A glimpse beyond?

There must be some peace or tranquility in/after death. My grandfathers last words, after a day in speechless coma, were "Hari Om". Just randomly utter the second before his last relatively peaceful breath, considering he was riddled with cancer. It was a powerful moment, the whole family, around this hospital bed we'd installed for him at home, everyone just happened to have shut up and look at him when he said this, maybe it was sub conscious perception of some unseen movement of his.

Hari Om...

Exhale...

Tears and to an extent relief that he was finally at peace after weeks of suffering.

He was a very successful businessman who turned scholar in his last decade or two, voraciously absorbing any text on religion and philosophy he could get his hands on in the languages he knew: Hindi, English and Urdu. Utterly beaten when he started losing his eyesight a few years before the end because of an age related macular-degeneration known as Wet Amd. Why didn't he care to fight for life? Because he said, he won't be able to read anymore, so what was the point.

A month or so before he passed

Steve Job's sister released his last words to be "Oh wow! Oh wow! Oh wow!"

Which is what got me reliving my grandfathers last days, which were 2 years ago. Made me think, these powerful parting words, one of a man the world calls great, and one of a man I know to have been great.

There really might be something beyond that veil. The one unknown, that scares me when I sit and think about it, death.

's good to know.

Let's talk about -

Piano tone and timbre.

You don't know what love is

I've been wanting to write about Vladimir Horowitz, one of my favorite classical pianists, but when I sat down to write, I felt its necessary to first explain piano sound from my perspective, that is, how I hear it.

A pianos sound is a persons voice. And, like when you hear a persons voice on the phone and you immediately form a mental picture of them, their build, shape, height, teeth, lips, complexion, looks... really, everything, I find I often do it with instruments (err, not to that degree). Try it, its fun! Its usually a lot more fun with a piano than most other instruments because of the range of the instrument.

Another thing, an idea, an opinion, has lodged itself in my brain. You how they say pets and owners start looking like each other after a while? I think musicians and their instruments start sounding similar after a while. Take for example my piano and my voice in the link on top. Both bass heavy, rounded, warm and a little out of key :)

The first thing one notices about a pianos sound is the brightness. The hardness or lack of mellowness. Making any sense? Listen to these for a sec

Same piece same pianist, some allowance given for recording variations, but isnt the attack and difference in tone obvious?

Now. Me, I like the mellow pianos. The soft and subtle ones which sometimes gobble up the precision of the notes but add beautiful emotional nuances and warmth. If you want to play Bach, these, perhaps, aren't the best. Use a bright piano with crystal clear enunciation. The mellow ones trade that clarity for a little more character, a little more feeling.

And I'm sure snoopy and the guys would agree

Growing up as an artist, or simply, growing up

What a lovely mail I got from my fathers brother earlier today! 

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dear *,

theres a book i'm reading and enjoying immensely at this moment. just read this part (below) and thought of you. 

shine on :-)

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People involved in the arts understand this endless nature through direct experience. It is part of all the arts. That is why I believe that a personal pursuit in some form of art is so important to a person’s sense of well-being. It teaches you this true nature of life right up front if you pay attention. When I was in my late teens, there were two incidents that created so much more patience within me as a result of a change in my perception. 

The first happened shortly after I had started studying jazz improvisation with perhaps the best jazz pianist in the area. His name was Don. After one of my lessons, Don started playing around on the piano as I was packing up my music. I had never met anyone who played the piano as well as he did. He had earned his ability with years of a solid practice ethic, working at the piano sometimes seven and eight hours a day. While he was playing, Don told me that he felt that if he didn’t start working harder he was never going to get really good on the piano. I was shocked by his casual remark. I commented to him that if I could play the piano as well as he could, I would be content to sit all day long and do nothing but listen to myself play. He looked at me and smiled. “You know, Tom,” he said, “that is exactly what I said to my teacher years ago when I first heard him play.” Don had studied with a world-renowned classical and jazz pianist. I had heard recordings of his teacher, who was extremely accomplished. Still, it occurred to me that if someone could reach Don’s level of playing ability and still feel unfulfilled, I was going to have to re-think both my motivations for studying the instrument and my feeling the need to reach some level of “perfection” in order to become fulfilled. 

The second event grew out of the first and began when I was nineteen years old. I had been studying with Don for just over a year. I was trying to play a certain passage in a piece of music and wasn’t having much luck at it. I was frustrated and feeling a bit sorry for myself for not measuring up to my own standards. I wasn’t progressing fast enough in my mind. I made the decision that I would write down all that I needed to accomplish musically to meet my own criteria of good musicianship. The list included items such as being able to play fluently in certain difficult keys, playing in front of large audiences, etc. 

Several years later I was working in a small practice room at college late one night and I was having another difficult practice session. I remember thinking to myself that I was never going to get any better no matter how hard I tried. Depressed, I decided to quit for the evening. As I started packing up my music, a crumpled-up slip of paper fell out of one of my music books. It was the five-year music plan I had made when I was nineteen years old. I was twenty-two now and I had completely forgotten about it. I sat down and began reading the list to myself. What I read took me by surprise and made a lasting impression. I had accomplished everything on the list in less than three years, not five. In fact, I had done things musically that I couldn’t even imagine doing when I was nineteen, and yet I didn’t feel any different. happier with my music or any better as a musician. My horizon was moving away from me. My concept of a good musician was coming from a different frame of reference. 

In that moment I had a realization which took several minutes to fully evolve. I became aware that there was no point of musical excellence out there that would free me from the feeling of “I need to get better.” In that moment, I understood that there was no point I could reach where I would feel that I had finally done it, that I was as good as I needed to be, and that there was no need to improve because I had arrived at my goal. It was an epiphany. At first I felt a moment of overwhelming depression and fear, but it was immediately followed by joy and relief of the same magnitude. I knew that what I was experiencing was a realization that all true artists must go through. It was the only way to build the stamina necessary to continue in an infinite study. There was a sense of freedom in knowing that I would never run out of room to grow. There was a peace in knowing the race was over. Where I was “right now” was just where I should be for the amount of effort I had expended. I saw the wake behind the boat for the first time and realized I was moving ahead, pretty quickly as a matter of fact. 

But the most important truth revealed to me in that moment was this: the real joy was in my ability to learn and experience that growth moment by moment. The process of discovering the ability to create music that had always been within me was the goal, and I achieved that goal in every second I was practicing. There were no mistakes being made, just a process of discovering what worked and what didn’t. I was no longer struggling up a mountain toward some imaginary musical summit that was going to make my life complete. I realized the infinite nature of music and I was relieved instead of intimidated or frustrated. That moment was the beginning of my shift in awareness of how I approached anything in life which required applied effort over long periods of time. 

That subtle shift in perception, and that is all it was, brought about unlimited patience with myself. I became patient with my progress. I not only stopped looking at my progress, I stopped looking for my progress all together. Progress is a natural result of staying focused on the process of doing anything. When you stay on purpose, focused in the present moment, the goal comes to you with frictionless ease. However, when you constantly focus on the goal you are aiming for, you push it away instead of pulling it toward you. In every moment of your struggle, by looking at the goal and constantly referencing your position to it, you are affirming to yourself that you haven’t reached it. You only need to acknowledge the goal to yourself occasionally, using it as a rudder to keep you moving in the right direction. 

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Sterner, Thomas (2010-10-07). The Practicing Mind: Bringing Discipline and Focus Into Your Life (pp. 56-57). Mountain Sage Publishing. Kindle Edition. 

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On another note, I found this CD after many many years. It's one of my favorites, but the first track is on another plane of beautiful altogether! It's a rendition of a Cuban Childrens song by an extraordinary gay, black and Cuban man nicknamed snowball (Bola de Nieve)

The CD:

The song:

A rebuttal of sorts

Oh, and by the way

The list could go on, the only constant is

I think I've established that I'm not much of an artist, 10 points for effort? :)

The 1 crore cake!

Yes.

That's what I did today.

I'm supposed to be on complete bed-rest, but I couldn't resist the challenge of the call I got yesterday.

Caller: "Hi, is this Cake Away?"
Me: "Yes, how can I help you"
Caller: "I need a 10kg cake that looks like a 1 crore rupee note"
Me: "Umm, you mean a note that says one crore on it instead of say 1000"
Caller: "Yes, exactly"
.
. (a few more minutes of conversation and negotiating rates)
.
Me: "Okay"

This is what I made for her. I think I did good.

That's 3 ft x 1.5 ft. Issa big pure chocolate mother!

The thin white coat of icing is just so that the print looks good

Quite a bitch to get that print on right! I could've shaved the cake around the image to make it just the note, but why waste so much delicious chocolate :)

Bye then.

I didn't know Johnny Depp was Edward Scissorhands...

And oh so much more.

I think you'll like this link :)

To sir, with love

When we first started class 11, high school, I was pissed. They'd put most of my friends, the ones I'd been growing up with in a new section and me and a few other in another.

I was pissed, but I got over it. I've always been pretty good adapting to situations.

We had new teachers, some impressive, some irritating and some, most memorable.

At the top of this list was our chemistry teacher, Mr D M Mehta. I don't know the full name. Never did bother to find out. Doesn't mean I had any less respect for him.

He had a catch phrase. "Hath mein paani le ke naak dubo le" (Take some water in your palm and drown your nose in it). Of course accompanied by the gesture. This was his way of telling you to get your shit in order.

Well on the first day after summer holidays, with a bunch of new students in class, I was clowning around and mimicking his mannerisms and catch phrase with my back to the door. And, obviously, he walked in right then. Gave me a stinker look and I thought, well, I'm never going to pass chemistry.

I grew to respect that man immensely. He didn't hold it against me and gave a me fair chance in class. He let it go as a child's foolishness and gave me respect, which I returned plenty-fold.

He was a harsh man, crude, loud, merciless. But he was a good man. One of the best I've met. He always tried his hardest. And his eyes were extraordinarily expressive. Something I only noticed years later, in 2008 at a school fete. Kind but sorrowful eyes.

I'm sad today, because after a year of being comatose he has passed on. This world has no place for good men, so I hope he is happy where ever he is, whichever religion got it right. The thing about good men is that they know there won't be a place for them in this world, but that doesn't change them.

I respect knowledge. He had it.

By the time I left school, I had a good relationship with him, and I'm pretty sure he was more fond of me than most students in my batch. But I didn't go for his Chautha. I didn't think it was appropriate for me to there, with his family whom I know not at all. Whenever I've met him after school we've always had a nice long chat in which he'd speak mostly about his kids, whom he's so proud of, studying outside the country and doing well.

He'd speak about the administrative changes in school which made it hard to be a good teacher. Slapping for one, a non aggressive tap on the back of the head, another one of the things he did and something to which we never took offense had suddenly become a complete nono because stupid little kids would threaten legal or aggressive retaliation.

They were slowly sucking the life out of this offbeat, vibrant man.

Rest peacefully sir, we shall meet again soon and chat about many things, man to man not man to child anymore.

(I was unable to find a picture of him to add here)

The perfect shave

The best time to blog is when you're down and out with a fever!

I've a bit more than the usual boyhood fascination of knives. And I've found the ultimate non homicidal out let for it! Shaving.

In school days, rather than the usual reading a comic behind school books whilst studying I'd be whittling pencils with a pocketknife, resulting in a bin full of little wooden chips and a shouting from my brother who'd be studying on the other side of the room.

Then I practiced thowing those pencils through a few sheets of a book working my way up to getting through a single gatta cover. All the while lost in day dreams of 007 fantasies :)

Well, I still have my sharpening skills - this was whittled from a new pencil in about a minute using an old partly dull thai bought flip knife

And throwing skills - 12 feet aiming for the Mercedes logo

Now, the real challenge is closer home, and its called shaving. I hate the user friendly multi-blade razors. Where's the art in it? Where's the finesse?

And so began my quest to find a straight razor, which, in Delhi, is surprisingly hard. I found this:

Which is similar to the DOVO shavettes, except the blades are smaller and well, its a bitch to use.

But you've got to keep at it. Try repeatedly and slowly. Cut your face again and again till the one shave (around no 7 for me) you manage the shave without a nick. Oh what a glorious feeling! And then you feel oh so happy about not giving up midway, because the end result is therapeutic.

Whats the key again? Try honestly and try hard, because nothing this good comes easy! At the very least give it a... *ahem* the first will never go well.... say 5 shots?

I must mention that I had asked a number of barbers where I could buy one and right until the last guy, they all said "I don't know", despite using these blades to shape fringes of hair around the ears. Also, they all (including the last one) told me not to try shaving on my own because its very dangerous with these little razors.

But baby I stuck to it and I'm-a happy!

And the actual process of the shave is an experience to be savored. For those few minutes, there is nothing else on your mind. And there better not be because you're holding a bloody sharp knife to your throat. Be sure to watch the right side of your face and your jawline and mustache, they take a lot of patient work.

But that's all there is to it. Some honest effort and work, and you wont regret it a bit! So come on, don't be a wuss and give it a shot!

Next step is to get a proper straight razor and strop, I've heard they're much easier to use and give a much better shave.

p.s. further reading:

1) 5 guys who died shaving (hence the need to focus, but really, its not all because of the blade)
2) THE guide for straight razor shaving online

Philosophy for today

Slow change is the only true change.

Ask her:

Philosophy for today

I think I'm going to be happy today, if only because I can't find a reason not to be.

Eleven down, none to go.

I'm an obsessive science fiction and fantasy reader. Mad I tell you. And the longer the series, the happier I am. That is, until I finish it.

This morning, I put to rest the eleventh book of Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth series. Eleventh and last.

Sadly.

I sure I look a bit like a heroin addict right now with the restless twitches and furtive glances over my shoulder.

I had the first five in paperback, and I read them 2 years back. The remaining where nowhere to be found I tell you! Then came the kindle with its awesomeness, back lit leather cover, online one click book downloads and a few weeks later, I knew what Richard Rahl had to do to rid the world of the sinful self righteous ways of the Order. This series really appealed to my feudal (I'm told) sense of morality and righteousness :)

Great series, other than Terry's annoying habit of repeating things oh-so-often. He couldve cut it down by a book or two.

Jeeebus!

*twiddle*

What to do? Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time finale (14th book it is y'all) should be out soon, and so far I'm quite enjoying Brandon Sanderson's prowess as he completes the resting-in-peace masters tale.

Any recommendations? I'm planning to reread the Foundation Series (Asimov)