My Favourites: 'Carpe Diem' Songs

My husband’s aunt, R – his mother’s cousin – is one of my favourite people in all the world. She’s always cheerful, and despite having been dealt quite a raw hand by life, is one of the most positive people it’s been my good fortune to meet. When I’m feeling low, a quick phone call to her to hear her carol ‘I’m fine, molu (child)’ wipes the doldrums away and never fails to put a smile on my face. It doesn’t matter what she’s going through – I have never heard her say anything other than ‘I’m fine, molu!’ in response to ‘How are you?’, as opposed to certain people who, if asked ‘How are you?’ never failed to give me chapter and verse of doom and gloom for the next hour or so. She’s one person whom I happily visit on every trip to India, not out of duty, but because I genuinely respect her attitude and love her company.

A couple of years ago, a blog-reader became, quite by chance, a rather good friend. ‘X’ has been going through some major health issues for some time. Again, like Aunt R, the response to my ‘How are you?’ is ‘I’m okay’ however badly X is feeling that day.  If I press, X will give me the updates in a very matter-of-fact manner. It’s not in X’s nature to sit and brood – X is always too busy to have much time for ‘woe is me’. 

And Movies Will Never Be The Same

Death is a rude visitor. It doesn't ask you whether it's welcome. It doesn't care if it is or not. Sometimes, it appears unannounced. Sometimes, we know it's coming but we aren't prepared for it. Let me correct that – however much we know that Death is but a part of Life, we are never prepared for it. We might – rationally – know that it is better that someone dies: without pain, without suffering too much. 'They were old," we might tell ourselves. "They were ailing, in pain..." "It's better they went without suffering," we might intone in a bid to console others. Or ourselves. But in all our Life lessons, it is the hardest to learn. When to let go.  

My Favourites: Songs of Cool Breezes

Sometime in the past month, without my knowledge, our extremely brief summer passed me by. It was only towards the end of August that we actually had three or four consecutive 'hot' days at all. Mostly, it was rather cool, even wet, with incessant rain which was met with continuous griping from me. Didn't Mother Nature know that Spring was over? And that Summer was supposed to be an endless run of glorious, sunny,  hot days? Well, Summer, such as it was, slipped away, and Fall, glorious, colourful, vibrant Fall has already put in its appearance. 

© Anuradha Warrier

The trees are beginning to change into their autumnal wardrobes and here in the North East, these range from the palest of creams to the richest of reds - with many, many different shades of yellow, orange and russet in between - all, often, on the same tree. These colours are all the more vibrant against the dark green of the evergreens. Pine needles lie soft and brown underfoot, releasing the fragrance of the pines when you step on them. The yard is beginning to be carpeted in varying shades of red, speckled with yellow and orange and brown as the trees shed leaves in preparation for Old Man Winter. 

The days are glorious - sunny and bright, without being too hot, and the nights are beginning to get chilly, to remind us that Winter is just around the corner. (As if we need reminding!) Yesterday was a cool, crisp day and I was out walking my dog - who's a lovely pup who answers to the name of Scamper - when the autumn leaves dancing in the wind sent the silly pup into paroxysms of barking as he tried to jump higher than them. He seemed to take it as a personal insult that they brushed against his nose and then flew away aided by the wind, before he could bite them into pieces. The wind itself was cold enough for me to be thankful I had a jacket on, even though the sun was out. Suddenly, 'Uff, kitni thandi hai yeh rut' came unbidden to mind. (Yeah, I think in terms of Hindi film songs all the time.)

The Masters: Sahir Ludhianvi

The 91st birth anniversary of Sahir Ludhianvi, wordsmith non-pareil, was on the 8th of this month. I had always intended to start off this series (The Masters) with a post on this prolific poet. 

08.03.1921 - 25.1.1980

My instinctive reaction to a song is not to its music, though that matters a lot, but to its lyrics. It is the sentiments that the words express that call to me. More often than not, however, a song is known because of the singer; not the composer or the lyricist. In fact, it was Sahir who fought with All India Radio for the right of lyricists to be credited for a song, along with the singers and composers.

Born Abdul Hayee in Ludhiana in 1921, Sahir Ludhianvi once mentioned how his takhallus or nom-de-plume came about in a radio programme. He had read poet Allama Iqbal's couplet: 

Is chaman mein honge paida bulbul-e-shiraaz bhi,

Sainkdon saahir bhi honge saahib-e-eijaaz bhi

- and picked 'Saahir' (magician) as his pseudonym. An apt name, considering the magic he was to weave with his pen.