Tata Literature Live! - A Poetic Afternoon

Yesterday, I spent a very interesting afternoon at the 5th Tata Literature Live - the Mumbai Litfest! This was all thanks to BlogAdda for nudging me to go. This International Literary Festival was on from 30th Oct to 2nd Nov, and for the first time in 5 years, they held it at two locations simultaneously! I decided to attend the fest at their Prithvi Theatre venue.

I had already made a schedule for all the talks, plays and workshops that I would attend, but I was in for some disappointment when I finally reached Prithvi. The passes for most of the talks and plays had run out. :-( I should have expected this as the litfest was a free event. (Yes, you heard that right!) Every entry was on first-come-first-serve basis. Luckily, the lady behind the reception kiosk told me I could attend one workshop on my list.

Tired from the long commute in the hot sun, I wanted to sit and grab some lunch. I walked into Prithvi Cafe and stood in a long queue, only to to learn that most vegetarian options were sold out. :-( The guy behind the counter told me I could take the last veg burger, which I did without asking more questions. The cafe has an eccentric, kitsch decor. (Did you notice the kettle in the picture, dangling from the roof and spewing lights?)

With my physical-hunger put to rest, I set out to satiate the hunger of my soul. I was at the Easel Art Hub 2 to attend a workshop on 'Swapping Words and Worlds'. Truth be told, I had no clue what this would be about. I just thought the title sounded interesting, and so, I decided to sign myself up for it.

Before the hosts arrived, I seated myself right on the first row and chatted with participants around me. I knew then that this would be about poetry. The organizer introduced to us the stars of the afternoon - Sampurna Chattarji, a Bengali poet, novelist and translator, and Eurig Salisbury, a Welsh poet who endeavors to bring poetry to children. Eurig was invited to India for the famous Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas's centenary celebrations.

The afternoon began with Eurig reciting one of his poem's on Dylan. "Dylan" in Welsh is not pronounced like it is in English. The Welsh pronunciation warrants stress on the "l", whereas in English we stress on the "D". Eurig wanted us to concentrate on the Welsh sounds and stress on certain syllables. We would later learn this is very important in Welsh poetry. I found the exotic sounds very calming. Welsh requires good control of your breath. It has some throaty sounds (like those of Arabic and Slavic languages) and conspicuous usage of "kh", "sh" and soft "d".

The Bengali translation of that poem was then recited by Sampurna. And lucky me, I had the opportunity to understand what the poem meant. The aim of this exercise was not to understand Welsh or Bengali, but to appreciate the sounds and words in both the languages.

Sampurna, the jovial poetess, told us how she had given Eurig a Bengali word (bhabachaka) to use in his poem. [Please leave a comment to know the meaning.] Eurig, without knowing anything about the definition or usage of the word, had composed an entertaining poem describing the thoughts of a bird. In return, he had shot the Welsh word, cynghanedd, (pronounced ken-haan-et) at Sampurna. She recited the English poem she had composed in reply. It was an anecdotal one on a fictitious "King Hanedd".

The "workshop" bit of the event started right after, when Sampurna split all the participants into pairs and gave us a task:-

1. Give your partner a word in your own language. The word can have a meaning or can be meaningless.
2. Do not reveal the meaning of the word to your partner.
3. Take the word given to you without asking any questions, and compose a poem (in any language) incorporating that word in some way.

This was really exciting! My partner was a guy called Rishabh. He only spoke English and Hindi, so I gave him the Bengali word - bang-er chhata. I was given "chari-mari". After 15 minutes of composing poems, Sampurna asked us to recite our compositions out loud. We heard words from many languages - Tamil, French, Bengali, Hindi, Gujarati, among others. I felt elated to be in a room full of talented poets for they all created wonderful pieces in under a quarter-hour! We even had an eight year old kid recite a very intelligently composed poem, embellished with words like "paleontologist"! Here's my poem:-

On a Saturday afternoon,

The sweltering heat

Couldn't stop me from

Getting on my feet.

I stood outside the Easel Theatre,

Waiting for a treat

While my growling stomach

Begged me to eat.

"Chari-mari!"

Said my soul.

"You're sweating!

Take off your stole."

"Buy a muffin.

Your pocket won't develop a hole!"

"Chari-mari!"

Said my mind.

"Where is the poetry workshop?

My GPS-enabled smartphone can't find!"

Tired,

I stepped into a room

Full of people. "Oh my unkempt hair!"

Wait, I'll first groom.

"Chari-mari!"

Said the guy next to me.

Oh, poetry! I'm flustered. 

Set me free!

Poetry! Come, set me free!

That poem is certainly going to get me thrown out of such workshops! Fortunately, the hosts changed the topic and Eurig taught us about a Welsh style of poetry - the Cynghanedd. The word, cynghanedd, means 'harmony', and this traditional style has strict rules. Dylan often used cynghanedd in his poetry. He had a certain playfulness to his style and remains the national favourite (much like our own Tagore).

Eurig explained to us the rules for Cynghanedd Lusg (pronounced leesk) - the dragging harmony, the easiest of the 4 types of cynghanedd:-

1. The last word of the last line must have more than one syllable.
2.  The stress on that word must fall on the penultimate syllable.
3. A word in the same line must rhyme with the penultimate syllable of the last word.

The rules may seem overwhelming, but it's easy once you try your hand at it. Here's my first cynghanedd line that I composed at the workshop:-

He took the cupcake,

Tipped his hat and said, "Grazie".

Notice how "hat" rhymes with "grat", the penultimate syllable of the disyllabic word "grazie" (pronounced grat-see) which means "thank you" in Italian.

The aim of this workshop was to bring us out of our preconceived notions of poetry with its traditional rhyme, metre and rhythm, and help us discover internal rhyme and the unusual style of cynghanedd. We also found that when we divorce meaning from a word, we discover sound. And sound is a beautiful thing that can be interpreted in multiple ways by multiple people. A word that denotes a sinister meaning in one language can appear to be soothing to someone who speaks a different tongue. I walked out of that room a little wiser from the interactions and my mind expanded a little more. I returned from Tata Lit Live feeling a little more alive!

Timeless Tunes (Lessons from the Bong Bard #3)

You may read the first and the second posts in this series, ahead of the third one here.

Before I begin, I'd like you to listen to this beautiful English song based on a poem, "Song. To Cecilia" written by Ben Jonson in 1616. (Don't worry, this'll be a short article. So, go ahead and hit the PLAY button.)

Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes in the voice of Laura Wright:-

Today, I finish two months of Rabindra Sangeet riyaaz (practice). It's a different matter that I've barely done 12 hours of actual singing all this while. When I started, I thought I'd have to transform myself into a demure,  tant-saree-clad Bengali girl of that era, in puffed sleeves and long, plaited hair, to do justice to the emotions that should flow with the music. I thought my ears would have to get adjusted to the sound of the harmonium to make my voice one with the melody that played out of it. But Tagore showed me how narrow minded I was being.

Lesson - 3

Kobiguru Tagore's music transcends the man-made boundaries of countries and cultures. The great poet was well travelled and had the open mind and big heart to accommodate styles from the Western world. Many of his songs are set to tunes borrowed from England, Ireland and Scotland. The mark of a great man (excuse my patriarchal choice of word here) lies in his ability to accept diverse ideas and develop his own line of thoughts over those.

The world today is a global village, they say. Why is it then that we sully the repute of our generation by comparing cultures, fighting over traditions and competing to keep our own on a pedestal above the rest? Why can't we expand our hearts just a little to admire the beauty of all that is around us? What stops us from falling in love with the multitude of melodies, rhythms, languages and people we come across in our journey through this life?

Tagore lived, loved and wrote in the 19th century. His works, however, are timeless. His music never feels anachronic even as I hear them in the 21st century. The tunes blend well with the piano, the sitar, the harmonium, the violin and most other musical instruments you can think of. The versatility of his compositions leaves everyone the liberty to pair his melodies with classical Bengali dance forms and Western ballroom styles alike. I close my article today with the bard's rendition of the song we heard in the beginning. 

Kotobaro Bhebechinu (I've Mused Many a Times . . .) in Srikanto Acharya's baritone:-

This is one of Tagore's many songs perfect for a round of English Waltz.

P.S. To know the meaning of the the Bengali lyrics, drop me a line :-)

P.P.S. For a round of waltz with me, drop me another one! ;-)

Melancholy Monday (Lessons from the Bong Bard #2)

You can read the first post in this series here.

I've been practising Rabindra Sangeet on and off for almost a fortnight now. I enjoy dabbling with the different raags (melodic modes) that my mum's been teaching me. Sadly, the technique seemed too mechanical to me and I would miserably fail to put any life to the music. That is, until last Monday when my misery brought me out of another.

I never feel the office blues. Never. It so happens that I love my work, the people I work with, the office premises, the stationery, the cafeteria food, the conference calls with my coworkers in London, the occasional chat with a colleague in Hong Kong, the townhalls, the free cappuccino, the open culture, the formal dress-code, the meetings, the fun events, the catch-up sessions with the HR and the big bosses, and even the walk back home. My life is perfect, you'd think. But when you weave a blanket of happiness based on past statistics, you start expecting a similar or better state of mind with every passing day. And when the circumstances don't meet your expectation, your blanket starts thinning and you spot holes in it.

I experienced my first Monday morning blues in a weather that was far from cold. Maybe, I had got off the wrong side of my bed. I kept to myself the whole day and tried to allay my dysphoria, in vain. Sometimes, you just cannot tell what makes you so melancholy. I was not my usual self even when I got home. I poked at the porridge I was supposed to eat. Under normal circumstances, I would be ready in my shorts & sneakers and be off for a quick jog. I flopped down on my bed and slept with my head buried in my pillow. I felt tired. Weak. Useless. Undesired. Incapable. I had lost all hope. And my mum asked me then to get my notebook and practise Raag Bhairav.

You know that condition when you know you are strong enough to hold back your tears as long as nobody makes you talk? It's that delicate balance your throat has with the tear glands. You break the dam (open your mouth) and the tears flood your eyes. I did not want to sing that day. I was sure my voice would crack and my mother would be disappointed at the weakling she had raised. Nevertheless, I gathered myself and repeated the musical notes after my mum.

Lesson - 2

Rabindra Sangeet, and every Indian classical music for that matter, has a multitude of ragas or melodic modes. Each raag is characterized by the combination of swaras (notes) it comprises. Some notes are shrill and some soft. Each raag is best appreciated at a certain time of the day and emphasizes a certain state of mind.

Raag Bhairav is a morning raag. It embodies the solemnity and strength that comes with peace. I sang with complete surrender. And the tune guided my voice to follow it note-by-note. I was surprised at my own attempt. I was improving. My quiet state of mind was helping my vocal chords. I transferred the pain in my heart to the sound that came from it. I noticed for the first time that my western voice was starting to take a classical Indian turn. I did not sing as loudly as I usually would, but I was certainly softer and more solemn. My mother and I explored Raag Bhairav that evening by elaborating every note that comes together to form it. We did a raag-vistaar, like she'd say. And then we sang a Hindustani classical song based on that raag.

I learnt that melancholy Monday that each new day is like a new raag. Some are celebratory, some serious, some make your mornings, and some your evenings. One can enjoy new experiences like new music by only exploring everyday like one would explore a raag.

Lessons from the Bong Bard

It started as a midsummer night's dream. I saw my maternal grandma captivate the entire palace in the pre-partition Bengal with the melody that emanated from her smooth voice. Then I heard my mother croon Rabindra Sangeet during countless public performances. Her cool voice, soft as silk, was such a contrast to the hot, stuffy room that greeted me when I woke up from my dream.

Aprils in Mumbai can make you swelter even at nights when the sun takes a nap. That night, I stayed up and thought what my life would be like without the touch of music. I had always resisted my mum's pleas to join her in her riyaaz (practice) every evening. I loved to listen to her sing, but I was sure Rabindranath Tagore's music was not my cup of tea. I realized with horror that I was 22 and counting and I knew zilch about the beautiful compositions of the Nobel-winning poet. What would I tell my children? How would I ever face my grandchildren? Who would pass on the legacy of such rich tunes to the family that I would have and to the generations that would succeed me? The sultry darkness ignited a blazing flame in me right then. I made a conscious decision to embrace my Bengali culture. And I would begin with music.

My mother could not contain her joy when I broke the news to her next morning. She hugged me tightly, like only a mother can. And on that fateful day of April, the first thing I did after returning home from work was to learn Tagore music from the basics. Rabindra Sangeet is slightly different from Classical Bengali Music which originates from the Bishnupur Gharana (School of Music). Bishnupur happens to be a small town in Bankura district of West Bengal. I have spent umpteen summers in Bankura (where I'd visit my paternal grandma until 3 years back when she moved in with us) completely oblivious to the fact that my home town of 19 years was the birthplace of Classical Bengali Music. The more I delve into the world of music, the more I discover how ignorant I am! This is why I have decided to chronicle my journey towards ending my obtuseness.

As my mommy dearest explained to me the intricacies of each note of the octave, I was amazed by how much I could learn from the distinctive style of Kobi-Guru (poet-King) Rabindranath Thakur's music.

Lesson - 1

In Rabindra Sangeet, each swar (note) is distinct when sung.

Sa  Re  Ga  Ma  Pa  Dha  Ni  Sa

Do  Re  Mi  Fa  So  La  Ti  Do

No note must touch the other. The notes don't amalgamate but retain their individuality. Each note stands strong against the onslaught of the other 6 notes.

This simple rule has helped me understand a very important life-lesson. We live in many octaves - family, friend-circle, teams at the workplace and various activity-groups. We share our opinions and brainstorm to create music-like solution to various problems. If the notes are well-composed, the music pleases the listener and singer alike. But at no point must we forget our individual strength and speciality. We must be kind enough to share our thoughts but not weak enough to change our capacity to think independently.

I have a lot of songs to learn now that it's May and the burning sun let's me do little else. So, I will be back some other day with a new lesson that the Bard teaches me. For now, you may enjoy this beautiful composition, "Purano Shei Diner Kotha" (Stories of The Days Bygone):-