from the Supreme Court, particularly by justices Bhagvati and Krishna Iyer." 

In response to a question, he also declared that "democracy is available to all countries", arguing that "those who oppose democracy are usually dictators who oppress and torture their subjects". 

After the lecture, many listeners went to the nearby stall where books by the speakers were being sold. Unfortunately, most had to go home disappointed as the stall had books by all speakers except this one. 

This article was first published in The Times of India's Goa edition dated February 10, 2011.

Let this be the century of dialogue: Dalai Lama

99% of Tibetan minds are on India, he says at the Kosambi festival of ideas.

Nigel Britto

Even hours before it was scheduled to begin, the crowds had begun swarming the Kala Academy in Panjim, Goa’s capital, in anticipation of what would be. Then, at the dot of 2:30 pm, the curtains at the Dinanath Mangueshkar auditorium parted, revealing a smiling Dalai Lama. With hands joined, he exuded the charisma of a rock star and the calmness of a saint. A few thousand stood in respect, and with a quick gesture of ‘enough’ from His Holiness, they settled down. As courtesy dictates, the Chief Secretary of the state of Goa, Sanjay Srivastava, presented him with a bouquet, and then proceeded to leave the stage. “No, no; you come back here,” the Dalai Lama commanded him, and the meek official made his way back to receive a scarf from the man who calls himself ‘a simple Buddhist monk’.

Suddenly, the Dalai Lama saw the compere on the stage, and immediately told her, “You will get one later!” Then, he commenced his presentation, seated on a red mini-sofa with a collar microphone. Gently swaying from left to right, he proclaimed that “we all come from the same creator, whatever the name”. Sometime into his lecture, he abruptly stopped when he noticed the lectern to his right. “I want to talk from there,” he said, to the amusement of all present. To the sound of polite laughter, he mumbled, “I forgot, sorry.” Inner happiness was the core of his message; he argued that every sentient being, whether man, animal or insect, has an innate desire to be happy. “You gain satisfaction when you serve others”, he told the crowd.

He interspersed his talk with numerous anecdotes and a continuous barrage of humorous statements which kept the packed auditorium engaged throughout. There were people in the aisles, people on the parapets, people outside, people near his car, people everywhere. A section thought it wise to bring their toddlers, who greeted the Dalai Lama’s words with loud wails; another section found it fit to keep their mobile phones on, and the captivating speech was interspersed with the symphony of ring tones. The Dalai Lama, whose name means Ocean of Wisdom, went ahead unperturbed. When he laughed his contagious laugh, the crowd laughed with him. When he was serious, they were serious. Then, he went on a rampage against the unscrupulous accumulation of wealth, proclaiming that “money diminishes basic human values,” to a crowd that had Goa’s chief minister, Digambar Kamat, in the front row. Later, he stated, to wild applause, that as far as socio-economic theory goes, “The Dalai Lama is Marxist”.

The spiritual leader then stressed on the importance of ‘inner values’, which he says human beings can ill-afford to neglect. “At 16, I lost my freedom, and at 24, my country,” he reminisced, adding that throughout the many struggles he went through, he never touched alcohol or drugs (both of which are banned by Buddhism). “When we look at the world in a holistic way, we bring to the fore the human potential that otherwise remains dormant,” he said. “Values and ethics need not be based on religious teachings, the Dalai Lama added. “Traits like loyalty are present even in animals; a dog is faithful to the hand that feeds it,” he explained, adding that the basis of ethics is compassion.

At many points during his presentation, he referred to a mother-and-child illustration, saying that “children who receive a lot of affection from their mothers generally grow up to be calm; the rest develop insecurities”. It is on this that he blamed the epidemic of depression that is gaining prevalence. Even though his speech dealt with a serious subject, he kept the audience alert with quips like “People who use the words I, me and my suffer a greater chance of heart attack”, “We’ll have world peace when all 6 billion inhabitants disappear”, “China’s communist party doesn’t have a communist ideology”, and “God made hell, so perhaps there should be people who must go there”, the last one clearly in jest. He described the 20th century as the Century of War, and expressed hope that the 21st becomes the Century of Dialogue.

Toward the end, the Dalai Lama, now seated on the sofa wearing a red cap, took questions. “No silly ones, please”, he said with a wry smile before the session began. During the course of his answers, he said that “the purpose of life is happiness”. He also had words for the media, which in his opinion performs a pivotal role in a democracy. “Media persons should have noses as long as an elephant’s”, he said. To a question about Indo-Tibet relations, he pointed out that though China has physical control of Tibet, 99% of Tibetan minds look to India. He ridiculed the practice of erecting statues of Buddha, wondering aloud ‘what’s the point?’ He suggested that the money would be better spent on printing books. Ironically though, a little later, the chief minister gave him a statue of Buddha, and the Dalai Lama, with a wry, knowing smile, gave the chief minister a book. “Read it when you have time”, he told the CM.

When the Dalai Lama was done, his audience filed out of the auditorium silently and lined up along his car’s path to bid him farewell. Cameras clicked while many Tibetans, overwhelmed by their proximity to the man they so clearly adored, clutched their scarves with tear-filled eyes. Backstage, a bottle from which the Dalai Lama took a sip was in heavy demand; several people stormed down the aisle to touch it — for all purposes, it was holy water to them. They sprinkled a few drops on their palms and shared it among themselves. As he climbed into his Toyota Prado, his eyes were on the crowd, returning their greetings with a gentle, smiling Namaste till his car was out of sight.

This article was first published on The Times of India, Goa, in its edition dated February 8, 2011.

Nigel Britto

When they filed in, even the chapel's usually hyper-active resident owl knew it was time to be quiet. Throughout the performance, it sat sagely on a ledge above the choir, occasionally peering down at the stately bunch as they presented their unique blend of classics, originals and smart adaptations of popular hymns, to a packed house at the Monte Music Festival on Saturday. 

The Paranjoti Academy chorus, led by its formidable conductor and director Coomi Wadia, has an unbroken tradition of over half a century, and although based in nearby Mumbai, Saturday's recital was their first in Goa in over 40 years. Thus, it wasn't surprising that busloads of people made their way up the winding path to hear the legendary choir that has traditionally had a good number of Goans in their ranks. 

Perhaps used to their tasks as the flag-bearers of the choral genre in India, the 32-member ensemble wasted no time in getting started. After all, the acoustics at the Our Lady of the Mount chapel necessitate no amplification; the purity of the voices, Wadia's minimal, near-inconspicuous hand gestures, and the choir's elegant attire (men in black, women in purple) gave the choir an air of stateliness and professionalism not usually associated with western musical ensembles in India. 

They began the performance with Poili Santa, an arrangement by their founder, Victor Paranjoti, who, despite having passed away many years ago, seems to be with his group in spirit. The Konkani ovi (Goan songs sung during pre-marriage bangle ceremony) instantly connected with the audience. Konkani is just one of 22 languages the choir sings in; they have songs in Bengali, Tamil and even Polish in their vast repertoire. 

Asathoma Satgamaya (based on the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad), which came next, was in Sanskrit, and was arranged by Wadia herself. A little later, the language switched to Hindi (So-jaa re, so-jaa), English (Judge me, O God) and Latin (Cantate Domino). What makes the choir's mastery of shifting among language and song so incredible is their ability to memorize entire presentations. Add to that, the Paranjoti normally performs Acapella, as they did in Goa; the absence of both accompanists and musical scores makes their ability to hit the right notes together at the right time all the more commendable. 

It's sometimes lost in the unity the choir presents, but the Paranjoti is an amalgamation of various individuals from all walks of life who come together as one. Their joint power was evident in the Paranjoti-arranged Hymn to St Francis Xavier. In the entire concert, the only soloist was Cynthia Thyle, a soprano, who sang William Dawson's Mary had a baby and Paranjoti's Kyrie Eleison, backed by the choir. Yet, the choir's sound is far more than merely the sum of its parts, though overall, the women's section appeared a tad stronger and surer than the men's. The tones were perfect; right from the blood-curdling lows to the hair-raising highs, there was no evidence of any lacuna in the choir members' mastery of their craft. 

The post-interval session started with only half the choir on the platform. It was sometime into Duo Seraphim that the other half, which by now had reached the gallery behind the audience, joined in. The combination of the voices from different directions was magical; everyone's heads turned up in wonder. Even the owl shifted its position, and it took a stern look from the conductor to get the choir back to their spots in time. A little later, the choir performed Madhura, madhura, parama madhura, which was arranged by Wadia's husband Nariman. The last song of the evening was He's got the whole world in his hands, which reflected the choir's versatility and peppiness apart from the musical perfection usually associated with them. 

A standing ovation followed, that subsided only at Wadia's request. The choir performed two encores, the last of which was the hymn to St Francis Xavier they had performed earlier, at the audience's unanimous request. 

The only notable weakness in the choir's presentation was in the bass section, but the beauty of the sound and perfection of dynamics negated that defect near-completely. 

It was only after a long stream of congratulations to Wadia and the choir that the chapel emptied, the lights dimmed, and the buses filled. When all was done, the owl found it fit to fly away. 

This article was first published on The Times of India, Goa, in its edition dated February 8, 2011.