Who Picked My Pocket?

The arrival of mass-produced ready-made clothing changed everything and cast us into well-defined sizes. If the neck size is A, the waist shall be less than B and so on. If you do not conform to these standards, your clothes are not going to fit very well unless you can afford 'bespoke' clothing. A shirt that fits you very well is, therefore, to be cherished. Ask any man and he will agree.

So, the other day, when I bought a couple of dress shirts that fit me very well, I was naturally happy. I liked the colours, the cut and the styling. However, when I put one of them on a few days later, I was surprised and dismayed to find that the shirt had no pocket. I thought that the tailor must have forgotten it but I found that the other shirt too lacked a pocket. This sent a chill down my spine. Are they eliminating the pocket from men's dress shirts now? After all, it has been eliminated from most of the tee-shirts and polo shirts.

If I thought there was one thing that was safe from designers, it was the pocket in a man's dress shirt. They could do what they liked with collars, pleats on the sleeve or the back, the buttons on the collar (or lack of them), but the pocket was expected to be there on the left chest. These shirts would not be considered very formal and the absence of a pocket was completely baffling. Few men wear suits or sport coats to work these days and the shirt pocket is indispensable.

I need the pocket to hold my reading glasses and optionally a pen. Without my glasses, I cannot read anything except perhaps large traffic signs. I have already dropped my glasses on the floor a few times trying to put them in the non-existent pocket. Carrying them in a case, I find, is impractical. How do I carry the case itself? I will likely misplace it somewhere. If you want to suggest the pant pocket for keeping the glasses, well, they are going to get damaged before long. That's a gamble that I am not willing to take. A hard case will protect the glasses but, unfortunately, it is too bulky fit in the pocket. Besides, the pant pockets are already occupied by my wallet and my cell phone. As you can see, I have got a 'Yes, but' to counter every 'Why don't you' you can throw at me.

I am usually careful in selecting clothes at the shop and wondered how I missed seeing that the shirts lacked pockets. Then I remembered. You see, there was this whole bank of other shirts on display in the most startling colours - the loudest red, magenta, neon green and so on - that had overwhelmed my senses and sent me reeling. Seriously, they were loud enough to startle a sleeping bull and perhaps give him lifelong nightmares. Wearing them in public can be a traffic hazard as otherwise sane drivers may lose control of their cars upon being stunned by their appearance. They ought to carry a warning. Small wonder then, that after seeing them, I had overlooked the missing pockets on the shirts I bought.

I remember the time when shirts had pockets on both sides of the chest. You could see men sporting whole sets of pens in their pockets at work - different colours for different purposes. Some shirts even came with a safety pocket on the inside where you could store valuables out of the reach of pickpockets. Other shirts had flaps over the pockets and/or buttons to close the pockets, making them more secure and imparting a military look to them.

While having no pocket is a bit of a nightmare for me and for most men I am sure, I wonder how women put up with a pocketless existence. There are many puzzling things about women's clothes, but the lack of pockets is the hardest to understand. Women must find the constant need to carry a bag exhausting. I bet one of them cracked under the strain, became a designer and took out her frustration by removing the precious chest pocket from men's shirts.

Men have always preferred practicality in the matter of clothes. That is why we have 'Relaxed Fit' style available for everything  (I do not believe that such a phrase will ever be associated with women's clothing). So it is deeply distressing to note the absence of pockets on new shirts. One hopes this does not become a trend. We should firmly resist this attempt by misguided designers. Equally firmly, we should reject the new loud colors for shirts in the interest of public safety.

The Violin in Carnatic Music

As I read the news of the passing of the great Lalgudi Jayaraman, I started thinking about the place of the violin in carnatic music. The adaptation of this instrument into carnatic music is so complete that one does not even think of its western origins. It is the the melodic accompaniment of choice in a vocal concert. I don't know if any other instrument is even considered for this purpose anymore.

The violin made its entry into carnatic music more than a hundred and fifty years ago. Though it has an exalted position in carnatic music, I feel that there is still scope to enhance the role of the violin. Specifically, I find that the way it is used as an accompaniment has a couple of issues.

Firstly, when the singer is presenting the raga alapana, I would humbly suggest that the violinist lay down the bow and just enjoy the exposition. After all, the violinist gets to present a solo version later and, may I say, without interruption from the vocalist. As the singer weaves the raga together, I do not want the violin intruding in the gap between successive phrases. I find this rather jarring. This gap with just the drone of the shruti, serves to enhance the meditative mood and builds expectation.

The other issue I have is with the niraval/swaram phase. Often, the violinist simply plays the same notes that the vocalist sings making the whole thing sound like a class. I wish they would instead engage in a sort of a friendly duel where each would feed off the other's energy and also challenge each other. This usually happens in a dual violin concert or a concert involving two instruments. The format then changes from one of leader-accompanist to collaborators. Why not adopt this in a vocal concert?

One of the most memorable concerts that I have ever listened to is a collaboration between Lalgudi Jayaraman and the flute maestro N. Ramani from 1971. The synergy and understanding between the two in that concert is simply fantastic. I keep going back to this every now and then. Some of the songs from that concert ('vatapi gananptim' and 'cakkani raja' to name two) have become benchmarks in my appreciation of other artistes performing them. I am yet to hear better versions of these, I must add.

I see no reason why the vocalist and the violinist cannot perform in a similar fashion. The raga exposition can be a collaborative venture with the voice and the violin complementing each other. The violin can extend the range into higher and lower octaves. Instead of being two separate solos, the alapana can be a duet, where the voice and the violin work in tandem building the raga so to speak.The niraval and swaram phase can be a true jugal bandhi.

Would the artistes consider this format?  I am sure this will provide more freedom of expression to the violinist and enhance the listening experience for the audience. And judging by this article from The Hindu, it appears that this is an idea whose time may be at hand. I, for one, would love to see such a concert.

The purists may say this goes against pakkavadhya dharma, but Carnatic music has been very progressive. While it has remained true to its traditional roots, there have been many innovations. Apart from the violin, other instruments have made their way into the system - the clarinet, the mandolin and the saxophone for example. New concert formats are being tried. There are also attempts at fusion between carnatic music and western music (though these are still somewhat sketchy in my opinion). The carnatic tradition is thus a living tradition capable of absorbing many new elements. I hope the format suggested here will find a place in it.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

"So we say, grow your hair for peace" - John Lennon 

As I sat down to wait my turn at the barber shop, I was somewhat amused to see a man having a 'trim' when his hair was already very short. I mean it was about an eighth of an inch long. Why would he need a hair cut? He must really enjoy the whole experience, I thought. I, on the other hand, generally don't like having haircuts. I end up postponing it often and then I start looking a little grungy and unkempt. It eventually gets to a point when I must get my hair cut. And, unlike David Crosby who felt very strongly about it (you can listen to him sing 'Almost Cut My Hair'), I end up getting a haircut.

This dislike of haircuts probably goes way back. When I was young, I dreaded the hand-held trimmer that the barber used to shear my locks. He would have my head in a vise-like grip and run the trimmer up and down and left and right with absolute abandon. Sound technique if you are mowing a lawn perhaps, but not for cutting hair. This trimmer (I am sure many of you will remember it) was not electric but mechanical and had a jerky motion. It was utterly unpleasant.

The best haircut in my opinion is one which leaves you looking like you had not had a haircut at all, but nevertheless does some trimming in the right places. This was all but impossible when you were young and accompanied by a parent when you went to the barber shop. Your father invariably wanted your hair cut very short. Even if he was not there, the barber himself made it his mission to cut it short over your protests. After all, you were not the one paying him. The result was you came out looking like a freshly shorn sheep.

A good haircut has been mostly elusive through my adult life as well. I feel very few barbers and stylists understand my hair. This is perhaps the reason I never like having a haircut. All the same, I cannot completely avoid it. While I am all for world peace, I cannot follow Lennon's advice even if I wanted to. You see, now that my hair has thinned considerably, it is even more important to have regular haircuts. It sounds counter-intuitive, but if you have thinning hair and a bald patch, you will understand. It is more difficult to cover up a bad haircut (or bald patch) if you don't have enough hair in the right places!

It seems that when you start losing hair from your head, hair around your earlobes and in your nose seem to take up the void. This is the way of the world, I guess. What you don't want you will get plenty of and what you do want will be hard to come by.

My hair started turning grey fairly early - around forty. I could never bother with dyeing my hair. It seems to be too much work. About all I can do is to run a comb though my hair in the morning. But when the first silver threads made their appearance, it was with some sadness that I greeted them. And when I got used to these pioneers and their tribe increasing merrily, I was comforted to note that the problem would go away eventually anyway because I was also beginning to go bald! The race has been going on for a few years now. Whether all my hair will turn grey before falling out seems to be an even bet. And I am not going to lose my hair over - well, you know what I mean.

(Picture courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Manual_hair_clippers.JPG)

Ticket to Ride

I just read this disturbing news about commuters on the Mumbai local train being sprayed with a toxic powder. I was saddened. My memories of the Mumbai trains are from about twenty-five years ago, but I do not recall that you had to fear the other riders, especially when the train was crowded.

Riding those trains was certainly not for the faint-hearted and the newcomer to the city found it quite intimidating. The art of getting off a train before it stops (so that you do not risk being put back on the train by the onrush of commuters) and of moving away from the  exit before the train stops at a busy station (lest you be placed on the platform outside involuntarily) were only a couple of the many skills to be mastered. I remember a friend  who was getting to Churchgate in the evening (no crowds traveling in that direction). He failed to get off the train before it stopped and was engulfed by the oncoming evening rush anxious to get home to Borivali. There was no way to get out of the train. Worse, the train was an express which meant that my friend was now going back to a station even beyond where he started from!

There are many scenes from the train commute that have stuck with me through the years - a poor beggar being shooed away by most passengers, but receiving alms from a porter; the group of people regularly performing bhajans in the compartment complete with hand cymbals and offering prasad to those who broke their strides to stop by the window even as they rushed to wherever they were bound; people who played bridge inside the crowded compartment using a briefcase to put down the cards and hung around the platform even after getting to their destination in order to finish the hand (such dedication). Then there was the hushed rush with which money was passed to the riders at the doorway in exchange for the batata vada packages sold by vendors at Dadar station (the best, I was told, in all of Central Railway). In the few seconds for which each train stopped there, at least a dozen orders were fulfilled. Let us not forget that all these happened while the trains were jam packed.

Riding the local train to work in Mumbai is a unique experience. The train represents a microcosm of the city that is a microcosm of the nation. To me the visage of the train is almost alive with humanity bursting from every doorway, its only purpose, to get people to work or home or wherever they were going. Never mind that the train had long passed any reasonable retirement age; that the tracks were in need of serious upgrading. Uncomplainingly, it bears its burden at surprising speeds gliding along the rails that snake through the city. How much abuse can a machine take? I recently read that these old trains are being replaced with newer ones (about time, I guess). I hope the old ones get a respectable farewell.

One of my friends had sent me this song that I think captures the spirit of the Mumbai local train riders. Even though I must confess to hating my daily ride while I lived in Mumbai, I cannot deny the sense of nostalgia this song brought to me.

Photo Courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Bombay4.jpg

The Not-So-Gentle Art of Dentistry

There are few things about which there is universal agreement. On almost every topic, you are likely to get as many opinions as the number of people you ask. But ask anyone about going to the dentist and you are pretty much guaranteed to get a unanimous answer. No one likes to go to the dentist. My recent visit to the dentist was no exception.

Believe me, I have nothing against dentists personally, but the experience can definitely do with improvements. The whole thing is designed to be unpleasant from beginning to end. First of all, there are intimidating pictures of gum disease, crooked teeth and such to greet you. Then there are alarming brochures describing the consequences of not having your teeth cleaned every six months. I put these away in a hurry but not before realizing that I have not been here in more than a year. Visions of bloody pits, where teeth used to be, well up in my mind.

Since it has been so long since my last visit, the assistant tells me that I need a full set of x-rays. She makes me bite pieces of hard plastic which dig into my mouth making it all sore. It does not make me comfortable that she darts into the adjoining room every time she takes the pictures as if recoiling from a frying chamber.

Then she adjusts the seat so that I am suspended at an unnatural angle with blood rushing to my head. Actually, I think this is done so that your mouth will bleed easily when poked even slightly.

The stage is now set. I have a bright light shining on my face and I am surrounded by masked people holding sharp instruments. The dentist looks into my mouth and, after a couple of ah’s and oh’s, shows me close-ups of my teeth and gums in a mirror. Now, I don’t know about you, but most people tend to look bad under bright lights even with their mouths closed. With my mouth open under the glare of these, I look positively hideous. Some dentists try to make you feel comfortable with some small talk during this humiliating process. Others exchange notes with the assistant as if you are not in the room. Of course, you cannot say a word, as your mouth is held open while the dentist pokes your gums with the little hook-shaped instrument, drawing blood with every poke, which you can neither swallow nor spit.

This time, I am told, I needed to get my pockets cleaned. You know, I think this is what gets dentists a bad name. All other things – the bright light, the seat, sharp instrument, the screeching drill, etc. – can be considered necessary evils, but cleaning my pockets? I mean, really! Can't they come up with a better phrase? Can you imagine the following conversation?

A: Hey, where have you been?

B: I was at the dentist’s.

A: Oh, what did you have done?

B: I had my pockets cleaned.

A: Yeah, I know the feeling. I had a crown put in that set me back a cool thousand bucks. But seriously, what procedure did you have done?

Enough said.

Morning's At Seven

I wonder if you have ever read the poem, Pippa's Song by Browning?

The year 's at the spring,
And day 's at the morn;
Morning 's at seven;
The hill-side 's dew-pearl'd;
The lark 's on the wing;
The snail 's on the thorn;
God 's in His heaven—
All 's right with the world!

Well, I must say that Pippa had it really great. From the day I started school, my mornings have tended to be somewhat busier than Pippa's typical spring day. Seven in the morning is crazy for most of us. 

It is interesting that Pippa sings about Spring because it is particularly hard in Spring when the daylight savings time kicks in. They call it "Spring Forward" to indicate setting the clock ahead by an hour. To me, it is more like "Crawl Forward". Our bodies are adept at staying in tune with the environment. Daybreak and sundown are markers that the bodies rely on to stay in harmony. But they cannot adjust to an arbitrary change in a mechanical device that keeps time.

Daylight Savings Time is supposed to save energy. I don't know how much energy this actually saves, but trying to adjust to the change in the clock is sapping mine. 

The clock rules us in the morning. This slavery to time is inculcated early in life starting with school. The schools were the worst because you risked punishment for being late. I used to walk to school or run if I was (quite appropriately) running late. 

When I used to work in Mumbai, things were hectic and my mornings were so precisely timed to catch the right bus and train to make it to the office on time. If I missed the 7:25 shuttle to the station to catch the 7:43 fast train, then I ended up having to take an auto-rickshaw or taxi. If you so much as stopped to look at the snail on the thorn (seriously? the thorn?), you risked missing the connections which were set up like dominoes.

Mercifully, the Mumbai period passed and now I am not dependent on public transport to go to work. Even if I tried to use it, it would be so tortuous, with many connections and take a couple of hours, but that's another story. On a good day, meaning the traffic behaving, I can reach my office in about twenty minutes. Though it is not quite the same as Pippa's morning, I really cannot complain. Perhaps, when I retire, I can emulate Pippa. But for now, 

Morning's at seven
My face needs shavin'