Adventures of a Desi Knitter

Teaching for this Spring is over, thank God. This has been the longest and most painful semester ever due to some heavy duty personal and professional stress, and now that it is nearly over, I want to dance like these guys in this song, jaate the japan, pahunch gaye chiin, samajh gaye na?” (Was off to Japan, but ended up in China instead, what say?) and throw my limbs and composure to the winds in sheer abandon.

Nothing like Kishore Kumar’s mad comic genius and wildly mobile body, face and voice, to liven up one’s spirits. The film in which it is featured, Chalti ka Naam Gaadi (If it runs, it’s a car) is available fully on youtube. See it - it is silly screwball comedy, as usual, but the soundtrack (by S D Burman), with lots of other Kishore songs, is superb. My favourite is Paanch rupaiyaa baarah aanaa.

The only silver lining to stress is that it keeps my fingers going feverishly. The Ribby Cardi body got done, and I added some buttons right away to see if it fits, closed. To my relief, it does.

Much of the knitting this semester got done as I obsessively watched TV episodes of Agatha Christie’s Poirot, pretty much back to back. Netflix DVDs of TV series are perfect - mindless, and without the advertisements. But I thought I should take a break after an elaborate dream I had one night where Inspector Japp was complaining to me over a beer about Poirot’s dashed interference in everything, and I then took it up with Miss Lemon to tell Poirot to step back a bit, because his success rate was undermining Japp’s self-esteem. I woke up and was half-afraid that I would start lecturing in class in David Suchet’s affected voice and manner.

But last weekend in LA in the hotel room I saw an episode of something called “What Not to Wear” and I think I might have found another guilty pleasure. I cast on the Ribby’s sleeve with a DVD of its episodes. It is SO annoying in parts, but weirdly seductive. I oscillate between analyzing the coded messages the show transmits about the power of shopping and consumption to solve all kinds of self-esteem, body-image, emotional issues (”I want to dress better so my kids can be proud of me” - WTF????), and enjoying the Cinderella or Ugly Duckling story that unfolds every single time. Admittedly, it’s not as bad as another show I saw that night that involved all kinds of surgery and whatnot. Plus the two hosts are irritating and I don’t care for the whole “let’s make fun of you before we do your makeover”, but I’ve seen some of their advice about silhouette and fit and visual illusions on various Ravelry groups as well, and it’s most interesting. And of the few episodes I have seen, all the women were different ages and shapes, and it’s fun to see how they choose outfits for them.

So between Chalti ka Naam Gaadi and a feel-good Cinderella DVD this weekend, maybe my Ribby sleeves will get done soon too. Wish all my readers a relaxed weekend too!

Tags: Life, sweaters, Film, Music by desiknitter
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First off, thanks so much everyone for your kind comments on the Swallowtail shawl! It’s speeding away to Calcutta even as I type this, and I’m waiting to see what the MIL says.

The other day some friends and I were talking about the practice, among popular female Hindi film singers, of singing in such a high pitched scale that it made you want to go and hide somewhere. I don’t mind it that much; I think Lata Mangeshkar, who popularized this style, has one of the most beautiful voices ever. Some years back a scholar argued that this high, virginal voice in film music and its move away from more throaty, sensual voices associated  with Muslim singers like Noor Jehan or Shamshad Begum came to represent the young, postcolonial Indian/Hindu nation’s anxieties and desires in the 1950s. But this argument, while not without some merit, also failed to explain the tremendous popularity of Lata’s sister Asha Bhosale, whose voice and songs were anything but virginal.  Asha Bhosale is tremendously versatile, having recorded both serious natyasangeet, the light-classical Marathi form, innumerable rock-and-roll adaptations for hindi songs composed by her husband Rahul Dev Burman, and also an album with, of all people, Boy George (don’t ask.)

The conversation reminded me about being in the college band way back when, and the fights the girls and boys had over the scales to sing these popular numbers in: the boys would refuse to budge and sometimes the girls had to sing in a weird falsetto to match. I hated doing duets for this reason. For one show, though, I was delighted about one Asha and Mohammed Rafi number, which was doable and a treat to sing. Alas, we couldn’t perform it because the male singer got cold feet at the last minute and refused to come on stage. I remember being very mad. Boys.

The song, O Haseena Zulfon Wali (O Beautiful one with the lovely hair) was one of my favourites from a film I heartily recommend: Teesri Manzil (The third floor). Barring the heroine, Asha Parekh (about whom the less said the better), this film had everything going for it: Shammi Kapoor, crazy contortionist, romantic and comic hero, R.D.B.’s music and a whodunit storyline by Shakti Samanta that was totally, delightfully predictable.  This song also features the lovely Helen, the most gorgeous "vamp" dancer in Hindi cinema. I love the sets, the costumes, the zany dance steps; Shammi Kapoor and Helen clearly had a great time cavorting through the song and didn’t mind poking fun at themselves.

Tags: Film, Cartridge Rib Pullover, Music by desiknitter
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I am knitting furiously, trust me, but no visible (or bloggable) progress is being made on any of my current projects. So more distraction from - what else - Youtube!

This song is from Awaara (the Vagabond?), one of Raj Kapoor’s most famous 50s films. Kapoor was one of the leading directors of the post-Independence generation, his films becoming popular not only within but also outside India. We all used to hear, growing up, that the Russians loved his films. Just after I came to the US, I was walking along Harvard Sq. in Boston one day and I heard a familiar film song from one of his films being played on an accordion, by a Russian street performer. On the accordion it sounded vaguely like an Eastern European folk tune (which tells you how much I know about *that*, but I digress). Dang it, I thought to myself, I had no idea Shankar-Jaikishan, the incredibly talented composers for many of Raj Kapoor’s film music, had lifted some tunes from elsewhere.

After he was done, I asked the man what he had just played. Delighted, he yelled, arms wide open, “Raaaj Kapoooooooor!!” After I recovered, I sat by him and asked him if he knew any others. The next hour was spent happily, him playing many of my favourites from Kapoor’s films and me humming along.

This one “dam bhar jo udhar mooh phere, woh chanda” (If only the moon would look away for a moment) is one of those classics, sung by Lata Mangeshkar and Mukesh. It is no secret to my friends that I am not a Mukesh fan. His nasal voice always hovers on the brink of the right note, never quite striking it or going fully off key. This one is typical, but still, the song survives him. Both Raj Kapoor himself and Nargis, his leading lady in many of his films and widely rumoured to be the same in real life as well, sing ostensibly to the moon, telling it to hide behind the clouds so they can be alone. Although later songs would often trivialize it through crude depictions of flowers crashing into each other or worse, this song is, in my opinion, one of the best expressions of the Bollywood aesthetic that hinting at physical intimacy was more sensuous than actually showing it on screen.

Seeing this clip after so long, I’m struck by the chemistry between Raj Kapoor and Nargis: they were good actors, no doubt, but they look totally in love. Kapoor also took on a Chaplinesque persona later on that was intensely annoying, but here he still looks quite handsome inspite of the weird hair (he’s a rakish thief in the film) and the early onset of the Kapoor obesity curse. And oh, I totally didn’t notice the strategically placed anchors on Nargis’s shirt earlier.

Tags: Film, Music by desiknitter
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This title inadequately paraphrases a song I like very much, Nain lad jai hain to manwa ma kasak hoi bekari from the film Gunga Jumna. Yesterday I met some old college pals after a long time, and one of them was, like me, a total old songs buff. We sang many songs together for hours like we used to in college; even though his voice is suited to Talat Mahmood and Hemanta songs, we also remembered and sang this one by Rafi. Of course, I found it on Youtube today.

It’s in the Bhojpuri variant of Hindi, and the video makes the song’s meaning quite clear. Gunga, the hero, is having a good time with his friends, just after having realised he’s fallen for the washerwoman Dhanno (Vyjantimala, who smiles shyly simpers at the end). This was one of Naushad’s most popular soundtracks, using folk tunes and rhythms of eastern UP and Bihar. I love the off-beat whistle and Rafi’s alaap at the beginning and end. The choreography was by Hiralal, who often collaborated with Naushad, and the male dancers’ moves are typical of his style. I like how the colours are quite drab, quite unlike some of the over-the-top costumes and jewellery that typifies today’s Bollywood. The film itself is quite interesting; describing a young man’s turn to crime in the face of rural exploitation, it struck an early note of pessimism against the Nehruvian utopias following Indian independence.

The song features Dilip Kumar (real name Yusuf Khan) was a lot older by the time this film was released in the 60s, but who was the blockbuster star of the 50s. He looked a lot better in b/w. He, more than any other Hindi cinema star, had an excellent sense of music and rhythm. A pukka rasik, you can tell, in all his song sequences. Before Amitabh strode across the screen he was easily my favourite. He also sang beautifully himself; listening to his melodious Laagi nahi chhoote chahe jiya jaye from the film Musafir makes me wish he had sung more. His voice resembles Talat Mahmood’s a lot. He clearly had a ball filming this song. I hope you enjoy it!

Tags: Film, Music by desiknitter
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I liked posting the knitting obsession film so much that I decided to make a habit of it. I’ve become addicted to Youtube, and it’s wonderful collection of old Hindi film music videos. One song reminds you of another, you wonder if *that* one will be there, and perhaps *that* one, and before I know it, hours have passed. So I thought I’d periodically share some of my favourites with you.

I saw this one after a very long time. From "Tere ghar ke saamne" (In front of your house), a light-hearted romantic comedy where the hero, an architect has to live up to some silly promise he makes to he heroine about building a beautiful house right opposite her father’s palatial bungalow. Stupid story, as most popular Hindi films go, but like most films of the 1950s and 60s, some of the most wonderful music. This one is a solo by my favourite male singer Mohammed Rafi, and picturised on Dev Anand, who was quite the hottie of that generation (and also for a lot of us who grew up after he was past his prime). His slightly-startled expression, the bobbing head, all of it was lapped up like crazy. The woman he’s serenading is Nutan, also a major actress of this period. The stairs they are ambling down are those within the early 13th century minaret in Delhi, the magnificient Qutb Minar. It’s such a simple and impossibly romantic song, I love it.

Tags: Film, Music by desiknitter
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