Lounge for 03 Dec 2011

New Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore, Kolkata, Chennai, Ahmedabad, Hyderabad, Chandigarh, Pune

www.livemint.com

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Vol. 5 No. 49

LOUNGE THE WEEKEND MAGAZINE Jazz musician Mickey Correa posing for the camera on Colaba Causeway, Mumbai.

BUSINESS LOUNGE WITH MOËT & CHANDON’S DANIEL LALONDE >Page 9

SHARPSHOOTER

What went into crafting Shah Rukh Khan’s look in Farhan Akhtar’s sequel ‘Don 2’ >Page 6

LONG GONE BLUES

During World War II in British India, a motley crew of musicians became the vanguard of Bombay’s thriving jazz subculture. An exclusive extract from Naresh Fernandes’ ‘Taj Mahal Foxtrot’ >Pages 10­11

THE GOOD LIFE

LUXURY CULT

SHOBA NARAYAN

THERE’S MORE TO A NAME

C

ould you be governed by a man called Manmohan Syng? Or by Raahul Gaandhy? Perhaps our beleaguered (forgive the cliché but it is true) Prime Minister should consider changing the spelling of his name.

Numerology, you know. Everyone is doing it. Actor Ajay Devgan changed his name to Devgn, which sounds more like an asthmatic wheeze than a name. Our Speaker is called Meira, not... >Page 4

PIECE OF CAKE

RADHA CHADHA

WHAT ST STEPHEN’S MEANS TO ME

I

went back to college after 32 years for my professor Satish Mathur’s memorial service. He taught me calculus—I did a BA in math—but as I sat there in the college auditorium, looking at his garlanded smiling photo (he had the male equivalent of a 1,000-watt Madhuri Dixit smile), listening to memories of students over the years, I realized he actually didn’t teach me much math, he taught me about life instead and how to lead it.

There were stories of hidden acts of kindness that spilled out in the speeches. >Page 4

PAMELA TIMMS

MEMORIES WORTH 1,000 PRADAS

From Moroccan markets to Chinese palaces, a trip can be an irreplaceable present >Page 12

AN INSOMNIAC’S GUIDE TO PHOTOGRAPHY Dayanita Singh’s new book, ‘House of Love’, blurs the lines between an art book and literary fiction >Page 16

DON’T MISS

in today’s edition of

EVER TRIED TEA IN A CAKE?

T

he mornings and evenings are properly cold in Delhi now; quilts are out, I’m eyeing the hot-water bottle and Horlicks is the tipple of choice. If we had one, I’d be toasting crumpets on the open fire and for those of us who celebrate Christmas, to-do lists feature mincemeat and plum puddings. I don’t feel quite ready for mince pies and mulled wine yet, but this spiced fruity tea bread is definitely nudging me in the right direction. Tea bread (actually it’s a cake) is both eaten with and made... >Page 5

FILM REVIEW

THE DIRTY PICTURE

HOME PAGE L3

LOUNGE First published in February 2007 to serve as an unbiased and clear-minded chronicler of the Indian Dream.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

LOUNGE PREVIEW | YAUATCHA, MUMBAI

LOUNGE EDITOR

B Y G AYATRI J AYARAMAN

PRIYA RAMANI

gayatri.j@livemint.com

DEPUTY EDITORS

SEEMA CHOWDHRY SANJUKTA SHARMA MINT EDITORIAL LEADERSHIP TEAM

R. SUKUMAR (EDITOR)

NIRANJAN RAJADHYAKSHA (EXECUTIVE EDITOR)

ANIL PADMANABHAN TAMAL BANDYOPADHYAY NABEEL MOHIDEEN MANAS CHAKRAVARTY MONIKA HALAN SHUCHI BANSAL SIDIN VADUKUT JASBIR LADI SUNDEEP KHANNA ©2011 HT Media Ltd All Rights Reserved

·························· nd the dim sums fell like rain. Scallop shui mai (`550, plus taxes), a bright yellow shrimp paste flecked with orange tobiko (a caviar); green Spinach Rolls with Water Chestnut speckled with jewels of pomegranate (`255), and fruity Edamame with Truffle explosions (`500). Chicken Shanghai—fried, with crisp plumage rising tall; Crispy Prawn Cheung Fun with its steamed, soft wrappers interspersed with the crunch of fried noodles (`450).

There is delicate artistry in the simplest of Yauatcha’s dishes—from the curl of the dim-sum leaf to the play of textures caused by dices against juliennes.

The Michelin-starred all-day bistro from London by chef Alan Yau and Hakkasan, known for having brought an edge of sophistication to humble dim sums and High Street palates, opens its first branch in Mumbai’s Bombay-Kurla Complex this weekend. Don’t go there looking for the original. It is, as the new restaurant’s manager Imran Khaleel tells us, the next-generation Yauatcha. It is younger, peppier, and a twist on the already modern interpretation of Cantonese cuisine. From the light spray of embroidered yellow cherry blossoms on grey chair backs to the communal bar table and the new flavours of macarons (`150 for a selection of three) created in London for the India launch, this is Yauatcha reinvented.

The lobby space is a retail area.

Hand-rolled chocolates (`180 for a selection of three), teapots, tins of bespoke teas from China and Taiwan—oolongs, greens, blacks, whites and jasmines—are available in vary-

A

ing weights (`300 onwards for 40g).

The restaurant greets you with two communal drinking tables sandwiched between the marble trelliscut-and-underlit bar, and the wine coolers with their array of custommade Yauatcha wines (`700 onwards by the glass; `4,500 by the bottle) that they also retail. Try classic Italian Peach Bellinis (`850 a glass), Masumi sake (`1,200 a carafe) and Prosecco, London’s hot new toast toppling champagne (`750 a glass).

An obsession with fish tanks notwithstanding, the space has a non-intimidating comfort factor. From the average price of a dish (`250-650) that manages to be filling without being heavy, to the functional pink, purple and yellow plastic bound menus, Yauatcha woos the corporate luncher.

It also has two private dining rooms which can be reserved at no extra cost.

The Chinese menu has no traditional concept of starters, and in London, the dim sums come when ready. Here, however, the 70% Indian staff have been trained to understand that Indians expect starters, and the dim sums are typically laid out first. These, along with a few additional vegetarian dishes, separate wok galleys for vegetarian food, an open kitchen, and removing beef from the menu, are the few Indianizations Yauatcha has allowed for. Sadly, this also means that the more exotic meats—like venison that was initially on the Hakkasan menu—have been removed. Service, entrées or not, is prompt.

A dim-sum place though it may be, the main course is light-up-your-face Mongolian Style Lamb Chops (`1,950) and Chicken Clay Pot with Schezuan Pepper Corn (`475). Vegetarian options like Stirfry Udon Noodles in Black Pepper Sauce (`550), spicy fried rice with edamame and a Spicy Aubergine, Sato Bean, Okra and French Bean stir fry (`550) are good, but essentially stay within the range of good Chinese everywhere—perhaps in a bid to appeal to a familiar taste. The Gai Lan greens (`400) with oyster sauce are high on taste and freshness.

The food is playful, light, and one bite-sized that explodes texturally and artistically; with prices that allow you, thankfully, to feel welcome, and well worth the spend.

Yauatcha, Ground floor, Raheja Towers, Bandra-Kurla Complex. For reservations, call 022-26448888.

TALES LOUNGE LOVES KARADI PICTURE BOOKS

|

Animal house Karadi Tales’ new set of picture books encourages children to read simply for pleasure B Y P AVITRA J AYARAMAN pavitra.j@livemint.com

···························· orje the Royal Bengal tiger loses a stripe every time a tiger in the forest is killed. Over time, as the tiger population of India disappears, he loses them all—as we discover in Dorje’s Stripes.

Illustrated beautifully in watercolours by Korean artists Gwangjo and Jung-a Park, the book is one of five of Karadi Tales’ latest collections of picture books, each with a message. “We began working on picture books around two years ago and wanted to put together a series of books that introduces children to high-quality storytelling and artwork,” says Shobha Viswanath, publishing director of Karadi Tales. Best known for audio books, Karadi Tales ventured into picture books in an attempt to

D

fill a gap in the Indian children’s book market.

“The writing style has consciously been kept simple and straightforward. At the same time, the books are witty and quirky. We intend to encourage children to read purely for the sake of pleasure,” says Viswanath, adding that any learning is incidental.

The series is aimed at children aged 4-8. Dorje’s Stripes and Dancing Bear are stories about ecological responsibility, while When the Earth Lost its Shapes is a simple tale about team spirit and conviction that introduces children to the world of shapes.

Whose Lovely Child Can You Be?, a story about the wonderful experience of having an adopted child in your life, features artwork by young British artist Christine Tappin.

Viswanath agrees that it can be a challenge to sell picture books in India.

“Twenty books packed in a huge volume will sell well, but even though children tend to enjoy picture books, in the mind of the parent, it is paying too much for too little,” she says. So they kept the parent in mind when creating these books.

Karadi Tales picture books, `150 each.

ON THE COVER: COURTESY NARESH FERNANDES FROM HIS BOOK ‘TAJ MAHAL FOXTROT: THE STORY OF BOMBAY’S JAZZ AGE’ (ROLI BOOKS)

L4 COLUMNS

LOUNGE

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

SHOBA NARAYAN THE GOOD LIFE

There’s more to a name than you know

C

PRODIP GUHA/HINDUSTAN TIMES

ould you be governed by a man called Manmohan Syng? Or by Raahul Gaandhy?

Perhaps our beleaguered (forgive the cliché but it is true) Prime Minister should consider changing the spelling of his name.

Numerology, you know. Everyone is doing it. Actor Ajay Devgan changed his name to Devgn, which sounds more like an asthmatic wheeze than a name.

Our Speaker is called Meira, not the more common Meera that M.S. Subbulakshmi portrayed in the movie. I know a guy called Rameysh. Anil Kumble’s brother calls himself Diinesh, with the double “i”. Lots of people call themselves Sawhney instead of Sahni. A columnist who shares my name makes it sound like an aardvark. At least two chief ministers of southern states—J. Jayalalithaa, she with the double “a”s, and B.S. Yeddyurappa, he with the crazy “y”s— have used numerological names to improve their fortunes. It worked for the lady but not for Yeddy.

I am thinking of changing my name.

Just to see what happens. In fact, I have unofficially changed my name these last few months with very little tangible effect. I mean, I didn’t win the lottery or anything. I think I did it all wrong.

Part of what makes numerology work, I think, is the extent of the name change.

Do you just decide like I did that henceforth you will sign all emails with a differently spelled name; or do you have to take an advertisement out and tell the world that you are henceforth going to be a Suniel, not merely Sunil Shetty? How wholesale does a name change have to be?

On email, I changed my name from “Shoba” to the north Indian “Shobha”.

My Indian email contacts didn’t notice anything amiss. But my foreign contacts were all in a tizzy. I got a flurry of emails from Rio and Rome; New York and Nairobi, all stating that my email had been hacked. I am not even going to get into the Indian vernacular spelling of my name and how it is spelled in Tamil, Hindi and other languages that fall into the numerological purview.

There are three categories of Indians: Those who live their lives through astrology; those who disdain it; and those—like me—who don’t discount it but don’t live by it either. I know plenty of people who fall into the third

Name game: Devgn’s Singham was a hit.

category and they come from the most unlikely places. Scientists and statisticians go from rational to risk-averse when it comes to astrology, or numerology.

What tips normally rational people over the edge? I think it is when life throws you monkey-wrenches that you cannot solve—health issues, financial crises, accidents, death.

Here is the nifty thing about all these astrological things, though. There is no control group. Devgn probably figured that he had a winning run after his name changed, which reinforced this numerological proposition. The fallacy is that he doesn’t know if his success is because his hard work is finally paying off or because he changed his name.

Unlike the movie Sliding Doors, there is no scenario in which Devgn was still Devgan and then went on to have the same winning run.

An article in The Atlantic magazine, titled The Triumph of New-age Medicine, says repeated and carefully controlled studies show that alternative therapies like homoeopathy, acupuncture and Ayurveda don’t do much for a patient in a quantifiable way. Yet they have a remarkable ability to make a patient feel better. This seeming paradox is why it is hard to discount numerology, astrology, or even palmistry. They make you feel better in ways that are hard to quantify. The same argument applies to the whole “Return to India”

spectrum. India’s benefits are hard to quantify while all of the US’ benefits are easily quantifiable. You can mark a Wall Street bonus down to the very last fraction. You can mark exactly how much you made while selling a Palo Alto, California, home at the peak of the market. What are harder to quantify are the feel-good factors associated with India. How to put a price on being a son or daughter to your parents on their turf, on their terms and on their schedule? How to quantify the transition from “mehmaan” (guest) to son?

Numerology, astrology, palmistry and all these inaccurate arts (or sciences) fall into this category. Their effects are hard to quantify, but the patients, or name changers, feel their benefits.

An astrologer in Kerala told me years ago that I should spell my name Sobah Sarmah. That sounds like an Iranian pet dog, I said, and refused. Shobha, in that sense, is a compromise. I didn’t consult a numerologist; I chose a random name change at a random time in my life. Let’s see what happens.

Shoba Narayan wishes it to be known that henceforth she will be known as Shobha Narain. Write to her at thegoodlife@livemint.com www.livemint.com Read Shoba’s previous Lounge columns at www.livemint.com/shoba­narayan

RADHA CHADHA LUXURY CULT

What St Stephen’s means to me

I

SUSHIL KUMAR/HINDUSTAN TIMES

went back to college after 32 years for my professor Satish Mathur’s memorial service. He taught me calculus—I did a BA in math—but as I sat there in the college auditorium, looking at his garlanded smiling photo (he had the male equivalent of a

1,000-watt Madhuri Dixit smile), listening to memories of students over the years, I realized he actually didn’t teach me much math, he taught me about life instead and how to lead it. There were stories of hidden acts of kindness that spilled out in the speeches. The one that touched me most was how he looked after a student who was badly injured in an accident, sending meals to her room in the college residence, including coffee that he personally made, for a month, till she was able to finish her exams and go home.

As I had tea in the lawns outside and chatted with students and staff—including my dear friend and classmate, Nandita Narain, who now heads the math department—it got me thinking about what St Stephen’s meant to me and how it had shaped me. The red brick walls, the arched corridors, the wide staircases, the tiny tutorial rooms squeezed between classrooms, the wooden desks—it all looked exactly as I had left it—and everywhere I saw a 17-year-old girl, just like my daughter, only it happened to be me.

The fact that I even studied at St Stephen’s was due to another hidden act of kindness. A week after I started at college, my father was transferred to Pune. Back then in 1976—I was the second batch of women in college—there was no residence for girls in St Stephen’s, and my family decided to take me along to Pune and enrol in a college there.

When Principal Rajpal saw my I-am-leaving letter, he promptly called my father, persuaded him to let me continue and promised to find a hostel room close by. That’s how I ended up at

Daulat Ram College Hostel—spanking new with rooms to spare—and that led to a weird and utterly wonderful double life as a Stephanian by day and a Daulat Ram hosteller by night.

I have been thinking about what are the top three things I took away from Stephen’s. It is hard to pinpoint because they were such light-hearted, giddy-headed years, and with my “double life” I was participating in activities in two places. There was no obvious structure, no stated objectives, you just plunged in on Day 1 and came out three years later, and honestly, besides looking at my mark sheet, I have never bothered to pause and reflect what exactly I got out of college. Until now.

Here’s my list, in no particular order.

You just have to be you Let me explain what I mean. I came from a convent school where the objective, at least as I saw it, was to fit you into some predetermined mould, much like identical pencils in a box, each one neatly sharpened just so. There was a price to pay if you didn’t conform—for example, in my final year I got an F for an essay, with an emphatic red line slashing through each page, because my handwriting didn’t meet the school-prescribed cursive pattern.

Released from this suffocating environment, I went to college and breathed in—in big gulps—Stephen’s own special brand of freedom to be who you are. It was a culture, an atmosphere, a gigantic invisible machine that rendered the usual markers of religion, caste, class, family background largely

Outside the classroom: College teaches you important life lessons, including being yourself and developing a love for learning. irrelevant, and encouraged instead a free-flowing exploration of your own interests, finding your own points of view, and arming you to stand up for it.

If there was any sharpening of pencils that went on here, it was about locating your own unique strengths and sharpening them.

A big love for learning I have to confess I don’t remember much of the content I studied, but I do remember being head over heels in love with the subject. I particularly enjoyed algebra, which was taught by S.R. Nagpaul—he was a gentle person, with a twinkle in his eye and a happy giggle, a Harvard PhD, and a brain that I worshipped. From him I learnt that math was hardly about number crunching. At its best, it was an art form, with the same search for elegance and beauty, the same approach from instinct and gut, the same ecstatic feeling when you give yourself over to it—I have sat through exams, snapping awake suddenly, surprised I

had solved a problem I didn’t have a clue how to address.

Actually it was hard not to be in love, given that the class had plenty of very keen, very bright students, some near-geniuses, and there was a lot of learning from each other. Believe it or not, a bunch of us got together and studied an extra subject, lattice theory, with Nandita’s brother, Pradeep Narain, dropping by to teach us outside of class hours.

The fact that most learning happens outside the classroom is a big learning in itself—the range of sports and extra-curricular activities that Stephen’s offers is exceptional, and so are the levels accomplished. I always associate Prof.

Ranjit Bhatia—my third math teacher—more with the fact that he ran the marathon and 5,000m event in the 1960 Rome Olympics, than I do with the math he taught me.

Going the extra mile Big brains, yes, big hearts too. The

image I have in my mind is sitting down for lunch at Prof. Nagpaul’s home. His wife has laid out a feast. There is a bunch of flowers plucked from the garden. It is my birthday, and they are going out of their way to make it very special for this student far away from home. What on earth have I done to deserve such affection?

I guess I said thank you then. And I say it again now—a big thank you, St Stephen’s.

Radha Chadha is one of Asia’s leading marketing and consumer insight experts.

She is the author of the best-selling book The Cult of the Luxury Brand: Inside Asia’s Love Affair with Luxury.

Write to Radha at luxurycult@livemint.com www.livemint.com Read Radha’s previous Lounge columns at www.livemint.com/radha­chadha

www.livemint.com

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011

L5

Eat/Drink

LOUNGE

PRIYANKA PARASHAR/MINT

PIECE OF CAKE

PAMELA TIMMS

Tea in a cake Masala ‘chai’, buttered cake, dry fruits— what’s winter without some comforts

T

he mornings and evenings are properly cold in Delhi now; quilts are out, I’m eyeing the hot-water bottle and Horlicks is the tipple of choice.

If we had one, I’d be toasting crumpets on the open fire, and for those of us who celebrate Christmas, to-do lists feature mincemeat and plum puddings.

I don’t feel quite ready for mince pies and mulled wine yet, but this spiced fruity tea bread is definitely nudging me in the right direction.

Tea bread (actually it’s a cake) is both eaten with and made from tea, a nifty way of using up what’s left over in the teapot to make a cake for the following afternoon. A mixture of dry fruit is soaked in tea overnight, then the following

morning egg and flour are added. Use any tea you fancy, preferably one with a good strong flavour—I’ve made nice versions with Earl Grey and Assam but pulled back from green tea—and any combination of dry fruit. I’d leave the raisins in—they plump up so beautifully—but perhaps replace the currants with dried cranberries, chopped dates or dried apricots. You could also spice it up a bit more with mixed spice or cinnamon.

Something I’ve noticed is that men, even those who solemnly inform you they don’t have much of a sweet tooth, devour this cake. Perhaps it’s the aura of leather chairs in the library that makes it so appealing, but in the course of my (very

unscientific) research I’ve seen men who wouldn’t thank you for a cupcake or macaroon put away half a loaf.

Even if this cake weren’t so easy to eat, it would be worth making just for the way it makes the kitchen smell; inviting citrusy, spicy wafts both while the fruit is soaking and when the cake is in the oven. I can think of few things more comforting to make or eat. With a cup of tea, thickly buttered, this tea bread hits the spot, even without a roaring fire.

Orange and Lemon Masala Tea Bread Ingredients 150g raisins 150g currants 150g Demerara sugar Finely grated zest of one large lemon Finely grated zest of one orange Juice of one orange (approx.

100ml) Approx. 200ml strong hot masala tea (without milk) 1 egg, lightly beaten 275g plain flour 1 tsp baking powder Method Line either a loaf tin (I used one that was 26cmx13cm) or a 20cm cake tin with parchment paper.

HUNGRY PLANET | MARIA JULIA MARTINI

Eat like a ‘gaucho’ Beef pies, pork roast, condensed milk toppings— Argentine cuisine is sinfully rich and delicious B Y A MRITA R OY amrita.r@livemint.com

···································· few minutes into a conversation with chef Maria Julia Martini, and the topic veers to football. The magic of Lionel Messi’s footwork and speed is thanks to the country’s protein-rich diet, claims the Argentine chef at Café, Hyatt Regency Delhi. “Argentine food means beef, beef and a little more beef. Then there’s pork, lamb and fish,” says the economics graduate who decided to trade a corporate lifestyle for a chef’s hat. Edited excerpts from an interview:

A

What defines Argentine cuisine?

Argentina was settled by European immigrants mostly. There was not much of an indigenous population, except in the Inca and Mayan pockets. So the cuisine is a mix of all the immigrant influences— mostly Italian, German, Spanish. There’s also Lebanese, Syrian and, via Spain, some Arabic influences. We eat a lot of pastas and pizzas and breads like the Italians.

What are the most popular dishes?

A whole lot of roasted/grilled/barbecued meats. Fish and vegetables too. The gauchos (cowboys) on the Pampas couldn’t be bothered to cook elaborate meals. After a day’s work, they would sit around a fire and grill some beef (asado).

As it cooked, everyone sliced off chunks and ate it there together. Till today, it’s mostly the men who cook the meats and people socialize over barbecues.

Then there’s bife a caballo (a steak topped with an egg), churrasco (grilled steak) and milanesa (breaded and deep-fried beef). Locros (soups) are very important. Empanadas (small meat pies) are another favourite. They are eaten as snack as well as main course.

Is there an iconic Argentine dessert?

We don’t have much of a sweet tooth, unlike Indians. But one sweet which everyone eats every day and in every way possible is the dulce de leche. It’s a thick caramelized milk sauce. Lots of milk and sugar with a little vanilla and baking soda cooked over slow fire for 30-45 minutes.

It’s like melted toffee. We have it on toasted bread, on cookies, in coffee, as icing on cakes, in layers between a cake, on ice creams, as a dip for fruits. We can eat it as many times as you care to give us.

Seasoned: Chef Maria Julia Martini.

Chicken Empanada Makes 20 Ingredients For the dough 500g flour 25ml corn oil 25g butter 15g yeast 15g sugar 10g salt 225ml water Egg wash (1 egg beaten with 1 tbsp milk) For the filling K a roasted chicken, diced 100g red bell pepper 100g onion K tsp cumin Salt and pepper to taste For the salsa 100g each of onion, tomato, red bell pepper, diced very fine 1 tsp each of garlic and parsley, chopped Salt and pepper Olive oil to drizzle Method Mix all the ingredients for the dough (except the egg wash) and lightly knead to make a lumpy dough. Roll it out into a sheet, a little thicker than a pasta dough.

Cut out discs of about 4-inch diameter.

For the filling, sauté the onions and bell peppers. Add salt, pepper and cumin. Add roasted chicken and cook for a few minutes. Keep aside to cool.

Put a spoonful of filling in the middle of each disc. Fold and seal the edges to form a semi-circular patty. If needed, brush the edges with a bit of water before closing.

Mark the edges with a fork and brush with egg wash. Bake for 10 minutes in an oven at 180 degrees Celsius.

For the salsa, combine all the ingredients. Serve with hot empanadas.

Perfect brew: The dry fruits used in the cake are soaked overnight in tea.

Put the raisins, currants, sugar, lemon and orange zest in a large bowl. Put the orange juice into a measuring jug and add enough masala tea to come up to the 300ml mark. Pour this over the fruit and give the whole lot a good stir. Cover and leave to soak overnight.

In the morning, preheat the oven to 150 degrees Celsius, stir in the egg, then sieve in the flour and baking powder. Stir well and pour into the lined baking tin.

Place in the oven and bake for about one-and-a-half hours.

The top of the cake should be golden brown, and if you insert a skewer, it should come out completely clean. Leave to cool before slicing.

The tea bread will keep well, wrapped in foil, for about a

week (although perhaps not if there’s a man around).

Pamela Timms is a Delhi-based journalist and food writer. She blogs at Eatanddust.com Write to Pamela at pieceofcake@livemint.com

www.livemint.com For a video on how to bake tea bread, go to www.livemint.com/teabread.htm Read Pamela’s previous Lounge columns at www.livemint.com/pieceofcake

L6

www.livemint.com

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011

Style

LOUNGE BOLLYWOOD

Sharpshooter What went into crafting Shah Rukh Khan’s look in Farhan Akhtar’s sequel ‘Don 2’

B Y U DITA J HUNJHUNWALA ···························· he chase began in 2006.

Shah Rukh Khan slipped into the role of Vijay (Don) in Farhan Akhtar’s reinterpretation of the 1978 classic. He wore printed shirts and ties and carried off colour with aplomb as costume designer Aki Narula paid tribute to the 1970s. Recall that floral tie worn inside a patterned collared shirt with top button open?

Five years later, Akhtar scripts an original sequel that begins where the last film left off. New Yorkbased Jaimal Odedra, whose work we’ve previously seen in Chandni Chowk to China, Patiala House and Game, styles the look for Khan in this big-ticket Christmas release.

When we first see him in Don 2, Khan is in retirement. “He is chilling on a beach, wearing loose clothing. He has grown out his hair because he has the time to do it,” says writer-director Akhtar. The script required Odedra to create two looks because, obviously, it doesn’t take long for Don to get back into the groove.

Odedra’s first step was to watch Akhtar’s Don and interpret the character while accounting for the passage of time and looking for ways to incorporate current trends.

He went for leather jackets, overcoats and layering. “We wanted to get away from the scruffy image of gangsters to a snazzy look, like you saw in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels or Snatch.

Don flies in a private jet and his clothes h a v e t o reflect that.”

The inspiration for this Don,

T

A nod to Nehru The best ‘bandhgala’ jackets by international luxury brands B Y V ISESHIKA S HARMA viseshika.s@livemint.com

····························

p Ermenegildo Zegna: Guru col­

p Etro: India Jacket in blue velvet, at Palladium mall, Lower Parel, Mumbai; and The Collection, UB City mall, Vittal Mallya Road, Bangalore, `66,500.

lection jacket in Prince of Wales check, at The Taj Mahal Palace, Apollo Bunder, Mumbai; DLF Emporio mall, Vasant Kunj, New Delhi; The Collec­ tion, UB City mall, Vittal Mallya Road, Bangalore; and Taj Krishna, Banjara Hills, Hyderabad, `84,400.

says Odedra, is more “sophisticated cat burglar, the original Bond or Thomas Crown. A dapper gentleman like Cary Grant, a dandy like Johnny Depp, who may slip on a suit, but always adds that one killer accessory.” Don’s signature accessories include pocket squares and a holster, and of course, the stylized ‘D’ tattoo.

Since Don is the epitome of a supervillain, he had to look mean.

“We also wanted to him to look sharp, strong in the film. So for the opening we decided to keep his hair longish. It works well because we have not seen Shah Rukh in that look before,” says Walter Dorairaj, hairstylist with b:blunt, Mumbai. The first time Khan’s personal hairstylist Dilshad Pastakia used hair extensions for Khan was 10 years ago, for Asoka.

Odedra says: “I never thought of Shah Rukh as a romantic hero.

When you first see him in Don, he has long hair and a tattoo, he looks tough—someone you would not mess with. But to make it look like he has been on holiday, I dressed him in linens and softer shades.

Since he was already growing his hair, he was game to try the extensions and dreadlocks.”

As the movie progresses, events compel Don to switch from laidback to his action avatar. Out goes the grungy look—the linen pants, loose clothing and softer shades.

Double bill: (clockwise from far left) Dreadlocks and a “D” tattoo define Shah Rukh’s look in the first half of Don 2; slim pants, biker jackets, gloves and trench coats with slick hairdo for back­in­action Don; and New York­based designer Jaimal Odedra.

The long hair is shorn for a businesslike, sophisticated appearance with leather jackets and pocket squares, but the tattoo stays. “It helps that he is in such good shape that I could put him in fitted vests, T-shirts, biker jackets and slim trousers. Yet we had to maintain elegance so even the biker jackets are not overdone with metal and zips. It had to be slim, fitted, shorter, modern jackets with pocket details and a single zip,” says Odedra.

“In Don, Khan was dapper and a little dandy. I wanted to take that further, so I have maintained the chic dandy aspect for the phase when he goes back to work and used rich fabrics like leather, silk and velvet in muted hues and jewel tones like wine red, petrol blue, coffee and tans. The colours

are intensified to match the locations, which were lush, rich, chrome and steel; the fabrics had to echo that,” adds Odedra.

Most of the garments have been made especially for the film and not bought off the rack, says Odedra.

Fabrics were sourced from New York, London and India, but almost all the tailoring was done in India.

Given that Khan has long been the face of Tag Heuer in India, it comes as no surprise that Don has a Tag watch for every occasion. He also boasts stylish shoes (often Gucci or Dior), accessories like scarves and leather gloves.

Both Akhtar and Odedra say Khan was hesitant about the slim pants and the wetsuit for an underwater scene. “By the end of the film, he was convinced he looks good in slim pants. As for the underwater sequence, we had many jokes about the wetsuit,” says Odedra.

Wait till December to know why.

Write to lounge@livemint.com

q Canali: Grey velvet

q Canali: Pure wool sleeveless

Nawab jacket, at DLF Emporio mall, Vasant Kunj, New Delhi; Palladium mall, Lower Parel, Mumbai; The Collection, UB City mall, Vittal Mallya Road, Bangalore; Taj Krishna, Ban­ jara Hills, Hyderabad; and Luxxe Box, Express Avenue Mall, Royapettah, Chennai, `67,500 onwards.

jacket from the Nawab Collection, at DLF Emporio mall, Vasant Kunj, New Delhi; Palladium mall, Lower Parel, Mumbai; The Collection, UB City mall, Vittal Mallya Road, Ban­ galore; Taj Krishna, Banjara Hills, Hyderabad; and Luxxe Box, Express Avenue Mall, Royapettah, Chennai, `61,500 onwards.

p Corneliani: Detachable gilet jacket that can be worn four dif­ ferent ways, at The Taj Mahal Pal­ ace, Apollo Bunder, Mumbai; DLF Emporio mall, Vasant Kunj, New Delhi; The Collection, UB City mall, Vittal Mallya Road, Bangalore; and Taj Krishna, Banjara Hills, Hydera­ bad, `88,000.

ADVERTISEMENT

L8

www.livemint.com

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011

Play

LOUNGE

VIRAL VIDEOS

The eye­grabber’s manual Ever looked at a video and won­ dered why a million people have shared it on Facebook?

B Y G OPAL S ATHE gopal.s@livemint.com

···························· f you watched the Kolaveri Di video or just laughed at funny videos on YouTube today, you’re using the Internet the way 70% of people do, according to online measuring agency comScore, which published findings on online video usage in March.

The huge popularity of viral videos today makes it hard to believe that YouTube is only six years old; it was launched in December 2005.

Since 16 November Kolaveri has been seen over 11.8 million times. A new video of a flash mob dancing to Rang De Basanti at Mumbai’s CST Station has crossed 514,000 views in 3 days.

The sharing of memes (an idea that spreads from person to person within a culture) on the Internet is nothing new—we’ve been sharing funny cat pictures for as long as we’ve been able to attach pictures to our emails. YouTube made it easier to put your video online, and later, social networks such as Facebook and Twitter made it even simpler to share the videos with a wider audience.

Viral videos are a new phenomenon, and it’s hard to tell why some are popular and others go unnoticed. One thing that’s common is the video’s ability to become a meme—it should be easy to modify and replicate so it can spread in a number of ways. What really makes a video go viral and how do you go about making one?

I

In the beginning The first viral video is hard to pinpoint, but it might have been the Lazy Sunday clip from the popular TV show Saturday Night Live that generated five million views

in 2005. The song video, which is no longer online, followed two comedians from the show on a Sunday afternoon viewing of The Chronicles of Narnia, while eating cupcakes and rapping.

Another early video that quickly grew popular was Star Wars Kid (www.youtube.com/ watch?v=HPPj6viIBmU)—a student made a video in school of himself swinging a golf ball retriever around as a weapon. It was uploaded in 2002, but later removed. A duplicate was uploaded in 2006, which has been viewed more than 24 million times, and was replicated by many others, with even George Lucas, the creator of Star Wars, creating a version for the TV show The Colbert Report.

The ABC of a viral video There are some basic traits common to the wide variety of viral videos out there. They all look homemade. Most of the early famous clips actually were home-made, and while companies make most modern videos, they are low-cost productions that try and look “natural”.

Most successful viral videos are funny too. Remember Charlie Bit My Finger (www.youtube.com/watch? v=he5fpsmH_2g)? This was the most viewed video online from 2007 till 2008, and remains the most popular amateur video on the platform.

Two children playing is a sure way to strike the “cute” chord, and the short lines are really memorable. It’s got everything needed to become a meme, and it’s easy to rework into new forms, making it perfect for sharing.

As Kanika Mathur, president of digital marketing agency Digitas India, says: “A video goes viral because it’s entertaining or it has a unique element of surprise or both.”

Are you watching? (from top) Warriors of Goja, Gamer Commute, Old Spice Guy, Charlie Bit My Finger and Kolaveri Di—some of the most successful videos on YouTube.

Going pro After advertisers noticed the spread of clips such as Charlie, brands started working hard to get noticed

with viral videos. Yashraj Vakil, CEO of online marketing firm Red Digital, says: “Kolaveri Di is a great example of a viral video. It’s a rage not only in the country but across the globe. It’s the top trending topic on Twitter in India, the UK and the US. Rajinikanththemed ads by Castrol and other brands are also a major hit. A sense of humour is clearly important, simple fun that everyone will want to share.”

The Old Spice YouTube spot (www.youtube.com/ watch?v=owGykVbfgU E) states: “We’re not saying this body wash will make your man smell into a romantic millionaire jet fighter pilot, but we are insinuating it.” The gentle parody led to a number of outright spoofs that included an 11-year-old boy, a muppet and Old Christ.

Most viral videos only bring in brands very tangentially; to fit in with the home-made flavour of viral videos. Gamer Commute, made for Samsung (http://youtu.be/ 2aEsr_2Cfp4) and uploaded in September, has got more than 10 million views in two months. It’s clearly a professional video with a lot of special effects but the simple props and dorky hero blur lines. It features the protagonist flipping cars and going for a race, then blazing away with machine guns, before getting into the office and sitting down glumly with a pile of paperwork.

Right at the end, a line of text pops up in the video to give thanks to Samsung for giving Galaxy SII phones for filming in full HD. That’s the only time a brand is mentioned at all in the video.

Short, funny and easily parodied videos are very popular.

Sometimes a viral video will work simply because it’s clever and quirky. A 2008 clip called Bike Hero (www.youtube.com/ watch?v=NlMYWuGUZlM) got 2.7 million views and a plethora of imitators. It featured a person riding a bicycle along a track like the Guitar Hero interface, and music

played as he rode over “notes”, just as in the game.

Although it’s not been shared as much in India, another video, uploaded by an Indian company on 16 November, has been viewed even more often now—7.8 million views till writing. The sequence from the talent show Adhurs on ETV Telugu, Warriors of Goja (www.youtube.com/ watch?v=S2SUaoVy_iU), features amazing feats of endurance and athletics. It was noticed by the popular curator Jason Kottke, who wrote on Kottke.org: “I’ve been on the Web for 17 years now, I’m a professional link finder, and I have never in my life seen anything like these guys performing on an Indian talent show.

They start off by biting into fluorescent light bulbs and it just gets more nuts from there.”

They’ll post a freestyle track and ask producers to finish it up.

Lots of journalists are using it around the world, such as ABC News Radio’s Dan Patterson recording the sounds of “Occupy Wall Street” in New York. In September, we released an HTML5 player enabling audio recordings embedded in news stories to be viewed on an iPhone or iPad. This is great for news organizations and podcasters who’re keen to embed audio in posts

but are aware that the iPad and iPhone audience cannot view them as Apple devices do not support Flash.

What is your usage in India like?

One of our top 10 users globally is a radio jockey in Chennai! Recordings of a show called 92.7 BIG FM’s Best of Cross Talk with Balaji came on to our radar because it came up in our Top 10 “most popular” lists.

Balaji’s latest upload has 200,000 hits already.

You don’t have any advertising. How do you monetize your operations?

While anyone can set up an account, our revenue model is based on premium subscriptions (€29, or `2,015 annually), which allow bigger uploads, easier sharing and more.

What’s next for SoundCloud?

We just launched a mobile app: m.soundcloud.com. When iPhones came in, everyone realized they had a camera on them.

We want people to realize that they’re walking around with a microphone in their pockets.

Defying the formula The best part of all this is that no one really knows what works and what doesn’t. A dozen similar videos are ignored while one makes it to the top. Who would’ve guessed that Susan Boyle’s straightforward singing (www.youtube.com/ watch?v=RxPZh4AnWyk) would be shared more than 80 million times? If that reminds you of evolution, then you’ve noticed that we’re talking about memes again. Like genes, there’s a lot of random selection, and continuous mutation.

This means that for YouTube junkies, there’s going to be a lot of fresh and interesting content, and we don’t need to worry about getting the same few ideas repeatedly, unlike television.

Gaurav Bhaskar, global communications and public affairs manager at Google India, says: “Trying to predict which videos are going to ‘go viral’ is a bit like catching lightning in a bottle— extremely hard to predict.

YouTube is a place where culture is created and shared— phrases like ‘double rainbow’ have entered the lexicon. Viral videos tend to share a few characteristics: Like any news story, they are authentic, surprising, and often topical.” He adds that what works will keep changing, creating a steady stream of fresh entertainment.

Q&A | DAVE HAYNES

Sound geekdom The beginnings of SoundCloud, why it’s so easy to use and its usage in India B Y A NINDITA G HOSE anindita.g@livemint.com

···························· n the Internet clutter there are a few sounds that truly stand out. Like the sound of 10,000 bats getting it on. Or an underwater recording of ice melting in a glacier.

SoundCloud (Soundcloud.com) started in 2008 as a dead-simple platform to upload, share and stream audio over the Web. In three years, the Berlinbased start-up’s platform has transformed into an online publishing and distributing tool for audio with 8.5 million users, including American rapper 50 Cent and British stand-up comedian Russell Brand—with the last million having joined in the past two months. Users include

I

professional musicians, but also amateurs and sound artists who’ll share everything from a baby’s heartbeat to the sound of fornicating bats.

With increased traffic from India, Dave Haynes, vice-president, business development, of SoundCloud, was here to attend the Bacardi NH7 Weekender in Pune (18-20 November) and “to see who SoundCloud’s Indian users were”.

With more than a decade’s experience in the music industry, Haynes was listed as one of UK’s Young Music Entrepreneurs in 2010 by the British Council. The self-described “sound geek” tells us about the genesis of SoundCloud, who can use it and how its usage patterns are unique in India.

Edited excerpts from an interview:

How did SoundCloud come into being?

It was born out of the frustration of the two founders, sound designer Alex Ljung and artist Eric Wahlforss, who wanted a place on the Web to share audio. We had Flickr for image, Vimeo and YouTube for video, but nothing for sound.

But Myspace has been around since 2003...

The two are very different.

Myspace is for musicians to share their music and post images, tour dates and other updates. SoundCloud has no such aspirations. It’s an easy way to upload sound on the Web and share it. It’s not social networking. It’s really about sound.

In what ways is it easy to use?

You create a sound file and upload.

The SoundCloud widget lets you embed audio files anywhere on the Web—and on social networking platforms such as Facebook and Twitter. It lets you link with other applications (we have over 200 partners). We realized that if you were a musician or someone working with sound you were already talking to people on other platforms and we didn’t want to get into that space. We’re not a desti-

nation; we’re a tool. We allow listeners to comment on a specific point of a track. That’s how geeky we are about sound.

Where are your users based?

Our biggest numbers are in the US, then the UK, Germany, Mexico, Brazil, India. Not all of these users are musicians, though. We have a lot of people using it differently.

Tell us about the different ways in which SoundCloud is being used.

We have politicians using it for campaigns, spiritual leaders recording sermons, someone has an account for their three-yearold’s babbling. Musicians like 50 Cent are using it differently too:

Making a wave: (right) Haynes; and a screenshot of SoundCloud.

www.livemint.com

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011

L9

Business Lounge

LOUNGE DANIEL LALONDE

‘Champagne wasn’t always a bubbly’ The president­CEO of Moët & Chandon says heritage is the brand’s strongest suit B Y A NINDITA G HOSE anindita.g@livemint.com

···························· e has little in common with Dom Pérignon, the 17th century French Benedictine monk widely acknowledged as the spiritual father of champagne.

But Daniel Lalonde could be a born-again Pérignon, evangelizing the world over for the pale-gold sparkling wine like he does.

Pérignon was perfecting winemaking for the church; Lalonde is on a mission to perfect the brand’s luxury positioning as the president and CEO of Moët & Chandon, the world’s leading champagne house owned by luxury conglomerate LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton.

In India a few days ahead of a globally synchronized event for the brand—charity auctions in 11 cities across the world to celebrate a 100-year-old champagne from the brand’s Grand Vintage Collection on 11/11/11 (11 November)—Lalonde can talk for hours on the history and heritage of champagne, how it should be paired (through a meal) and served (in a large glass, and not a flute).

During our meeting he watches intently, and with undisguised admiration, as the server at Le Cirque at The Leela Palace New Delhi pours out two glasses of Moët & Chandon— like one would regard their four-

H

year-old on a playground slide—but doesn’t go beyond a few sips over the next hour. A night earlier, he had hosted a dinner to celebrate the 25th anniversary of designers Abu Jani and Sandeep Khosla in Mumbai; he has a dinner to attend in Delhi right after this.

He is well served by a bottle of sparkling water.

Lalonde, a Francophone Canadian who declares he’s most comfortable in “the middle of the Atlantic ocean”, joined Moët & Chandon in July 2010 with a mission to develop the brand’s international success.

He has held several CEO positions within LVMH before this.

First as CEO of LVMH Watch and Jewelry North America, which includes brands such as TAG Heuer, Christian Dior and De Beers LV. And then as president and CEO of Louis Vuitton North America, establishing it as the top luxury brand in North America. He has also lectured at prominent institutions, including the Harvard Business School and Columbia University.

“I’ve been building my experience in the luxury sector along the way,” says Lalonde, making a note of his special interest in wine and oenology.

An avid wine collector himself, he has over 200 vintage bottles tucked away in his private cellars in Paris and Champagne.

Lalonde is a native of Cornwall in Ontario, Canada, and he has straddled both sides of the

IN PARENTHESIS Claude Moët networked extensively within the royal circles of Versailles to establish his champagne house in the 18th century. Moët & Chandon’s aggressive marketing plans are looking at Bollywood now, with Indian actors making it to the list of invitees at their gala estate tours to mark the harvest every year. In 2010, Lalonde, along with the brand’s global ambassador Scarlett Johansson, hosted Arjun Rampal in Champagne. In September, Lalonde and Johansson invited Abhay Deol—who Lalonde says is “really into champagne”— to celebrate the opening of a 100­year­old bottle in Shanghai.

Storyteller: Lalonde believes in the power of anecdotes, and so, he says, his work begins with the story of Dom Pérignon.

JAYACHANDRAN/MINT

Atlantic. Being bilingual in English and French has helped.

After college in Ontario, where he studied math at the University of Waterloo, he did his MBA from Insead in France. His first foray in the luxury sector was with the start-up espresso brand Nespresso in Lausanne, Switzerland (here, one must add that 48-year-old Lalonde bears a striking resemblance to George Clooney, Nespresso’s ambassador). He moved back to North America for his stints with LVMH’s fashion sectors in New York and now lives in Paris in the high-nosed 16th arrondissement, or district, home to old money and corporate moguls, with his Italian wife and three children.

Lalonde believes that to sell luxury one has to be intrinsically obsessed with one’s product. It’s evident that he is caught up in the long history of his brand, and that the retelling of Pérignon’s story is the part he loves best. “Champagne is an artisanal product. My work starts with the story of Dom Pérignon, and I make sure it’s that way for my staff too. I tell them to pull out the anecdotes...people fall in love.”

Lalonde knows how to make people fall in love. He’s the guru of romance-laced anecdotes, explaining that while champagne existed before Pérignon, he was the one who mastered the concept of assemblage, or pressing grapes from different vineyards separately, to give champagne its distinct character.

But most importantly, he gave champagne the effervescence we identify it with today.“He gave champagne its sparkle,” says Lalonde. “It wasn’t always a bubbly.”

Moët & Chandon’s estates include the Abbey of Hauteville, where Pérignon spent 47 years as a winemaker and where he is buried. Their most premium champagne, the cuvée de prestige, is named Dom Pérignon in deference.

Lalonde sits easily, with none of the stuffy body language one would expect of a 16th arrondissement resident. I ask him about the watch he’s wearing: a TAG Heuer Grand Carrera.

“This is one I helped design.

It’s one of my favourites. Easy to travel with: dress up, dress down,” he says.

While aware of the understated but persistent marketing that luxury brands warrant, Lalonde is a strong believer in product details. “It can’t only be about how you communicate your product. Luxury is fundamentally about the product itself. There’s an incredible amount of detail that goes into luxury goods...so yes, I try to get

into the creative end every once in a while.”

With a predilection for oenology, Lalonde has his nose in the House’s wines too. He spends about a week every month in Champagne, a couple of weeks at the head office in Paris and the rest of the time meeting consumers around the world.

Lalonde took over as CEO at a difficult time, just after the global recession. He has been responsible for several brand strategies, including creating new ways to drink champagne.

The House just launched the first champagne designed to be served with ice cubes: The Ice Imperial is meant to be served at beach resorts and hot spots such as St Tropez and Miami, garnished with berries and cucumber.

Founded in 1743 by vintner Claude Moët, the company has history on its side. Napoleon was one of its earliest patrons.

Over the years, the brand has practically created the celebratory gestures we associate with champagne today: the sabering of the bottle (this harks back to Napoleon), the christening of ships, its ubiquitousness in film award ceremonies and the triumphant spray of champagne after a sports victory are among the many.

This year marks 10 years of Moët Hennessy India, which started distributing Moët & Chandon and Dom Pérignon in retail spots and restaurants in metros this year. Together, the two champagne brands of the House control 80% of the champagne market in India in terms of volume. Lalonde’s trip also coincides with the imminent launch of Chandon, an indigenous sparkling wine that will be produced locally in Nashik, Maharashtra. The first bottles will be out in early 2013.

The brief that Lalonde has given himself is to leave the brand in better condition than when he took over. “I’m only playing a small role in the history of a brand that goes back more than 250 years and one that will stay around for longer than I will...it’s a small chapter but I want it to be a significant one.”

Apart from the stories, what’s kept Moët & Chandon’s heritage alive are the vintage bottles that the Chef de Cave of the House tucks away every year. These are living champagnes, still developing in bottle in underground cellars that run up to 20km at the estate. These are what are banked upon for special occasions such as the 11/11/11 charity auction.

Lalonde intends to start putting away more bottles from now on. “For my chapter in champagne history,” he says.

L10 COVER

LOUNGE

COVER L11

LOUNGE

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM PHOTOGRAPHS

COURTESY

NARESH FERNANDES

FROM HIS BOOK

TAJ MAHAL FOXTROT: THE STORY

OF

BOMBAY’S JAZZ AGE (ROLI BOOKS)

LONG GONE BLUES MUSIC

Swing time: (clockwise from above) Singer Pamela McCarthy; the Correa Optimists in the early 1930s; the cover of Taj Mahal Foxtrot; a view of early 20th century south Bombay; and the Mickey Correa band at the Taj hotel, circa 1939.

During World War II in British India, soldiers from all over the world drifted in and out of Bombay’s busy ports, and a motley crew of musicians became the vanguard of the city’s thriving jazz subculture. An exclusive extract from Naresh Fernandes’ forthcoming book, ‘Taj Mahal Foxtrot’

A

s a teenager in the Goan village of Curchorem, Franklin Fernandes spent long hours practising the trumpet with only one goal in mind: he wanted to “play like a negro”. It wasn’t an ambition his teacher, Maestro Diego Rodrigues, would have understood. Like all teachers in Goa’s parochial schools, Rodrigues coached his charges in musical theory and instructed them in the art of playing hymns and Western classical music.

Fernandes was a precocious talent. His mastery of the violin was recognised early but the young man, to his teacher’s dismay, soon developed a fascination for the clear, ringing sounds of the trumpet. It wasn’t long before Fernandes became a regular member of the village marching band, playing at parish feasts, weddings and—in New Orleans style—at funerals too. However, unlike the New Orleans bands famed for their improvised flights of fancy, Fernandes’ village orchestra was, he recalled, a “paper band—they played what was written”. Soon, even this was to become trickier as new instructions began to appear on the music scores: glissando, mute, attack.

It was all very baffling. “But when we heard the records, we knew how to play the notes,” Fernandes said. The thick shellac records that set him off on his journey of discovery bore the names of Ellington, Armstrong and Cab Calloway, and Fernandes grew addicted to hot music. Jazz, he said, gave him “freedom of expression”. He still looked at the sheet music, of course, but he knew that it could take him only

so far. “Like Indian music, jazz can’t be written,” he said. “You have to feel it. There are 12 bars, but each musician plays it differently. You play as you feel—morning you play different, evening you play different.”

Frank Fernandes grew so enamoured of the new music from America that in 1936, aged 16, he decided to make jazz his life. He headed to Bombay, where, like so many other Goans, he hoped to find work in one of the city’s famous dance bands.

Of course, it wasn’t quite so easy.

Competition for jobs was intense, so Fernandes—who would soon adopt the stage name Frank Fernand—began to work for the Bata shoe company in Mazagaon for 12 annas a day.

After work, he performed at the amateur nights at Green’s hotel, hoping to attract the attention of someone who mattered.

At first, Fernand lived with his uncle but later moved out to share a room with friends in Dhobi Talao. After work at the shoe shop, he’d practise intensely. One of his roommates remembers coming home to find Fernand standing with his back to the room, blowing his trumpet into a corner so that he could hear the echoes of his instrument.

Fernand’s persistence at the amateur nights eventually paid off and he was hired to play at the Majestic Hotel on Colaba Causeway by an Italian piano player named Beppo di Siati, who led a band staffed with musicians from Germany, the Philippines, the UK and the US. Like Fernand, other Indian musicians had also come to value the freedom that jazz allowed

them. Indians had been playing hot music, with varying degrees of proficiency since the 1920s. In 1937, when Teddy Weatherford took over leadership of the band at the Taj from Crickett Smith, as age began to catch up with the trumpet player, several Indians had become skilful enough to play alongside the African-Americans.

A photo of Weatherford’s band from 1938 shows three Indians looking out from behind their instruments. Two of them were brothers: Hal and Henry Green, from Bangalore. Their father, Cecil Beaumont Green, was an army surgeon who had fought in the Boer War before becoming the personal physician of the ruler of Mysore. Hal Green, the fourth of the doctor’s six children, had begun his musical education on a reproduction copy of a Stradivarius that his father had given him.

He was an autodidact. He devoured American films and records to learn as much as he could about ragtime and Dixieland music, also teaching himself about European classical music on the side.

Before they joined the Weatherford band, Hal Green and his younger brother Henry had led the eightmember Elite Aces at the Taj in 1933, performing what Ali Rajabally described as dance music with a jazz accent. Hal Green played guitar, reeds and the violin, while Henry was a bassist and saxophonist. “The type of music they had brought with them may be an overworked cliché today but it was an unheard of departure then,” Rajabally wrote. “Night after night, Hal and his alto sax drove the band through performances so exul-

tantly searing that no band in the country, local or foreign, could have successfully challenged them for the No. 1 spot.”

The third Indian in the 1938 photo of the Weatherford band is a Goan multi-instrumentalist listed as Josico Menezes, who changed his name soon after on the advice of Weatherford. The pianist told him, “It’s too much to call you Josico. Drop the ‘o’ and shorten the Menezes to Menzie. Josic Menzie, not Josico Menezes.” He was equally adept on the violin and the saxophone. Born in the Seychelles, he had been trained in England by Professor Sweeting, a violinist in the London Symphony Orchestra. He had led his own band in Karachi before coming to Bombay, where he accompanied silent films at Capitol Cinema under the baton of Jules Craen.

Before joining the Symphonians, Menzie had spent some time conducting a symphony orchestra for the Maharaja of Bikaner. Menzie formed part of the six-member saxophone section that Weatherford would put together when he felt like showing off. The Goan musician would be summoned to the front line along with Roy Butler, Rudy Jackson, the Green Toot your horn: Parsi musician Rudy Cotton, born Cawasji Khatau, became a musical force on a scene dominated by Goans and Anglo­Indians.

brothers and the pianist Weatherford, who would fake it.

In 1939, the outbreak of World War II in Europe shook up Bombay too. As barrage balloons went up over the Oval maidan like “a school of enormous airborne white whales”, in the description of one young observer, German and Italian residents were taken into custody or fled the country. Beppo di Siati, Frank Fernand’s Italian bandleader at Majestic Hotel, was among the enemy nationals interned. As the conflict spread, Bombay became the temporary home to troops from Australia, New Zealand, Canada and England, passing through from the Eastern front to Africa and Europe and for soldiers from the Western theatre of war on their way to the Far East. The journalist Dosoo Karaka observed the influx with his usual cynicism. “The city,” he wrote, “was a halfway house for the cannon fodder of [the] great war.”

En route to the front, the soldiers created quite a commotion.

One observer recalls Australian troops commandeering the horse-drawn Victoria carriages that thronged the street outside

the Taj, pushing the driver into the backseat and racing one another through downtown Bombay. “The crowds roared their applause,” he wrote. “The Aussies could have perpetrated more danger in Bombay than they did on the battlefield.” The arrivals weren’t all male. Allied officers brought their wives, while other Englishwomen realised that it would be prudent to wait out the war in the safety of India. There were refugees too—Poles, Danes, Czechs and Jews from Germany and Eastern Europe.

Karaka went into a funk and couldn’t bear to listen to any music at all. He became addicted to the wireless. “The news bulle-

tins were the funeral marches of our modern composers—the men of the Hood, the men of Dunkirk, the men who died in the huge craters of Crete. That was the music of this generation—the music we were destined to hear,” he wrote.

“Music that was written on the casualty lists, the dead being the flats and the wounded with their anguished cry being the sharps.”

Everyone else, it seemed, was trying to find comfort in the screaming brass of “jump” music, a style that seemed to perfectly capture the heightened emotion of the times. The Entertainment National Service Association did its bit to help them forget the looming violence, if only for a little while. ENSA had been established to keep the British troops in good spirits and it dispatched jazz bands to cantonment towns and frontier posts across India to cheer up the soldiers. India’s first generation of jazz musicians found themselves working overtime.

The most durable of all the wartime bands was headed by Micky Correa, a saxophonist born in Mombassa who had perfected his craft in Karachi with his family band, the Correa Optimists. When

he moved to Bombay in 1937, he played with Beppo di Siati’s Rhythm Orchestra at the Eros Ballroom, famed for its sprung dance floor. At the band’s next engagement, at the Majestic Hotel, he performed alongside Frank Fernand and shared a room with the trumpeter in Dhobi Talao. In 1939, Correa formed his own band at the Taj—and set a record of sorts by staying there until 1961. Perhaps the longevity of his stint at the Taj was the result of his physical endurance. Correa prided himself on his fitness and exercised regularly with dumbbells, following the techniques devised by the Canadian bodybuilder Joe Weider. He also knew how to please a crowd, never turning down requests. The Taj publicity brochures described Correa as a musician who was “untired of repetitions”.

Correa’s orchestra at the Taj was a hothouse for Bombay swing. The men and women who would go on to lead the city’s most popular groups found early encouragement on his bandstand: saxophonists Johnny Baptist, Norman Mobsby, George Pacheco and the Gomes brothers, Johnny and Joe; trumpet players Peter

Monsorate, Pete D’Mello and Chic Chocolate; and pianists Manuel Nunes, Dorothy Clarke and Lucilla Pacheco, among others. Recalled Ali Rajabally: “The Bombay jazz scene was honeycombed with virtuosi of high calibre. The pace was intense, but it was carried on in a spirit which placed the love of jazz above every other consideration. Nobody played with one eye on the cashbox and the other on the clock.”

Another war-time swing powerhouse was led by Rudy Cotton, the keen young saxophonist who, trumpet player Bill Coleman had recalled in his memoirs, would hang around the Taj to chat with members of Leon Abbey’s band.

Cotton was Parsi, a rarity on an Indian jazz scene dominated by Anglo-Indians and Goans. His father was a producer of Parsi theatre, a melodramatic genre of musical drama from which India’s earliest films had drawn their aesthetic conventions and acting talent. Cotton had dropped out of school to pursue music as a career, the only one of his siblings to continue the family showbiz tradition (two brothers went on to become noted boxers).

Cotton started by playing the

trumpet, but decided to dump his horn after dropping by the Taj one day in 1936 and being captivated by the smooth tenor sax of Cass McCord. He was an early follower of Lester Young. “In those days, Rudy was often criticised for having a soft, what is known today as a ‘cool’ tone,” an amateur musician named Rusi Sethna told Blue Rhythm magazine later. “Rudy belonged to the modern school of tenor playing but that term came into being recently while Rudy has been blowing like that ever since I can remember.”

Rudy Cotton’s big break came when he was hired by Tony Nunes, the pianist who headed the Teetotallers band, but he credited his ability to really “feel jazz” to the stint he spent in the orchestra of Vincent Cummine, playing alongside such talents as Cummine’s violinist brother Ken, the bassist Fernando “Bimbo” D’Costa, the drummer Leslie Weeks and the spectacular trumpet player Antonio Xavier Vaz, who was already winning legions of fans under his stage name Chic Chocolate. Cummine’s band travelled to Rangoon in 1938, but by 1940, Cotton had formed his own group, persuading his former bandmates to join him, and adding Sollo Jacobs on piano.

“As anyone who knows the history of Indian orchestras can well imagine, this combination proved a tremendous success overnight and from then onwards Rudy’s fame was on the upbeat,” The Onlooker magazine reported.

Bookings poured in from the Taj, the Majestic and the Ritz, among other establishments.

Soon, the saxophonist’s band was spending a lot of time on the road. Each summer, the band travelled to Mussoorie, the Himalayan hill station to which Delhi’s colonial administrators retreated to find respite from the heat. Cotton’s performances at the Savoy were among the main attractions of the season. He was later lured away by Hakman’s Hotel, where he headed an 11-piece orchestra.

Cotton’s secret, Rajabally contended, lay in his ability to merge a small-band approach with bigband projection. “The rhythm section…rolled on ball-bearing wheels,” he gushed. “Rudy Cotton was outstanding. He had an extraordinary tone, impeccable taste in choosing phrases, flaming imagination and a technique that few could equal.”

The busiest of all the war-era bands was led by the inimitable Ken Mac, who had managed to retain his hold on the Bombay

dance-music scene long after Leon Abbey’s departure. By the mid-1940s, Mac was being signed up for about 40 engagements a month. Every Wednesday, he played regular shows at the YMCA on Wodehouse Road for Allied troops. His crooner at that time was Jean Statham, whom he later married. Occasionally, his young niece, Pamela McCarthy, would sing a tune or two. She had been stricken with polio at the age of 11 and performed from her wheelchair, dressed in a glamorous ball gown. It was a hectic life. “Music and dancing was so popular and we played all the top venues—the Taj, Ambassador and Ritz Hotels, the Radio, Willingdon, Yacht Clubs and Bombay Gymkhana to name a few,” said McCarthy.

“Sometimes we did two sessions a day—an evening dance and later a night dance.”

Mac also made regular radio broadcasts and cut dozens of swing-tinted records. The first, “Down Argentina Way”, sold more than 25,000 copies. Mac told one interviewer that there was much more to being a successful bandleader than merely having to ensure that the musicians played the right note at the right time. “He is the band’s star salesman who must obtain the most favourable terms,” the journalist wrote. “He has to make sure the boys will meet always on time and are dressed as they should be. He has to exercise tact and good temper to smooth out frictions and difficulties. He is responsible for building up the library—as the sum total of all the band numbers is called.”

Bombay’s band leaders obtained their music from publishing houses and from local cinema distributors, and listened hard to the radio and to new records. All the best bands had their own arrangers, men who wrote the parts of each instrumentalist in a unique way so as to make their outfit’s version of standard tunes stand out from their competitors’. Indian musicians were also beginning to compose their own tunes. Pianist Sollo Jacob had written a foxtrot called “Everyone Knew”; Hal Green, already a much-in-demand arranger, had composed tunes he called “Copacabana” and “Get Out of the Mood and Into the Groove”, while Chic Chocolate was performing his “Juhu Jive”.

Naresh Fernandes is a consulting editor at Time Out India. This is his first book.

Excerpted from Taj Mahal Foxtrot: The Story of Bombay’s Jazz Age by Naresh Fernandes; published by Roli Books, accompanied by a CD of original recordings, 192 pages, `1,295 (the book may be pre-ordered on Flipkart.com). Taj Mahal Foxtrot will be released on 20 December.

Write to lounge@livemint.com

L10 COVER

LOUNGE

COVER L11

LOUNGE

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM PHOTOGRAPHS

COURTESY

NARESH FERNANDES

FROM HIS BOOK

TAJ MAHAL FOXTROT: THE STORY

OF

BOMBAY’S JAZZ AGE (ROLI BOOKS)

LONG GONE BLUES MUSIC

Swing time: (clockwise from above) Singer Pamela McCarthy; the Correa Optimists in the early 1930s; the cover of Taj Mahal Foxtrot; a view of early 20th century south Bombay; and the Mickey Correa band at the Taj hotel, circa 1939.

During World War II in British India, soldiers from all over the world drifted in and out of Bombay’s busy ports, and a motley crew of musicians became the vanguard of the city’s thriving jazz subculture. An exclusive extract from Naresh Fernandes’ forthcoming book, ‘Taj Mahal Foxtrot’

A

s a teenager in the Goan village of Curchorem, Franklin Fernandes spent long hours practising the trumpet with only one goal in mind: he wanted to “play like a negro”. It wasn’t an ambition his teacher, Maestro Diego Rodrigues, would have understood. Like all teachers in Goa’s parochial schools, Rodrigues coached his charges in musical theory and instructed them in the art of playing hymns and Western classical music.

Fernandes was a precocious talent. His mastery of the violin was recognised early but the young man, to his teacher’s dismay, soon developed a fascination for the clear, ringing sounds of the trumpet. It wasn’t long before Fernandes became a regular member of the village marching band, playing at parish feasts, weddings and—in New Orleans style—at funerals too. However, unlike the New Orleans bands famed for their improvised flights of fancy, Fernandes’ village orchestra was, he recalled, a “paper band—they played what was written”. Soon, even this was to become trickier as new instructions began to appear on the music scores: glissando, mute, attack.

It was all very baffling. “But when we heard the records, we knew how to play the notes,” Fernandes said. The thick shellac records that set him off on his journey of discovery bore the names of Ellington, Armstrong and Cab Calloway, and Fernandes grew addicted to hot music. Jazz, he said, gave him “freedom of expression”. He still looked at the sheet music, of course, but he knew that it could take him only

so far. “Like Indian music, jazz can’t be written,” he said. “You have to feel it. There are 12 bars, but each musician plays it differently. You play as you feel—morning you play different, evening you play different.”

Frank Fernandes grew so enamoured of the new music from America that in 1936, aged 16, he decided to make jazz his life. He headed to Bombay, where, like so many other Goans, he hoped to find work in one of the city’s famous dance bands.

Of course, it wasn’t quite so easy.

Competition for jobs was intense, so Fernandes—who would soon adopt the stage name Frank Fernand—began to work for the Bata shoe company in Mazagaon for 12 annas a day.

After work, he performed at the amateur nights at Green’s hotel, hoping to attract the attention of someone who mattered.

At first, Fernand lived with his uncle but later moved out to share a room with friends in Dhobi Talao. After work at the shoe shop, he’d practise intensely. One of his roommates remembers coming home to find Fernand standing with his back to the room, blowing his trumpet into a corner so that he could hear the echoes of his instrument.

Fernand’s persistence at the amateur nights eventually paid off and he was hired to play at the Majestic Hotel on Colaba Causeway by an Italian piano player named Beppo di Siati, who led a band staffed with musicians from Germany, the Philippines, the UK and the US. Like Fernand, other Indian musicians had also come to value the freedom that jazz allowed

them. Indians had been playing hot music, with varying degrees of proficiency since the 1920s. In 1937, when Teddy Weatherford took over leadership of the band at the Taj from Crickett Smith, as age began to catch up with the trumpet player, several Indians had become skilful enough to play alongside the African-Americans.

A photo of Weatherford’s band from 1938 shows three Indians looking out from behind their instruments. Two of them were brothers: Hal and Henry Green, from Bangalore. Their father, Cecil Beaumont Green, was an army surgeon who had fought in the Boer War before becoming the personal physician of the ruler of Mysore. Hal Green, the fourth of the doctor’s six children, had begun his musical education on a reproduction copy of a Stradivarius that his father had given him.

He was an autodidact. He devoured American films and records to learn as much as he could about ragtime and Dixieland music, also teaching himself about European classical music on the side.

Before they joined the Weatherford band, Hal Green and his younger brother Henry had led the eightmember Elite Aces at the Taj in 1933, performing what Ali Rajabally described as dance music with a jazz accent. Hal Green played guitar, reeds and the violin, while Henry was a bassist and saxophonist. “The type of music they had brought with them may be an overworked cliché today but it was an unheard of departure then,” Rajabally wrote. “Night after night, Hal and his alto sax drove the band through performances so exul-

tantly searing that no band in the country, local or foreign, could have successfully challenged them for the No. 1 spot.”

The third Indian in the 1938 photo of the Weatherford band is a Goan multi-instrumentalist listed as Josico Menezes, who changed his name soon after on the advice of Weatherford. The pianist told him, “It’s too much to call you Josico. Drop the ‘o’ and shorten the Menezes to Menzie. Josic Menzie, not Josico Menezes.” He was equally adept on the violin and the saxophone. Born in the Seychelles, he had been trained in England by Professor Sweeting, a violinist in the London Symphony Orchestra. He had led his own band in Karachi before coming to Bombay, where he accompanied silent films at Capitol Cinema under the baton of Jules Craen.

Before joining the Symphonians, Menzie had spent some time conducting a symphony orchestra for the Maharaja of Bikaner. Menzie formed part of the six-member saxophone section that Weatherford would put together when he felt like showing off. The Goan musician would be summoned to the front line along with Roy Butler, Rudy Jackson, the Green Toot your horn: Parsi musician Rudy Cotton, born Cawasji Khatau, became a musical force on a scene dominated by Goans and Anglo­Indians.

brothers and the pianist Weatherford, who would fake it.

In 1939, the outbreak of World War II in Europe shook up Bombay too. As barrage balloons went up over the Oval maidan like “a school of enormous airborne white whales”, in the description of one young observer, German and Italian residents were taken into custody or fled the country. Beppo di Siati, Frank Fernand’s Italian bandleader at Majestic Hotel, was among the enemy nationals interned. As the conflict spread, Bombay became the temporary home to troops from Australia, New Zealand, Canada and England, passing through from the Eastern front to Africa and Europe and for soldiers from the Western theatre of war on their way to the Far East. The journalist Dosoo Karaka observed the influx with his usual cynicism. “The city,” he wrote, “was a halfway house for the cannon fodder of [the] great war.”

En route to the front, the soldiers created quite a commotion.

One observer recalls Australian troops commandeering the horse-drawn Victoria carriages that thronged the street outside

the Taj, pushing the driver into the backseat and racing one another through downtown Bombay. “The crowds roared their applause,” he wrote. “The Aussies could have perpetrated more danger in Bombay than they did on the battlefield.” The arrivals weren’t all male. Allied officers brought their wives, while other Englishwomen realised that it would be prudent to wait out the war in the safety of India. There were refugees too—Poles, Danes, Czechs and Jews from Germany and Eastern Europe.

Karaka went into a funk and couldn’t bear to listen to any music at all. He became addicted to the wireless. “The news bulle-

tins were the funeral marches of our modern composers—the men of the Hood, the men of Dunkirk, the men who died in the huge craters of Crete. That was the music of this generation—the music we were destined to hear,” he wrote.

“Music that was written on the casualty lists, the dead being the flats and the wounded with their anguished cry being the sharps.”

Everyone else, it seemed, was trying to find comfort in the screaming brass of “jump” music, a style that seemed to perfectly capture the heightened emotion of the times. The Entertainment National Service Association did its bit to help them forget the looming violence, if only for a little while. ENSA had been established to keep the British troops in good spirits and it dispatched jazz bands to cantonment towns and frontier posts across India to cheer up the soldiers. India’s first generation of jazz musicians found themselves working overtime.

The most durable of all the wartime bands was headed by Micky Correa, a saxophonist born in Mombassa who had perfected his craft in Karachi with his family band, the Correa Optimists. When

he moved to Bombay in 1937, he played with Beppo di Siati’s Rhythm Orchestra at the Eros Ballroom, famed for its sprung dance floor. At the band’s next engagement, at the Majestic Hotel, he performed alongside Frank Fernand and shared a room with the trumpeter in Dhobi Talao. In 1939, Correa formed his own band at the Taj—and set a record of sorts by staying there until 1961. Perhaps the longevity of his stint at the Taj was the result of his physical endurance. Correa prided himself on his fitness and exercised regularly with dumbbells, following the techniques devised by the Canadian bodybuilder Joe Weider. He also knew how to please a crowd, never turning down requests. The Taj publicity brochures described Correa as a musician who was “untired of repetitions”.

Correa’s orchestra at the Taj was a hothouse for Bombay swing. The men and women who would go on to lead the city’s most popular groups found early encouragement on his bandstand: saxophonists Johnny Baptist, Norman Mobsby, George Pacheco and the Gomes brothers, Johnny and Joe; trumpet players Peter

Monsorate, Pete D’Mello and Chic Chocolate; and pianists Manuel Nunes, Dorothy Clarke and Lucilla Pacheco, among others. Recalled Ali Rajabally: “The Bombay jazz scene was honeycombed with virtuosi of high calibre. The pace was intense, but it was carried on in a spirit which placed the love of jazz above every other consideration. Nobody played with one eye on the cashbox and the other on the clock.”

Another war-time swing powerhouse was led by Rudy Cotton, the keen young saxophonist who, trumpet player Bill Coleman had recalled in his memoirs, would hang around the Taj to chat with members of Leon Abbey’s band.

Cotton was Parsi, a rarity on an Indian jazz scene dominated by Anglo-Indians and Goans. His father was a producer of Parsi theatre, a melodramatic genre of musical drama from which India’s earliest films had drawn their aesthetic conventions and acting talent. Cotton had dropped out of school to pursue music as a career, the only one of his siblings to continue the family showbiz tradition (two brothers went on to become noted boxers).

Cotton started by playing the

trumpet, but decided to dump his horn after dropping by the Taj one day in 1936 and being captivated by the smooth tenor sax of Cass McCord. He was an early follower of Lester Young. “In those days, Rudy was often criticised for having a soft, what is known today as a ‘cool’ tone,” an amateur musician named Rusi Sethna told Blue Rhythm magazine later. “Rudy belonged to the modern school of tenor playing but that term came into being recently while Rudy has been blowing like that ever since I can remember.”

Rudy Cotton’s big break came when he was hired by Tony Nunes, the pianist who headed the Teetotallers band, but he credited his ability to really “feel jazz” to the stint he spent in the orchestra of Vincent Cummine, playing alongside such talents as Cummine’s violinist brother Ken, the bassist Fernando “Bimbo” D’Costa, the drummer Leslie Weeks and the spectacular trumpet player Antonio Xavier Vaz, who was already winning legions of fans under his stage name Chic Chocolate. Cummine’s band travelled to Rangoon in 1938, but by 1940, Cotton had formed his own group, persuading his former bandmates to join him, and adding Sollo Jacobs on piano.

“As anyone who knows the history of Indian orchestras can well imagine, this combination proved a tremendous success overnight and from then onwards Rudy’s fame was on the upbeat,” The Onlooker magazine reported.

Bookings poured in from the Taj, the Majestic and the Ritz, among other establishments.

Soon, the saxophonist’s band was spending a lot of time on the road. Each summer, the band travelled to Mussoorie, the Himalayan hill station to which Delhi’s colonial administrators retreated to find respite from the heat. Cotton’s performances at the Savoy were among the main attractions of the season. He was later lured away by Hakman’s Hotel, where he headed an 11-piece orchestra.

Cotton’s secret, Rajabally contended, lay in his ability to merge a small-band approach with bigband projection. “The rhythm section…rolled on ball-bearing wheels,” he gushed. “Rudy Cotton was outstanding. He had an extraordinary tone, impeccable taste in choosing phrases, flaming imagination and a technique that few could equal.”

The busiest of all the war-era bands was led by the inimitable Ken Mac, who had managed to retain his hold on the Bombay

dance-music scene long after Leon Abbey’s departure. By the mid-1940s, Mac was being signed up for about 40 engagements a month. Every Wednesday, he played regular shows at the YMCA on Wodehouse Road for Allied troops. His crooner at that time was Jean Statham, whom he later married. Occasionally, his young niece, Pamela McCarthy, would sing a tune or two. She had been stricken with polio at the age of 11 and performed from her wheelchair, dressed in a glamorous ball gown. It was a hectic life. “Music and dancing was so popular and we played all the top venues—the Taj, Ambassador and Ritz Hotels, the Radio, Willingdon, Yacht Clubs and Bombay Gymkhana to name a few,” said McCarthy.

“Sometimes we did two sessions a day—an evening dance and later a night dance.”

Mac also made regular radio broadcasts and cut dozens of swing-tinted records. The first, “Down Argentina Way”, sold more than 25,000 copies. Mac told one interviewer that there was much more to being a successful bandleader than merely having to ensure that the musicians played the right note at the right time. “He is the band’s star salesman who must obtain the most favourable terms,” the journalist wrote. “He has to make sure the boys will meet always on time and are dressed as they should be. He has to exercise tact and good temper to smooth out frictions and difficulties. He is responsible for building up the library—as the sum total of all the band numbers is called.”

Bombay’s band leaders obtained their music from publishing houses and from local cinema distributors, and listened hard to the radio and to new records. All the best bands had their own arrangers, men who wrote the parts of each instrumentalist in a unique way so as to make their outfit’s version of standard tunes stand out from their competitors’. Indian musicians were also beginning to compose their own tunes. Pianist Sollo Jacob had written a foxtrot called “Everyone Knew”; Hal Green, already a much-in-demand arranger, had composed tunes he called “Copacabana” and “Get Out of the Mood and Into the Groove”, while Chic Chocolate was performing his “Juhu Jive”.

Naresh Fernandes is a consulting editor at Time Out India. This is his first book.

Excerpted from Taj Mahal Foxtrot: The Story of Bombay’s Jazz Age by Naresh Fernandes; published by Roli Books, accompanied by a CD of original recordings, 192 pages, `1,295 (the book may be pre-ordered on Flipkart.com). Taj Mahal Foxtrot will be released on 20 December.

Write to lounge@livemint.com

L12

www.livemint.com

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011

Travel

LOUNGE

HOLIDAYS

Memories worth 1,000 Pradas

LARRY LILAC/ALAMY

ANDREAS HOLM/WSJ

From Moroccan markets to Chinese palaces, a trip can be an irreplaceable present

B Y J EMIMA S ISSONS ···························· ll I was told was to turn up at Heathrow Terminal 5, bring my swimwear and some glamorous evening wear, and we’d be away for a week,” says Londoner Jennifer Phillips, who received a gift she will never forget last Christmas. “When I got there, my boyfriend was there in his linen suit with a little folder that he handed to me. In it were two business-class tickets to the Maldives.”

Her boyfriend had hired the honeymoon suite, only accessible by boat, at luxury resort Soneva Fushi. “It was definitely the most romantic present I have ever had,” she says.

For many like Phillips, a trip that stays with you forever is a far more poignant and personal gift than an expensive designer item or hastily bought jewellery. For some, it is a chance to live out a lifelong dream. From breaking bread with Berbers in Morocco to meditating in a Cambodian monastery, we pick the top experiences that will leave an impression long after touchdown.

A

Robinson Crusoe If your idea of heaven is having your very own island in the Caribbean for the day, try Los Roques.

Located in the clear turquoise waters off the coast of northern Venezuela, this archipelago of 350 islands is a protected national park, abundant with coral reefs, sea turtles and bird life.

On the largest island of Gran Roque, guests stay in one of the chic posadas, where meals are included in the price. Each day, guests are taken by speedboat to a different secluded island and set up with a large parasol and an

Gift retreats: (clockwise from top) The pool at the Santa Teresa hotel, Rio de Janeiro; the Jemaa el­Fna night market, Marrakech; the La Mamounia hotel; and the Great Wall of China.

icebox packed with a delicious lunch (some of the bigger islands have cafés); you are left to your own devices until the arranged pick-up time.

A seven-day holiday to Los Roques starts at €1,380 (around `96,000) per person with Journey Latin America (www.journeylatin america.co.uk). The price includes a one-night stay in Caracas upon arrival, airport transfers, a return flight from Caracas to Los Roques and five nights at Posada Mediterraneo with full board. International flights are extra.

Gourmet adventurer A three-day culinary adventure in Marrakech is a chance to soak in some history and culture.

From a base at Winston Churchill’s hotel of choice, the historic La Mamounia, you can pick an itinerary through luxury travel company Boutique Souk. Try the guided tour of the Medina, with a visit to the spice and food markets; and a sunset visit to the open-air food market Jemaa el-Fna. Day 2 includes another trip to the markets, to source the vegetables, herbs, spices and meat for the day’s lunch and a cooking lesson at a traditional riad. The final day is an excursion to the Ourika Valley, with a trip to a Berber mountain market. Visitors take part in a bread-making course and eat lunch at a local farm. Finish the day with a dinner in a private room in the Mamounia’s excellent restaurant, Le Marocain, while being serenaded by a Berber troupe.

Rooms at La Mamounia (Mamounia.com) start at 6,000 Moroccan dirham (around `38,000); culinary packages from Boutique Souk (Boutiquesouk.com) start at €195 per person,

based on a two-person minimum, and include guides, cooking schools, lunches and soft drinks, as well as a car and chauffeur throughout. Dinner at La Mamounia is extra.

The spiritualist Organized by Excursionist, this Cambodian adventure includes the chance to stay with monks in a monastery, and explore Angkor Wat with an archaeologist. Beginning in Phnom Penh, with a stay at Raffles Hotel, the first few days are spent exploring the city’s sites, including the Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda. Then, guests travel to

Angkor Wat, taking in spectacular aerial views of Prasat Kravan, Srah Srang, Pre Rup, Ta Som and East Mebon temples on the 45-minute flight. After meeting the archaeologist guide, visitors take a cycling tour (bikes are provided) through the temple complex and north towards the south gate of Angkor Thom, to check out the centrepiece of this ancient city, the Bayon temple. The tour ends with a gentle boat ride from the south gate to the west gate of Angkor Thom, where guests are picked up and taken to the five-star Hôtel de la Paix in nearby Siem Reap.

The evening ends with a gour-

met dinner under the stars, next to one of the ancient temples, with performances from local dancers. The meal, cooked by chefs from Borei Angkor, includes local specialities.

The next day, ride in a traditional ox cart to a local monastery, where you will meet monks and begin a course focused on Buddhist philosophy and monastic life.

This is followed by a simple dinner and an overnight stay on authentic cots. Rise at the crack of dawn to the stirring sound of the drums.

After breakfast, you will be introduced to meditation before spending a half-day practising the ancient art in the monastery. The holiday ends with a three-night stay at luxury resort Song Saa (which will open in February), where you can unwind with meditation and yoga classes on this island retreat.

Excursionist (www.excursionist. com) offers its “Ultimate Cambodian Adventure” package from €12,145 for two people, which includes all breakfasts, a special dinner, internal flights and accommodation.

Culture vulture Aman at Summer Palace in Beijing is steeped in history. Staying in century-old pavilions adjoining the summer hideaway for China’s last royal family, visitors can take calligraphy classes or listen to performances of traditional music in pagodas around the property.

However, the real reason for staying here comes when the sun sets and you are granted exclusive, torch-lit access to the palace, which overlooks Kunming Lake.

Over the next three days, visit the Hutongs—mazes of courtyard residences based on Feng Shui principles—with lunch at one of the restaurants lining the ancient streets of Beijing. Continue your tour with a leisurely walk around the Forbidden City and the Temple of Heaven. For an insight into the contemporary art scene, take a day trip to the 798 district, an artists’ colony on the outskirts of town where you can see painstaking sand paintings and elaborate street art. Take a guided picnic atop the Great Wall. A two-night stay in one of the nearby private homes not only allows you to be up on the wall at sunrise, but also offers a chance to experience the quiet of rural life. The 90-minute flight to see the Terracotta Army in Xi’an is also worth the effort.

An all-inclusive, five-night package, organized by bespoke tour operator Lightfoot Travel (www.lightfoottravel.com), costs €6,256 for two people. International flights are extra.

Urban romantic You don’t have to leave the city to have an unharried adventure. The trick is to find a peaceful hotel in a sublime destination. Romantic hideaway Santa Teresa hotel in Rio de Janeiro is situated in the leafy neighbourhood of the same name, where crumbling colonial villas vie with street art. Situated above the city, with a view of the iconic Christ the Redeemer statue, most of the rooms are decked out in furniture

by Brazilian designers; choose a suite with a secluded terrace.

It’s a short drive to the lively area of Lapa or the beaches of Ipanema and Copacabana. Walk in the city’s lush botanical gardens before immersing yourself in the local culture with a Samba class at the Carlinhos de Jesus dance school.

End with drinks on Santa Teresa’s candle-lit terrace, followed by a tasting menu of Brazilian dishes at the hotel’s Térèze restaurant.

After a few days exploring the city’s nooks and crannies, including Sugarloaf Mountain and the Oscar Niemeyer Museum, head to Grumari or Prainha beaches, within an hour’s drive, or for a romantic getaway, try the car-free Paquetá Island, reachable by ferry.

Tours and excursions can be arranged through Santa Teresa (www.santateresahotel.com), where room rates start at €350 a night, plus taxes.

Write to wsj@livemint.com

L14

www.livemint.com

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011

Books

LOUNGE

Q&A | HOSHANG MERCHANT

‘Liberation does not come in a day’ PRADEEP GAUR/MINT

The poet on his autobiography, sexuality, authorial identity and section 377

B Y A MRITA R OY amrita.r@livemint.com

···························· Parsi who has studied Sufism in Iran and Buddhism in Dharamsala.

A prolific poet whose staid day job happens to be that of an educationist. A Mumbai boy who has lived in Los Angeles and Jerusalem, and made a home in Hyderabad. One of the most prominent gay voices in the subcontinent, but one which does not believe in gay marriage.

Identities merge in Hoshang Merchant’s latest book, the simultaneously witty and moving The Man Who Would be Queen, published 11 years after the critically acclaimed Yaarana, the first anthology of gay writing from India that Merchant edited.

He spoke to Lounge about the new book and his concerns about gay identity. Edited excerpts from an interview:

A

The cover describes the book as ‘autobiographical fiction’.

Is it more autobiography than fiction?

It is an autobiography. But it’s also fiction because memory plays tricks. Ghalib used to tell would-be poets, don’t talk about what you’ve eaten for breakfast.

Different people eat different things. Say breakfast; everybody eats breakfast. Keep to the generalities, then people can relate. As it is, being gay is so strange for most people. People don’t talk about it. So you’ve got to tell them, “Look, there are thoroughly normal middle-class people who are gay”.

You’ve said you don’t like ‘gay’.

You prefer ‘queer’. Yet you used ‘queen’ in the title.

I wanted to play on (Rudyard) Kipling’s The Man Who Would be King. So I said, “The man who would be woman”. But my students suggested “queen”. It’s slang, though I don’t know the

Closet drama: Merchant harks back repeatedly to his parents’ trau­ matic divorce. exact nuance. A man who wears make-up? Like Quentin Crisp, the British foreign service officer who wore mascara to work during the height of the British empire. Later, when his (memoir) The Naked Civil Servant was published, the Queen Mother loved him and they became friends. My students call me the Quentin Crisp of India. But Crisp was 1930s, and I’m very now.

They are very literary. They don’t know where I’m coming from, or what I’m parodying.

While an author’s sexual identity is important to the understanding of his work, are tags like ‘gay literature’ limiting?

I didn’t write it as “gay” literature. I wrote as a human being who has a story to tell. My parents’ divorce was very traumatic. Gay people don’t divorce, only straight people do.

There were no gay marriages at that time. So if gays follow straights into marrying, gay divorces will also follow. We read because we want experiences which are not ours.

When I read a good lesbian book, I become a lesbian. When I read Nightwood by Djuna Barnes, I weep and weep for the two women in love. I forget my identity as a Parsi, or as a man. I

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE QUEEN

Speak, memory A poet writes a dreamlike, oblique life story

The Man Who Would Be Queen— Autobiographical Fictions: Penguin India, 199 pages,`250.

B Y S UPRIYA N AIR supriya.n@livemint.com

····························· ts cheeky title belies the tone and form of Hoshang Merchant’s book, which tells his life story in a collection of vignettes. Its paradoxical subtitle, Autobiographical Fictions is justified: Merchant’s life gives the narrative its shape, but he tells it partially, subjectively and with a certain gentle provocation.

This, of course, is the privilege of memoir. The Man Who Would be Queen’s fictionality is derived from the voice of its protagonist, the “Hoshang Merchant” who lives on the page, through a childhood in a wealthy but conflicted household in Mumbai, an education in the US and Germany in the hothouse years of the 1970s, and travel and work through West Asia.

Each change of geography brings new milestones, many related to Merchant’s private life

I

as a gay man, and others to his development as a writer.

Merchant writes in a mix of aphorism and confessional, in a serious, self-possessed tone. This is autobiography as performance, and Merchant offers us glimpses—sometimes frustratingly oblique—of an eventful, emotionally intense life.

In his interview with Lounge, Merchant mentions Quentin Crisp, whose glorious memoir The Naked Civil Servant is a landmark of modern British writing. The Naked Civil Servant is a hard book to read, because it is difficult for a contemporary reader to find a way to react to the exquisite lightness with which Crisp writes of a life lived in defiance of violent discrimination and rejection. It is rooted in the social context of Crisp’s early 20th century England, but that violence is still a fact of life for gay and transpeople around the world.

Merchant’s tone and story are both completely different, but he too writes of grief and injustice with ironic distance. The effort is similarly affecting.

can be a human for some time.

So you don’t agree with the concept of gay marriage?

No, I don’t. Marriages are about property. Any marriage. Say somebody has served somebody for 25 years, and then he dies. So the other one inherits his property. But what about people who don’t have property? Or what about the kind of relationships that don’t last that long? The kind of relationships I’ve had—two months, three months, a few days. What does marriage mean to people like us?

But I can understand that people have grown up in a heterosexual society and want to think, “Oh, I want to live with this person for ever”. I did too. I knew no better.

I’d also grown up seeing my father and mother.

Do you think gay movements in India are still predominantly urban?

That’s not really true, though I’m out of it and only meet people when I attend meetings.

But I’ve had readers from small towns tell me they enjoyed reading Yaarana or my poems.

There was this man, from Hubli I think, who called to say that though he didn’t speak English he could identify with the simple language of the book. So to say it’s only urban or elitist is pure nonsense. But do you think I’d have been able to find my voice if I hadn’t had an English education, gone to the US and been with people like (feminist and author of erotica) Anaïs Nin? And what is cosmopolitanism? It doesn’t mean anything. I lived in LA in the 1960s. I had teachers who were in the closet. I’d suspect they were gays. I’d fantasize. “Ill met by moon, proud Titania,” you know. But that never happened.

We only knew for sure after their deaths. I couldn’t live in closets because I was a flaming queen with my swaying hips and long hair, but I’d have to go to brothels for sex.

Has the Delhi high court ruling on section 377 changed anything?

It will. Psychologically, it will.

Like the emancipation Bill in the US. It stopped the lynchings, but oppression continued in other forms. Jim Crowism, toadyism.

We’ve to go through the whole gamut. Liberation does not come in a day.

AS BYATT | THE END OF THE GODS

Apocalypto Nordic eschatology is superbly retold in a spine­tingling work of literary fiction B Y S UPRIYA N AIR supriya.n@livemint.com

···························· n Norse myth, the end of the gods is simultaneously foretold and retold. The Allfather Odin and his fellow gods are born in cosmic violence and abide on Asgard, a world separate from but interconnected with Midgard, the human world. The forces of chaos and order cause divine mishaps and hardship. Ragnarök, the twilight of the gods, is the final confrontation and mutual destruction of these forces.

In modern Europe, Norse myths have typically found

I

greater kinship with the secular ego of Teutonic culture than that of the English. Their most famous invocation in high art remains Wagner’s Ring Cycle; the term Götterdämmerung, the name of its last opera, is a German translation of the word Ragnarök.

A.S. Byatt’s new book, The End of the Gods, narrates one version of this chain of events. Hers is neither a novel nor a fable. In this story, the myths are discovered by a young girl in World War IIera England, who finds a copy of W. Wagner’s Asgard and the Gods, and through it a world which both explains and con-

fronts the realities of her own “bright black world”.

With subtlety and gravitas, Byatt slips in and out of a narrative of discovery, in which the nameless “thin child” begins to see a universe held in the branches of Yggdrasil, the Great Ash-tree. It is a world in which a monstrous serpent encircles the sea, a wolf slavers in divine captivity, waiting to spring upon its custodians, and the writhing of Loki, bound beneath the coils of a snake dripping venom upon him, causes earthquakes in Midgard.

Byatt is not always a graceful novelist, but in this small, subtle book, her literary intellect shines.

She forsakes straightforward allegory. The thin child experiences the terrors of Britain under fire in an impressionistic way, while the elemental strangeness, the nothumanness of the world of the Aesir, becomes a true picture of a quiet inner landscape. The story is told in light prose, full of the imag-

ery of old trees, great cold seas, ice storms, fish and birds. It evokes the oral quality of both a myth and a children’s story.

The book ends with the descent of Ragnarök, a pitiless, efficient eventuality. So also does the thin child’s own war end. As one world dies and another begins to be reborn, the thin child is confronted with the prospect of peace and “dailiness”, for which the myths have no lessons to teach.

Another British writer once mined the consonances of the grave fatalism of the Nordic myths—so different from the polyphony of Hellenic classicism—and a world war. It is not difficult to read J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle-earth legendarium and detect both his horror of war (he was a combatant in World War I) and a despairing solace in its inevitability. Byatt also shows us how building a myth lends both purpose and consolation to our histories of violence.

The End of the Gods— The Myth of Ragnarök: Penguin India, 177 pages,`399.

But the spirit of Tolkien’s work is his deep and complex Christianity. Byatt, with real satisfaction, refuses all religious comfort in her book. In an afterword, she tells us why she avoids the supposed late emendation to the myth where a few survivors, divine and human, may come together to heal and renew the

world. To the thin child, the “cross grandfather” worshipped in church cannot sufficiently explain a world annihilating itself, nor animate its brief glories. The gods are like us, Byatt argues. Love, wrath and courage are human qualities which we invest with divinity. Evil is human work, too; that is how man becomes wolf to man, she writes repeatedly, quoting Thomas Hobbes. Homo homini lupus est (and how Tolkien the linguist would have flinched from the discordant interruption of Latin).

In fairness, the Nordic myths can only tell us as much as their narrators choose. Look at Marvel Comics’ Thor, nominally starring the same hero of Asgard, but really a character in a totally different kind of modern American myth. But Byatt understands what made these old stories work, and why they work for us. Her book succeeds beautifully in making both these effects clear.

BOOKS L15

LOUNGE

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

MAKING A DIFFERENCE | EDITED BY RITU MENON

Second wave speaking

QUICK LIT | RAVI KRISHNAN

The great game SHEBA CHHACHHI

A collection picks some great stories out of Indian femi­ nist history, but leaves many untold

B Y D EEPA D HARMADHIKARI ···························· ublishing a collection of memoirs from activists who are not primarily writers is tricky. One can imagine an editor grappling with the dilemma of how much to nudge, push, or outright warp the primeval text into something coherent and engaging. Looking at the contributors for Making a Difference, it becomes clear that editor Ritu Menon chose an easy way out: The majority of writers are academics, all are college-educated with some form of previous published writing to their credit, and not a single memoir has been written (or spoken) in a language that needed translation.

From a publisher that prides itself on providing indigenous and subaltern voices, this lacuna becomes all the more inexcusable given that Indian women—including Gaura Devi and Bachhni Devi from the Chipko movement, Rojamma of the anti-liquor campaign in Andhra Pradesh, prostitute union organizers in Kolkata’s Sonagachi district, to name just a few—have long been leading movements to defend their rights without being literate, much less from the English-speaking middle and upper class.

We are told in the introduction to the book not to expect a comprehensive survey or analysis of the women’s movement in India. In the silences of Ruth Vanita’s memoir—where the only lesbian voice documents how painfully disconnected the women’s movement around her was from any support of queer feminists, in the photo essay of Sheba Chhachhi showing women choosing how they wish the portray themselves, and in SAHELI’s collective memoir, we are given glimpses of a larger movement, where dykes and Dalits and domestic abuse survi-

A new Sherlock Holmes novel beautifully recaptures the atmosphere of the original stories

O

P

Making a Difference— Memoirs from the Women’s Movement in India: Women Unlimited, 412 pages,`350. vors might be spokeswomen, rather than subjects of study.

Meanwhile, reading these 20 memoirs is like trying to learn your family history by eavesdropping on all the arguments and gossip sessions of your grandparents, intermingled with the reminiscence they choose to dole out to the younger generation.

These writers are earnest about acknowledging the failings and fissures within their movements, best exemplified by the ruthlessly honest introspection in Kamla Bhasin’s piece: “My kind of socialist feminism was even more brutal as it forced me to question my caste and class, my

duplicity in enjoying my class privileges while condemning the patriarchal privileges enjoyed by men….I see this as the biggest failure in my life.”

Some of the best moments arrive when the writers put together experience with professional or theoretical expertise.

For instance, Nalini Nayak, who is a founder member of the International Collective in Support of Fishworkers, writes an incisive piece on how feminism intersects with Marxist analysis of labour in the Kerala labour force she studied. “The more money that was needed to keep the fishery going, the more aggressive did fishers become, both at home and at sea. As a result, dowries crept into fishing communities and increased excessively.”

Or, working in the North-East, Roshmi Goswami says, “I realised…that when women are on home ground, they are less guarded about expressing themselves and their views on gender discrimination. The same women in a meeting in Delhi would be fiercely loyal to their ethnic identity and the ‘honour’ of the tribe.”

Disappointingly, ecologist Vandana Shiva’s contribution fails to tease out the theoretical underpinnings that connect ecology and feminism, focusing instead on the author’s own career. In contrast, Indira Jaising—the first female additional solicitor general

Our feminist foremoth­ ers: An anti­dowry dem­ onstration, circa 1981. of India—writes a brutally trenchant analysis of the legal system and the challenges it faces in order to be equitable and truly just. As she observes, “Political will, not economics, dictates development for women.”

These are the women whose political will brought dowry deaths to the front pages, and linked feminism with anti-capitalist economics. Their memories of growing up, largely post-independence and pre-liberalization, are a timely reminder of how much change in our social landscape has been actively fought for. This book acts as a notable, if disorganized, literary milestone commemorating a specific segment and time in the Indian women’s movement. It might not be the sort of read that you would hand to a straight man in order to say—here, learn about feminism. But for those who like to delve into the roots of our activist heritage, this is a good chance to listen to some of our feminist foremothers.

Write to lounge@livemint.com IN SIX WORDS Feminism’s second wave in India remembered

ne doesn’t need the sharp deductive logic of Sherlock Holmes to note his rise in popularity of late, with BBC’s Sherlock, the Guy Ritchie movies and now Anthony Horowitz’s The House of Silk.

In the last century, Sherlock Holmes has made comebacks with authors as varied as Stephen King and Nicholas Meyer, generally considered non-canonical. Horowitz’s book has been officially approved by the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Literary Estate, and it should succeed with Holmes fans as well as people who aren’t familiar with the stories.

The book opens with the great detective and his faithful chronicler, John Watson, ensconced in the familiar sitting room at 221B Baker Street. A Wimbledon art dealer, Edmund Carstairs, who is being stalked by a man in a flat cap, sets the duo on a rollicking adventure, with a train robbery, a horse-carriage chase, visits to seedy bars, opium dens and a prison escape.

You can feel the dreariness of a smoggy London winter, hear the sounds of broughams on paved roads and smell the tobacco in the air (it made this reviewer, who is trying to quit smoking, reach out for a pack of cigarettes). Horowitz is faithful to Dr Watson’s somewhat stodgy narrative style, although he is slightly more maudlin than usual. He is an apologist who writes that perhaps he should have treated Lestrade, who is often referred to as rat-faced and ferret-like in the canon, in a more generous manner. But that doesn’t prevent him from describing the inspector as a rat forced to dress for dinner at the Savoy.

There are comfortable strains of previous works such as A Study in Scarlet and The Valley of Fear, with flashbacks in the US. We are reintroduced to the cast of familiar characters—Mycroft Holmes, knighted and the chancellor of a well-known university, Inspector Lestrade, the Baker Street irregulars, the gang of urchins who act as Holmes’ informants and a certain professor of mathematics (“My work on the Binomial Theorem is studied in most of the universities of Europe.

I am also what you would doubtless term a criminal”).

This particular novel is set immediately after The Adventure of the Red-Headed League. In one The House of Silk: scene, when Holmes’ pockets are

By Anthony Horowitz, turned out, they reveal “a pair of Hachette, pince-nez, a length of string, a 304 pages,`499. signet ring bearing the crest of the Duke of Cassel-Felstein…several Greek coins and a small beryl”. What tantalizing references to previous stories for Holmes geeks!

The puzzle, which consists of three related mysteries, is perhaps worthy of inclusion in the Holmes canon. There are clues and cryptic references to what seems trivial at the moment (“I wonder if Mrs Carstairs is able to swim?” asks Holmes, while gazing at a frozen circle of water at the scene of a burglary).

The great detective is swift with his deductions and crystal logic and the plot leads to a satisfying denouement, though readers might find the solution modernist and a bit incongruous. While Holmes is not exactly a cold, calculating machine here, he is true to his métier as ever, cryptic and brilliant. ravi.k@livemint.com

The meeting of voices Dalit love poems, the memoirs of a former nun: Samanvay is a festival in many languages B Y M AYANK A USTEN S OOFI mayank.s@livemint.com

···························· hree days, 10 sessions, 13 Indian languages, 60 writers. The first Samanvay festival of Indian languages will be hosted in Delhi by the India Habitat Centre in partnership with Delhi Press and Pratilipi Books from 16-18 December.

“We are bringing writers from different languages on to a central platform that will showcase the richness and innovation taking place in Indian languages,” says Satyanand Nirupam, an associate editor, Sarita, Delhi Press, who designed and conceptualized the festival. “The aim is to provide a bridge for Hindi and English speakers to what is happening in, say, Oriya.”

The baatcheet (conversation) in the first session of the festival will include two Jnanpith

T

awardees—U.R. Ananthamurthy and Kunwar Narain. It will be moderated by K. Satchidanandan. In plain English, this will be an interaction involving a Kannada novelist, a Hindi poet and a Malayalam writer. So that everyone in the audience can understand them, the three will talk in English. In fact, each session in the festival will have an English translator; the briefing too will be in English.

The difference is that, unlike most lit fests, this time it is English, and not Indian languages, that will be on the fringes. So, yes, English authors like David Davidar and Basharat Peer will also speak, but for novelty, you had better make plans to listen to Moushumi Kandali.

The Guwahati-based writer will speak on “New Challenges for Women Writers”. “You

need imagination and experiences to write,” says Kandali, 37. Her fiction is in Assamese, but she has written art criticism in English. “A writer’s imagination is independent of her sex, but due to our complicated social set-ups, it’s difficult for her to get access to experiences that a man can more easily have.”

That must be the same for any woman writing in any language in any part of the world.

“No. The limitations of a Pashtun woman writer in Kabul are different from that of a Spanish woman writer in Barcelona,” says Kandali. “A language might not matter by itself but the freedom that is offered to the culture in which it prospers does make a difference to writing.” Yet, one point that Kandali will make to her audience in Delhi is that “just because a language is limited to a small region doesn’t mean that the themes of poems and stories in that bhasha are limited to its part of the world”.

To say that it will focus on

Language soldiers: Chennai­based Tamil poet Kutti Revathi (left); and Guwahati­based Assamese author Moushumi Kandali. language politics alone would be unfair to the festival. Punjabi-language authors will dissect Dalit love poems. Malayalam memoirist Sister Jesme, an ex-nun who wrote about sexual abuse and bullying in churches and was branded a “mental patient” by her convent, will speak on “Autobiographies from the Margins”. For the Urdu session, expect the usual chest-beating. Film lyricist

Javed Akhtar, along with other panellists, will no doubt bemoan once again the death of mushairas and Urdu—in that order.

For activism-driven passion, turn to Kutti Revathi, a Chennai-based Tamil poet whose second book, Mulaigal (Breasts), stirred her city’s literary tyrants when it came out in 2002.

“In India, we cannot go with

the feminist notions of the West,” Revathi, 38, says in a phone interview from Chennai. “Our country’s caste system keeps many of us women in a complex hierarchical structure that compels us not only to fight for our social and civil rights, but also for our body rights.”

Revathi, who has been threatened by one critic with a slap and by another with public burning, says: “The right to education and the right to write among the women were dominated by the upper caste.

Now, when the first generation of caste-oppressed women is getting an education, we are seeing oral narratives that have not been documented before.

These works cannot but be about their bodies, its power, its pain and its labour that has been extracted from them, through the generations, by the upper castes.”

Revathi and authors like her could make this festival a starting point to stimulate wider interest in new writing in Indian languages.

For details, visit http:// samanvayindianlanguages festival.org

L16

www.livemint.com

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011

Culture

LOUNGE

PHOTO FICTION

An insomniac’s guide to photography Dayanita Singh’s new book, ‘House of Love’, blurs the lines between an art book and literary fiction

B Y A NINDITA G HOSE anindita.g@livemint.com

···························· I like visual novels, the novels that lurk in pictures, with a contemporary consciousness of ruptures, blockages, surprises, interruptions, Steve Reich’s rhythms and frictions.

—Walter Keller, founder, Scalo

O

ne of the characters in Italian writer Italo Calvino’s book of short stories, Difficult Loves, is that of a young photographer who concludes that “true, total photography” is a pile of fragments of private images.

Calvino asks of his half-mad protagonist: “Did he want to photograph dreams?”

Photographer Dayanita Singh’s book House of Love is this vivid dreamscape; a book of film stills that have yet to leave the dark room. She plays visualizer to a Proustian narrative, to the slowmotion descriptions of an insomniac who is unable to sleep in an unfamiliar hotel room in a town he doesn’t know too well.

One of the most significant photographers of our generation, Singh’s work has let go of context and captions over time. She has charted a different route, one that is less about capturing the moment and more about reflection. While she has shown herself to be a visual poet with her previous photo-books such as Go Away Closer (2007) and Dream Villa (2010), with this she takes on prose.

House of Love is a book of photo-fiction with nine interconnected short stories. With its 106 colour and black and white illustrations, it is more than a photobook, blurring the lines between

Dream analysis: (left) Continuous Cities, pages 34­35; and Portrait of a Marriage, page 79, from House of Love.

an art book of photographic images and a work of literary fiction. It is a book whose images ask to be read, not just seen. And the combination creates a new vocabulary for the visual book.

Singh’s characters and themes recur, as they do in dreams. There are street scenes and buildings from various cities, in India, England, Germany and Korea; a kurta-clad man who appears to be waiting for someone; domestic objects; cupboards that spill over.

The photographs don’t follow the logical progression of a photo essay. They are free-floating images, tied to one another only by the “stories” in which they have been grouped; stories with titles such as Continuous Cities, Theft in a Cake Shop and Return to Sender.

The images in House of Love are characterized by long-exposure

Star trekking Dev Anand is the vehicle for this history of one of India’s pioneering film banners

The Navketan Story— Cinema Modern: Collins, 165 pages,`1,999.

B Y S ANJUKTA S HARMA sanjukta.s@livemint.com

···························· idharth Bhatia’s book on movie production house Navketan Films begins with a short passage on the writer accompanying his subject, actor Dev Anand, to a screening of Hum Dono at Delhi’s Siri Fort Auditorium. It is 2009, Bhatia expresses his initial scepticism about new India’s interest in this film from 1961 about mistaken identity, where Anand plays a “haw-hawing” English sahib for one of the double roles he essayed in it. Bhatia then goes on to describe how young and old people mobbed the ageing star after the screening.

In The Navketan Story: Cinema Modern, this passage is one of the few episodes in which Bhatia narrates his experiences of personally interacting with the star. Another is a very brief paragraph on watching Taxi Driver with Anand. Tears fill Anand’s eyes as he recalls that great year in his life: 1954.

Anand is not known to be the easiest interviewee—like many,

S

shots that dance between silent blues and and fiery reds. This is the first time in a single series that Singh has combined her trademark black and white photographs with her newer, nocturnal colour work. As the book’s bibliography by writer Aveek Sen says: The use of daylight film after dark, long exposures and the refusal to go digital mean relinquishing control over vision and image. The result is a subconscious sensory experience, in which neither the photographer nor the viewer is wholly in control.

Singh does play an elegant curator with colour, willing you to submission to the different moods.

One warm-hued picture from Continuous Cities, for instance, shows two men in a room filled with a soft, languorous light. They’re looking into each other’s eyes.

Who are they? Why does the kurtaclad man reappear through the book? A copy of Johannes Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring hangs on the wall behind them, her piercing gaze prompting the viewer to dig deeper.

In the fifth story, Portraits of a Marriage—strategically placed in the middle of the book—Singh makes an appearance. It is a selfportrait, camera in tow. Here she establishes herself as spectator: the book a semiotic minefield.

The soul of the book, the House of Love itself, is another name for the Taj Mahal. It is a recurring motif that stands in for a range of meanings—as an installation by Sudarshan Shetty, a photograph of a photograph, an artificial set.

The book, says Singh, is her response to the delirious satisfaction she has found in the works of

her favourite authors, including Calvino, Amitav Ghosh, Orhan Pamuk, W.G. Sebald and Vikram Seth. She excerpts a couple of them in testimony: lines from Seth’s poem Mistaken and text by historian Sunil Khilnani (who had contributed to Dream Villa too), which suggests that what the photograph displaces is not—as is usually claimed—the art of painting, but that of writing; the keeping of a diary.

Aveek Sen’s essays at the back of the book follow a journey of their own, exploring the relationship between photography, memory and writing. They go from childhood memories of a blood-splattered magic show by P.C. Sorcar in Kolkata to obtuse musings on the Taj Mahal. He, and the contemporary Indian artists such as Sudarshan Shetty and Bharti Kher—the images of whose works are in the book—are presumably those that Singh considers fellow travellers in her visual quest.

The last book that Singh authored, Dream Villa (published

by Steidl), was an artefact in its own right. It had no page numbers, cap-

tions, locations, dates or essays—and each image was guttered down in the middle and bled to the edges of the page. House of Love sheds the extravagance of a coffee-table book too. Many of the images are guttered down, forcing the reader to hold the book open and “read” it.

The book is an outcome of the Robert Gardner Fellowship in Photography given annually by the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University; Singh was its second recipient, in 2008. House of Love has been jointly published by the Peabody Museum Press and Radius Books, a Santa Fe-based non-profit publisher of art and culture books.

Every detail in House of Love talks, like the veteran art books publisher and Scalo’s founder Walter Keller’s quote on the back flap, which whispers: “In books, turning a page is more than a movement.”

In House of Love, turning a page is Proust’s insomniac narrator gently falling asleep.

Sweet dreams.

House of Love can be ordered online at radiusbooks.org. 172 pages, $45 (approx. `2,300).

An accompanying exhibition will run at Nature Morte, New Delhi, from 16 December-29 January.

THE NAVKETAN STORY: CINEMA MODERN/COLLINS

but not all, stars his narcissism often colours his stories about himself and even others he worked with. His autobiography, Romancing with Life, is a glowing testament to that. Bhatia chooses not to break through this barrier, and that is his book’s weakness.

Anand’s voice is almost absent (in his own words are observations on close friend Guru Dutt, who, he said, would “shoot and shoot and shoot”, who was “indecisive and unsure”), which is good, and can be a conscious choice for authors who chronicle a life or an era, and in this case, an institution. But there are no insights through narration and interpretation, mostly a linear retelling of history.

But just because of the nature of the subject, this is an immensely fulfilling film history text. Navketan changed Indian cinema at a time when movies began to seem like mouthpieces for morality. The Anand brothers, Dev, Chetan and Vijay, were uninterested in upright heroes saddled with correcting society and heroines who were proud of their chastity. Navketan, named after Chetan Anand’s then newborn son Ketan, was formed in the first flush of the Nehruvian years, in 1949. Through the 1950s and much of the 1960s, the films of

From 1955: Anand and Kalpana Kartik in House No 44, a thriller. this banner (Baazi, Taxi Driver, Funtoosh, Kala Pani, Hum Dono, Jewel Thief, Tere Ghar ke Saamne and its smash hit Guide, among many others) introduced the modern city in its entirety—not just as a greedy, evil entity depicted in many films of that time. Dev Anand, who nurtured Navketan and became its singularly recognizable face, was the optimistic, fun-loving hero. Bhatia emphasizes the Navketan hero’s (Dev Anand’s) complete lack of ideolog-

ical fervour and political ideas; it is a refrain, almost a pivot around which Bhatia fashions his narrative: “Their hero, especially throughout the 1950s, may have come from the underclass, but took it in his stride and had no time to hear or give ideological lectures. There was no overt sentimentality about the poor. The hero was an individual, not a member of a class. He was a flâneur, a stroller on the urban landscape...” There are some rare

photographs in the book, one of which is a group portrait of writers and film-makers, including Guru Dutt, in the drawing room of 41, Pali Hill, Dev Anand’s bungalow. Although his circle of friends had strong socialist views, Dev Anand deliberately stayed away. Like his screen persona, politics and society did not interest him, but as Bhatia writes, he paid all the bills of his “leftist-oriented, anti-imperialist” friends.

Although largely absent in his own voice, Dev Anand understandably is the real subject of the book. After all, he was its creative force, and it was he who took all the decisions to set its agenda.

At the cost of telling his story through Navketan’s flamboyant face, Bhatia does not explore the other two Anands. He writes that Vijay, or Goldie, was a prize-winning theatre director in college who wrote dialogues for Taxi Driver when he was just 19 and wrote and directed Guide when he was 30. Under Navketan, and the genius of Vijay Anand, was the birth of the Hindi crime caper—his racy, song-anddance thrillers that set new precedents. Chetan Anand’s sombre idiom inspired by European masters gets a brief mention. Now that book would be the perfect sequel.

CULTURE L17

LOUNGE

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

COMICS

The new Indian superhero Gotham Chopra believes there’s a superhero waiting to be unleashed, and only an Indian can create him

B Y G AYATRI J AYARAMAN gayatri.j@livemint.com

···························· here’s even more Ramayan and more Mahabharat headed your way. But before you despair of storytelling ever moving beyond the weight of our mythological past, Gotham Chopra, son of new age spiritualist Deepak Chopra, is looking for writers and illustrators who can do just that. “There’s still plenty of room to re-imagine the “same old mythologies,” Chopra says.

He completed a management buyout of Virgin Comics along with Suresh Seetharaman, CEO and Sharad Devarajan, president in 2008, and relaunched it as Liquid Comics. And yes, his name was modified from the original Gautam; though he says it was partly for ease of pronunciation, it nevertheless remains a reflection of just how comic crazy Chopra has been most of his life.

Liquid Comics’ new online venture Graphic India, (www.graphicindia.com) launched officially on 2 December, and is an online portal which features free daily comic book chapters, updates, interviews with creators and graphic novel educational resources.

The aim is to find a genre that can speak for India’s unique sensibility in graphic novels, the way the manga speaks for the Japanese—in culture, language, form and style. “Our guys enjoy re-envisioning classics. These are archetypal stories. They’re eternal. Too often we’ve seen them retold “the same old way”.

What’s exciting is to uncover complexities beyond the sur-

T

face. Look at new mythologies—from Star Wars to Twilight, and the big superhero franchises; for the most part, they’re “chosen one” stories.

Batman and Iron Man are a lot like Buddha—guys who turn their backs on privilege to find true power in serving others...” says Chopra. He also wants young Indians to look at graphic novels as “a real profession” taking it beyond hobby writing.

Chopra will also use the portal to publish some of his own writing and graphic illustrations—his graphic novel The Sadhu, currently being made into a feature film, will be available online. It will also have animated shows in episodes, trading cards and related merchandise. Books available for free on the site will include Shekhar Kapur’s Devi and Ramayan 3392 AD (also being made a film with Mandalay Entertainment) and Samit Basu’s UNHoli, illustrated

by Jeevan J. Kang.

From the new lot, the comic Mumbai Macguffin, a quirky gangster adventure by Saumin Patel and Saurav

To participate in the Graphic India Comic Contest or submit your work, visit www.graphic india.com. The contest is open till 15 March.

Shazam: A page from the quirky gangster adventure Mumbai Macguffin; and (top) Bollywood actor Priyanka Chopra morphs into a Liquid Comics superheroine.

History, reframed An exhibition of facsimiles celebrates works of Indians who are a part of British history B Y S HREYA R AY shreya.r@livemint.com

···························· uch before actor Shah Rukh Khan or “Shami Kaboor” (as actor Shammi Kapoor was called in the Gulf) took Bollywood to the world outside, there was Sabu. Sabu was India’s first international star after his debut in Sir Alexander Korda’s Elephant Boy (1937), and went on to get leading roles in British cinema, including The Drum, The Thief of Bagdad and Jungle Book.

A Taj Mahal-like building in Brighton, UK, called the Royal Pavilion, became a space for exhibitions of Indian handicrafts and food. Rumour has it that the building was a favourite of Adolf Hitler’s, which is why he never

M

Mohapatra, will be soon be up on the site.

Two comics based on, and cocreated with, actors Priyanka Chopra and Hrithik Roshan are in the pipeline as well. Graphic India hopes to become India’s premier graphic novel portal, and primarily tap into the wealth of mythology, story and folk tale that India is

capable of spinning.

India, Chopra believes, has outsourced creativity enough, and it is time that Indians become owners, not co-creators of their stories.

Says Devarajan; “The success of many of the artists who have worked with us is not in their drawing ability, but actually in the way they think and see the world. We have a very clear process of how we look for lateral thinking and give tests that try and determine how people are solving creative challenges and being innovative. We would trade a thousand artists who can ‘colour within the lines’ for one artist whose not afraid to ‘colour outside them’.”

With this in mind, Graphic India is on the quest for writers and illustrators who can take storytelling beyond the regular genres and formats.

Chopra says: “In general, that’s what we look for—thinkers, dreamers, believers in the idea that a good story can change the world. We want artists and writers who know that a pencil and a piece of paper have the power to move audiences. What could be more fun than asking these questions through zombies, vampires, superheroes and heroines—with masala flavouring!”

To this end, the site will host a “Create a comic contest” which features a contract to have the book published and an award of `1 lakh.

Twenty new and specially commissioned graphic novels will be featured online by 2012; writers will be given contracts but copyright for financed and published works will remain with Liquid Comics.

bombed Brighton!

A picture of Sabu atop an elephant and an advertisement for a British Empire exhibition at the Pavilion from 1924 are among the memorabilia on display at a forthcoming exhibition of facsimiles. Beyond the Frame: India in Britain 1858-1950, organized by the British Council, excavates the untold histories of Indians in Britain, and their work in shaping not just Indian, but British, history.

Using reproductions of photographs, posters, diaries, pamphlets and other records stored in The British Library and the National Archives of India, the exhibition is part of a larger threeyear project funded by the UK Arts and Humanities Research Council. “Orthodox historical narratives examine Britain’s

STALL ORDER

NANDINI RAMNATH

EXORCIZE THE EIGHTIES

N

o interview with a youngish Bollywood director is complete without the question, “So what did you watch when you were growing up?” The answers are predictable enough: Sholay, Jewel Thief, Don, Deewar. Slightly older directors reach back to Guru Dutt. Not too many film-makers mention movies made in the execrable Eighties, and with good reason. YouTube will reveal why very few people cite, say, Tohfa or Justice Chowdhary as major influences.

A cursory tour of the video-sharing site reveals the extent of perverse imagination that was being exercised by directors, writers, set designers, cinematographers and choreographers in that decade. A woman lies inside an oyster shell and heaves about while pummelled by pearls. The body of another leading lady is used to give an anatomy lesson: Look, says the camera, these are a woman’s hips. This is what a torso looks like. The hero, if one can call him that, practically molests the object of his desire, who responds by keeping her lips parted in a 1cm gap.

Most of the song-and-dance sequences seem to be elaborate visual metaphors for sexual practices that rely heavily on the use of props, like the aforementioned pearls, oranges, earthen pots or—my favourite—extras dressed as parrots that thrust their beaks in a perfectly synchronized fashion. One study that was never commissioned during those blunder years was a comparison between the box-office status of such films and the national rate of population growth.

This gaudy spectacle is what The Dirty Picture, written by Rajat Arora and directed by Milan Luthria, attempts to pay homage to. The Dirty Picture has been produced by Ekta Kapoor, and has been Throwback: Vidya Balan in producer described as a doffing of the hat to her father, the Ekta Kapoor’s The Dirty Picture. actor Jeetendra, who starred in several of these films. Is there any better way to get over the embarrassment of daddy burrowing his nose into a woman’s cleavage than by making a jokey tribute to the moment?

The 1980s represented the exhaustion of the formula film.

Bond-style spy thrillers, urban underbelly dramas, lost-and-found films, women’s weepies, tragedies, flighty romances, foreign adventures, socials, mythologicals—they had all been done. The only way to stay on top of the game seemed to have been by aiming for the depths. How else to bring back audiences threatening to drift away into the more affordable and intimate world of television?

But the 1980s weren’t all that execrable—they were a great period for state-run television, which aired many acclaimed series that some of us continue to be nostalgic about. It was also a superb decade for offbeat films, which were mostly produced by the National Film Development Corporation of India. This was the time of Sridevi (who did far superior work in Tamil films before crossing over to Hindi) and Jaya Prada, but also of Smita Patil and Shabana Azmi. For every hero dressed in white or gold and darting across a fruit-splattered plateau or a cheaply lit dance floor, there were dedicated actors like Naseeruddin Shah, Om Puri and Farooque Shaikh slaving away at their craft. The 1980s weren’t all that bad after all—it just depends on which YouTube clip you source.

The Dirty Picture released in theatres on Friday.

Nandini Ramnath is the film critic of Time Out Mumbai (www.timeoutmumbai.net).

Write to Nandini at stallorder@livemint.com

COURTESY MULK RAJ ANAND CENTRE, NEW DELHI

(well-documented) role in India, and the idea here is to swivel the lens and examine India’s role within Britain and trace the complex realities of both countries’ intertwined histories,” says project director Susheila Nasta.

“The diaspora is not a post-1950s’ phenomenon,” says Nasta. As early as 1887, several Indian servants arrived at Queen Victoria’s Balmoral Castle— among them was 24-year-old Abdul Karim. Karim, promoted as the Queen’s most trusted adviser, soon became quite a scandal in political circles because of his alleged relationship with the queen. Artist Jacob Epstein’s illustration of a woman from 1910-11, displayed at the exhibition, bears a striking resemblance to the sculptures of Khajuraho, Konark and Gwalior. Indian art had begun to have a powerful influence on British modern art after the UK-based art critic A.K. Coomaraswamy pointed out its aesthetic value over its archaeological value. In 1913, when the Suffragettes marched for their right to vote, an Indian princess, Sophia Duleep Singh, daugh-

International aide: Mulk Raj Anand in London, circa 1930s.

ter of Maharaja Duleep Singh, was photographed selling copies of The Suffragette.

During the inter-war years, Indian presence in British political and intellectual circles became even more apparent. London of the 1930s and 1940s was an exciting place with a rich group of intellectuals, like the elite Bloomsbury group consisting of literary giants Virginia Woolf and E.M. Forster.

But the group wasn’t—as is popularly believed—entirely British.

“The group was based in central London, and had plenty of young Indian scholars and intellectuals engaging with it. Among them was Mulk Raj Anand, who befriended and worked with these writers,” says Florian Stadtler, who collaborated with Nasta on the project.

In 1942, Anand was hired as a programme writer by the BBC at a time when it—headed by George Orwell—was looking to engage Indian intelligentsia in Britain to counter the anti-British broadcasts of Subhas Chandra Bose from Germany. An iconic image from Anand’s Voice, displayed at the exhibition, features Venu Chi-

tale (assistant producer), J.M. Tambimuttu (Sri Lankan poet and editor of Poetry London), T.S. Eliot, Una Marson (poet and producer of Caribbean Voices), Anand, C. Pemberton (BBC staff), Narayana Menon, and George Orwell, Nancy Parratt (secretary to Orwell) and William Empson.

The original caption lists the names of all those present in the frame, says Nasta in an article in Wasafiri magazine. When reprinted by The Times Literary Supplement in 2000, “in what was already the so-called historicist era of post-colonial studies”, the caption “wipes out all the colonials” and reads “among others—T.S. Eliot, George Orwell and William Empson”. The work of the “colonials” in Britain was already being taken out of historical meta-narratives.

Beyond the Frame: India in Britain 1858-1950 will run till 30 December at the National Archives of India, Delhi. It will travel to Kolkata, Ahmedabad, Mumbai, Pune, Hyderabad and Chennai through January and February.

L18 FLAVOURS

LOUNGE

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

COURTESY ROLI BOOKS

DELHI’S BELLY | MAYANK AUSTEN SOOFI

The decline of Shahjahanabad COURTESY PENGUIN INDIA

Two new books trace how the Mughal capital transformed from a seat of civilization to a ghostly town

I

n the mid-19th century, Shahjahanabad was the civilizational heart of the Mughals. The limits of their capital were guarded by a rampart of random rubble that protected it from the surrounding wilderness.

The inhabitants enjoyed and abused the advantages of music, poetry, food, women and wealth.

The emperor appeared to possess sovereign authority, but devolved on the East India Company all the executive powers of government.

In the summer of 1857, a revolt plunged Shahjahanabad into chaos. A siege of four months followed. Havelis were pillaged, homes looted and thousands massacred. The British then took over the Qila-e-Mubarak (Red Fort), exiling the emperor, killing the princes, and destroying many palace-pavilions inside the Red Fort.

Shahjahanabad, or what we are more likely refer to now as the Walled City, is very different today from what it was pre-1857.

Two new books attempt to trace this. Delhi 360°: Mazhar Ali Khan’s View from the Lahore Gate minutely examines a rare panoramic painting of the Mughal capital made in 1846. Beato’s Delhi: 1857 and Beyond contains photographs of Delhi taken after the uprising. In the first book, we see a watercolour vista of towers, arches, gateways, pavilions, gardens, fountains, mosques and palaces. In the second book, that fairy-tale setting has been transformed into a sepia-stained ghost town of vandalized mansions, scarred walls and empty alleys.

One day, with the uprising still a decade away, topographical artist Mazhar Ali Khan, about whom not much is known, went to the Red Fort. He climbed to the chhatri (cupola) on the southern tower of the Lahore Gate and looked about him. What he saw, he painted. The Persian

title of the 5m-long panorama translates to A Picture of the Imperial City of Shahjahanabad drawn from the Lahore Gate of the Exalted Fort. Acquired by the British Library in 1981, and now published for the first time, the painting shows, among other landmarks, the Red Fort. In response to what the British saw as the mutiny, 80% of the palace complex was destroyed.

“The panorama shows that those 19th century travellers’ romantic descriptions of the city were right, of approaching it from the south through the miles of ruins of earlier cities of Delhi with the walled city of Shahjahanabad in front of them dominated by the Fort and the Jama Masjid with numerous minarets and domes visible above the walls ,” says the book’s author J.P. Losty, a former curator-in-charge of the Indian visual collections at the British Library in London. “Khan shows us the Red Fort as it was in 1846, with all the messy palaces built in the zenana area (women’s quarter) by the brothers and sons of the last two emperors, of the existence of which most art historians and historians had very little idea.”

We will never see the Red Fort as it is depicted in the panorama.

There’s the Anguri Bagh (Grape Garden) running from Lahore Gate to the Yamuna, with its European-style glasshouse.

There’s a lone sepoy standing on a tower. There’s the Chatta Darwaza gateway with its floral decor, since then whitewashed many times over. There are the shacks of salatins, the unlucky imperial descendants confined within the fort lest they be used in succession games. There the Kashmiri masjid with its broken minaret, built by a wife of Shahjahan, was demolished.

Straight ahead is Chandni Chowk, Shahjahanabad’s principal street, teeming with camels, elephants and horse carts. Sitting on a time bomb, this ordered world would soon explode.

Italian-British military photographer Felice A. Beato arrived in Delhi a few months late.

In place of the marching soldiers, gunshot smoke and terrified civilians, that marked the action in 1857, Beato captured devastated mansions desolate streets and new British graves.

“Beato’s images are significant because they were the first

Beato’s Delhi—1857 and Beyond:

By Jim Masselos and Narayani Gupta, Penguin India, 120 pages,`1,499.

Delhi 360°—Mazhar Ali Khan’s View From The Lahore Gate:

By J.P. Losty, Lustre Press, Roli Books, 92 pages,`1,295.

COURTESY PENGUIN INDIA

Fall from glory: (top and below) The panorama of Mughal Delhi by topographical artist Mazhar Ali Khan, as seen from the Lahore Gate of the Red Fort; and photographs of a house in Chandni Chowk and the Zinat­ul­Masjid in Daryaganj (above) by Felice A. Beato.

examples of photography in Delhi,” says Narayani Gupta, a founder-member of the Conservation Society of Delhi and co-author of the book. “Earlier, there were romanticized drawings and paintings of the capital. But here you see things as they are.

These are stills of architecture connected with the mutiny, and also with the Mughals. Please note that when Beato went to the Red Fort or the Jama Masjid, he was not looking at them as monuments. Indeed, that word was first used for those buildings by the Archaeological Survey of India only in 1871,” says Gupta.

Beato’s Delhi looks bleak. The battlegrounds on the Ridge, towards the north of Shahjahanabad where the British had camped for months, are rocky and barren. Most of the Red Fort’s royal inhabitants are gone.

A shuttered house in Chandni Chowk, with arches and carved balustrades, looks well-kept yet abandoned. The giant domes of a mosque in Daryaganj appear humbled as uniformed soldiers pose in the forefront, with their cannons. Most of the classical columns in the grand Metcalfe House show cracks; some have collapsed. The former home of Sir Thomas Metcalfe, the British representative in the Mughal

court, was badly damaged in the uprising. It held a library of 20,000 books. Further north, at a cemetery in Kashmere Gate, discarded stone slabs lie adjacent to the tomb of General Nicholson, a victim of one of the battles for Shahjahanabad.

One day, climbing the northern tower of Jama Masjid, Beato “saw the whole city and country like a map below our feet”. His photographic panorama of Shahjahanabad is similar to the watercolour version of Mazhar Ali Khan, in the sense that they both preserve a city that has been vanquished. Many of the landmarks in Beato’s image would soon be destroyed by the British as part of Delhi’s military reorganization.

Today, the southern tower of Jama Masjid is open to visitors.

The steep unlit staircase exposes the remnants of Shahjahanabad in all its squalor: dilapidated buildings, dangling electrical cables, clogged roads, and large crowds. The air is punctuated by the blaring of horns. Far away that ribbon of shimmering grey could as well be the Yamuna. With such a view, Mazhar Ali Khan’s panorama appears to be nothing more than an artist’s illusion. mayank.s@livemint.com COURTESY ROLI BOOKS

Leaders speak for change at the 9th edition of the Leadership Summit Watch it live today on CNN IBN or log on to www.hindustantimes.com/htsummit

Asfandyar Wali Khan Emile Hokayem Farhan Akhtar Farooq Abdullah Gregory Cappelli John Howard John Quelch Jose Maria Aznar Julian Assange Kaushik Basu L. K. Advani Mahathir bin Mohamad Mehbooba Mufti Montek Singh Ahluwalia Norman Pearlstine Paul Salem Prithviraj Chavan Raman Singh Sheila Dikshit Steven Levitt Vidya Balan

Watch India's finest minds come together with the best from across the world to speak on 'Keeping pace with a changing world'. Stay tuned as they discuss the future of governance, economy, education, cinema and a lot more. Don't miss this for anything!

Knowledge Partner

Associate Sponsors

Mobility Partner

Summit Partners

Media Partners

Writing Instrument Partner