Someone Like You...!

Growing up in a remote town in an age and at a time, when there was no T.V. in that area and no internet, our main form of entertainment were Books and Radio. And it was radio that brought to us, on a remote day in 1979-80, a song entitled "Aap jaisa koi" (Someone like you) that would mesmerize our generation for years to come.

The song was as much known because it was a part of a movie made by the only screen cowboy we had, or because it was composed by a long-haired maverick, as it was because it was sung by a 15-year old Pakistani girl. It was an instant hit and her name would be known to every moviegoer of the day in the sub-continent. She would sing quite a few more songs later, but none of those would rival the level of popularity "Aap jaisa koi" had achieved.

And so two decades later, when the news of her succumbing to brain cancer reached the world, it saddened many hearts. Nazia Hassan was only 35 at the time of her death.
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Sources:
http://www.jazbah.org/naziah1.php
http://www.apunkachoice.com/happenings/20000816-0.html
http://www.apunkachoice.com/scoop/bollywood/20001117-1.html
http://www.guardian.co.uk/obituaries/story/0,3604,357323,00.html
http://www.muziq.net/showpage.php?page=articles.php?page=page&artid=031
htp://www.pakipop.com/description/solo/nazia_zoheb/nazia.html
http://www.rediff.com/entertai/2000/aug/14nazia.htm
http://www.megspace.com/arts/naziazoheb/facts.html

Big Fish, Big Talk, Big Fun

Big Fish is a movie that I watched at the suggestion, and insistance, of a good friend. I had seen posters of this movie in a local video shop for quite sometime now, but would not have watched it if it was not suggested by someone. It's basically a story of a father and his son: the son's reconciling with his father; the main theme is an exploration by the son of the father's life and his tall tales.

The father is an interesting character. In his world, nothing happens in the ordinary way. Everything happens in a fascinating way, in a grand scale; giants, witches, werewolves and others troll in his stories. And the son, though used to his father's stories, starts developing suspicions about those stories as time passes, and this finally leads to his total disliking of his father. He even declines to accept his father's existence at one point.

It is only when the father is sick, and the son comes to spend some time with him, things start finally showing up in their real light. The son would understand the reason behind his father's story and the real events that led to the stories.

This is a very nice movie, and an entertaining at that.

Growing up in a small, remote town, I ahd around me many such storytellers. People who are complelled to tell tall tales, who in Marquez's word, "Won't tell the truth even by mistake". Those were the people who perhaps to hide their poverty, would proclaim the variety of food they had that day, or the difference places they saw or things they knew. When I started growing up, I felt that those were a bunch of liars and braggarts. But looking back now, I see that that was the fun part....to be with good storytellers, people who could conceal their frustration and could try to overcome worries in a world of fantasy.

Most of my family and relations, on the other hand, lived in a quasi-fantastic world, where ghosts and demons used to coexist with gods and humans. They even had a distinch hierarchial classification of the spirits. For example, the sound that used to come from the babo tress behind our kitchen were made by a spirit, who was exiced each time something good was being prepared; however, we had nothing to worry about, because he was the most useless ghost who could do no harm to anybody except for making some noise. The most ferosious variety of spirits were those without a head, and with their eyes on their chests. They were the deadliest. If they saw you, they would kill you.

Then there was this guy, who with his whole family perished in a car crash when I was an infant. My mothjer always used to tell us that the previous night, while smoking a cigarette in his front porch, he saw a huge, blak person waving and beckning him from the top of a big tree in a field across his house. For years later, when I would come back at late night or early morning from a friend's place or after watching some cultural programme, I would be scared to look at the tree for fear that there may be the same black guy standing there.

However, over a period of time, I would defeat the demons that lurked innthe darkness, and so do most people. I would also realise over time how great an art Storytelling is!

One of the greatest storyteller of our time is Gabriel Garcia Marquez. For almost 4 decades, he has woven reality with fantasy, and in the process making himself one of the greatests in Magic Realism. However, before that he told stories in a different field, where truth was necessary. Before becoming the famous author that he is, Marquez used to work as a journalist in Baranquilla, Colombia; but his penchant for storytelling often took over him and he would end up writing fictional, magnificent stories about people and events that either had not happened, or , if happened, had very little to do with his version. And he would finally acknowledge why storytelling is so important to the present day Latin america amidst its frustration and helplessness.

I think, justice was done to all the storytellers in the world, when Dario Fo paid a glittering tribute to them in his Nobel acceptance speech.

Tu To Kali Kali Re (You Are The Black One!)

The title of this posting comes from the title of a Hindi song, sung by Antara Choudhury for the movie, Minoo. When this song was recorded, Antara was perhaps a 6-year old girl. She also sang another song, "Teri Galiyon Mein Hum Aaye", with the legendary Manna Dey for this movie. I never watched the movie, but what I learned from the reviews I read is that a small girl (perhaps Antara herself) carries a black baby goat in her arms, and sings this "Kali Kali" song.

"Kali Kali" used to be played all the time during the late 1970's and early 1980's (perhaps about 1979-1981) by the All India Radio. Almost 25 year later, when I try to locate this song in the internet, I fail to do so, except for one website, based in the U.K.

But that's not the issue here. What made me write this posting, and also the title of the post, in the picture here. It is the picture of an onviously shaken and confused baby bear. Yes, a baby bear! It stands by a large body of water, which is fllod water. This baby was washed away by fllod and he reached this village, 20 kms away from my town back home., where villages rescued him and offered shelter. He was given some food (mostly nuts, as I can see) on a plantain leaf, which is being robbed by a goat.

[My association with goats date back to childhood. I grew up in a small town in an era, devoid of TV, Internet and almost all other forms of entertainment, except for books and the Radio. But when I look back, I also see a bunch of loyal friends who surrounded me, and that bunch consisted of goats/kids, cat, ducks/ducklings, pigeons and cows/calves. Each of them had its own name, sometimes too human that it left some visitors confused. (Baba, in the comments below, was a white male goat, who stopped eating anything that a self-respecting goat would eat, and switched to boiled tea leaves, cigarette butts, rasgullas, rice, vegetable and almost anything else that we ate. He, by eating rice mixed with meat curry, debunked for us the myth that goats don't eat anything that smells of meat). I'm sure, Baba stopped thinking himself of as a goat, but rather a human being with equal human rights, while retaining all his goat rights intact! ... And in retrosepct, I feel that my childhood was not that bad after all!]

It makes me sad that this poor baby bear is so lost and confused! But at the same time, what warms the heart is to know that there are still people, themselves in the midst of a flood, to give shelter to a bear cub!

And as usual, there are bad guys, who rob poor ones! This goat is just doing that. But thankfully, our bear does not mind it so much. Maybe for him, the companionship of the goat matters more than the nuts being robbed. (Actually the caption of the picture in the newspaper began with "In search of a company?"
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*Note: The above picture was published in a Regional Daily newspaper named, Janasadharan, in my mother tounge.
Comments Received: Usha wrote: "... I saw this cute picture in your blog - may be our pal baba with you? I wanted to add a comment but your blog does not allow me to comment . why?"

Khuda Khair Kare (May God Bless)!

The Hindi Film Industry, at present based at Bombay (Mumbai) and thus called Bollywood, helped innumerable music personalities to propser. Back in the pre-independence days, when both Calcutta and Bombay used to be the centres for moviemaking, many miracles happened. During that era, a poor engineering dropout (Hemant Kumar) could create music that many believed made snakes came rushing into wherever it was being played. Or that a guy (Anil Biswas), who as a poor kid had to work as a dishcleaner to earn a living in some nondesctipt teashop, could make some of the most beautiful music of that era.

During the following years, the Hindi Film Industry attracted the very best of the Urdu poets belongting to the entire Indian sub-continent. Anyone who, for example, has read the poem entitled, "Taaj Mahal" by Sahir Ludhianvi, would agree to it. There were so many really great poets that I won't even attempt to name any!

That was the lyrical age; music had meaning then. And the moviemakers respected their music makers and song writers. Interestingly, many classical composers and singers looked down upon the Insdian cinematic music. For example, Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, irritated by he arrogance of K. Asif, wanted to avoid singing in "Mughal-e-Azam" at any cost, and to dissuade him, demanded Rupees 25,000 per song. Mind you, it was in 1960! And it was a big money then. But K. Asif, as arrogant as he was, wasn't disheartened by this; on the spot, he handed Khan down with a cheque (check) for half of the total amount. To lure the Ustad, Naushad Ali, the main music composer for the film, even showed the Ustad some of the raw rush-print of Madhubala's acting in the movie. And there was none who could say no after that; not even Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan!

Then came Shankar Jaikishen, who brought in Western music and also copied some of it. R.D. Burman followed the suit. And thereafter came an era, when every two-bit clown with a synthesizer could compose what he called "Music", and get away with it. By that time, some of the greats such as Mukesh and Rafi would be dead, and others such as Talat Mahmmod and Manny Dey would retire.

We are talking of the early '80s here. During that whole period of void, if one voice made a difference, it was, in my opinion, that of Kabban Mirza. An announcer with the All India Radio, Bombay, Mirza auditioned as a singer for the movie, Razia Sultan, and was selected from among about 50 candidates. What followed was history.

Mirza sang only two songs in the movie. But those two songs were, to many, more memorable than many other singer's numerous songs! Those songs had a haunting melody in them that affected listeners strongly. Till today, I've not yet met a single person who loves light classical Indian music, that does not like Mirza's "Khuda khair kare", or "Tera hijr mera naseeb hai"

However, Bollywood never treated Mirza well. He miserably failed to get more assignments, and aparently went back to his job at the All India Radio.

Over the years, I've tried to find more info about him. Sadly though, I never scucceeded. The only useful hit I got was a new item in 2003, where it was mentioned that Mirza was fighting a losing battle against throat cancer, and he lost his voice completely by then.

I don't know if Kabban Mirza is still alive, though I sincerely hope that he is!

I also wish that "Khuda khair kare" (May God bless him)!
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Here's the link to the only useful article on Kabban Mirza:
http://www.indianexpress.com/full_story.php?content_id=26392

For Taaj Mahal: http://www.urdupoetry.com/meg/meg032.html
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Comments Received : joi_devivre wrote: "Oh dear, you're the only other person I've come across who's as obsessed with Kabban Mirza as I am. To me, he is definitely one of the greatest singers ever to grace Hindi film music, and how tragic that all we have from him are merely two songs. But what songs!! Worth much more than a lifetime of cacaphony cobbled together by many who were much more successful than him. Sad to know about his present condition. I'll go and listen to "Tera Hijr" right now. BTW, tried commenting on your blog, but apparently comments are restricted to team members."

Obituary: Bouba

Bouba was one of my internet friends' long time pet dog. He lived a healthy and long life; 20 years in human timescale is perhaps 150 dog years! This, however, does not make my friend's sadness a bit less.

Talking of myself, we never had a pet dog at our home. The official version is that dogs might bite us. But at the heart of my heart, I had (and have) always known that another (and more realistic) reason was that my mother's family dog of her school days had been killed by tiger(s). Back then, their village was adjacent to forests, and tigers often used to troll around their village during some of the seasons of the year. Their dog was white in color.

(Much later, I witnessed her being very emotional and attached, when a lost white dog walked into our home. I was in my early teens then. This dog was also very well-mannered amd my mother, for first time in my life, showed real affection to a dog!).

But tigers are animals and, in the animal kingdom, it's perfectly alright to kill others for food, probably because they don't kill for fun. But often humans go down below the level of animals. One neighbor of us, a witch of an old woman who never had a child of her own,for example,threw our kitten to a wall and killed it. The crime: the kitten followed her into her house and climbed into her bed.

Even afrer 2o years or so, I've still not forgotten her violent death!

Interestingly, a few months ago (or was it a year ago?) a guy in California beheaded his pet dog, becuase he named it after his girlfriend, with whom he had recently broken up. He had two past records of violent crimes, and the California Three-Strikes Rule made sure that he went to prison for 25 years without any chance of parole!

Below is a picture of Bouba with his feline friend, Nono. This photo was taken about a week before Nono's death.

Nono, who passed away about a month ago, used to bring worms as gift to my friend every morning. She was a nice soul.

May both Bouba and Nono be together and in peace!
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Note: Part of a mail from my friend:
"I lost both in less than a month. The picture of them was tooken perhaps a week before Nono's death. Both are so good animals, so friendly and lovingly. I am sure I will find them once, somewhere, again."

Dear Old Folkie: Part II

I was listening to this song that a friend sent to me from her collection, at my request. It was, however, a live performance version. I have known about the song and its universal appeal for many years, and also about the way people have embraced it. But what was more touching, for me, were his words before he sang the song:

"You would like to get out of your pessimistic mood yourself.........I got one sure remedy for you. ....Go help those people down in Birmingham, Mississippi or Alabama.... All kinds of jobs need to be done. It takes hands, hearts, and heads to do it.... human beings to do it. And then we shall see this song come true."

These words didn't come from someone looking for name and fame, but from a real human being, a real person and artist. It was Pete Seeger, and obviously the song was, "We shall overcome".

When Pete Seeger had visitied Delhi in 1997, I was in a place 1700 kms away. But what was even more depressing was that, an ex-roomie of mine who visited me in December-1997, informed me that he had the chance to attend Seeger's concert in Delhi. I could never stop envying him ever since.

And now I quote Pete Seeger, talking about an incident that involves (one of) his India trip(s), from the website mentioned below[1]:

"I went to a little village with houses made of mud. A man took a look at me and says 'Pete Seeger' -- he'd seen my picture. He goes over to get his daughter, and with his little daughter in his arms, they sing 'We Shall Overcome' in Bengali. Then right after that they begin to sing 'What Did You Learn In School Today?'. India knows a lot more about the rest of the world than we [do]. I must say they don't get the rhythm right, they sing it like an English march."

One can understand Seeger's feelings of frustration, because this is the man, whose words of advice to Dar Williams, a young artiste who asked for his guidance, were: "Any idiot can write a complicated song, but it takes a genius to be simple."

("That's what I aspire to," Dar Williams said. "Pete Seeger is the one who writes the songs that unite people.")

"We shall overcome" was perhaps a simple song for Pete Seeger, but not for the villager from Bengal (and, going by its effect, not for the world either!).

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Note: A very warm essay on Seeger (written by another blogger) can be found at:
http://effectmeasure.blogspot.com/2005/05/happy-birthday-pete.html

References:
[1] http://cfs.osu.edu/activities/ProtestMusicAsResponsibleCitizenship/seeger.htm
http://archives.cnn.com/2000/SHOWBIZ/Music/08/04/wb.us.folk.music/
Picture Source: www.counterpunch.org/Pete_at_NYC_demo.jpg

Gaza Strip, Tarun Bhaduri, Alexander and ......

The picture here is of four persons kissing their ground. These people are Palestinians, and this picture was taken just after Israelis evacuated their settlements from the Gaza strip.

Now, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been there for almost 60 years now; it has become one of the most volatile issues of the geopolitic.

My intention is, however, not to talk about that issue; I'm not even qualified to do that. But what I want to talk about is the thoughts and feelings this picture evoked in me.

Long ago, when I was a kid, I used to read quite a lot, but I could do that only in my mother tounge, my knowledge of other languages being fragmental at best. (This was after 2-3 years of schooling with English as the second language, where we could translate sentences into English, but could not read a book and understand it). During that phase, I read a book, which was translated from Bangla (Bengali) and was written by noted journalist and literary figure, Tarun Kumar Bhaduri. The title of the book was "Maru Prantar", which would, upon loose transliteration into English, be "The Desert Landscape".

This was a travelogue, in which he recorded his trip to the Middle-East; Mr. Bhaduri travelled to all of the Islamic countries, and also to Israel. To me, this book appeared informative and yet with a humane touch. But what impressed me most was a small incident he mentioned in the book.

According to his writing, when his friends and relatives came to know that he was traveling abroad, many of them came up with many demands and requests. Whereas his daughter made only one request: to bring a handful of dust from each city/country he visits, for her.He did it, and at places, he had problems with the customs. Perhpas the customs guys could never undestand a middle-aged man carrying a bundle of plastic bags filled with dust! (For those interested: yes, most probably that daughter, unless she has sisters, is Jaya Bhaduri, one of the finest actresses of Indian cinema).

In Persian, there is a word called sarzameen. I don't know the exact meaning of the word; my effort in that direction has remained futile. My friends, who know either Urdu or Persian tell me that sarzameen means land, country etc. But to me, this word means more than ground (zameen in Persian) alone. I would like to think that the ground beneath one's feet becomes Sarzameen the moment one kneels down to kiss it like those guys in the picture, when someone bows down to the ground in reverence.

Land has always been one of the major causes of disputes and wars. But to how much land can one really hold on?

Alexander the great, whose dream was to conquer the entire then-known world, faced some ascetics during his invasion of India, and his first encounter of them was very interesting. I quote other sources [1-2]:

"I have always liked the story of the Indian sages, some of whom Alexander chanced to come upon out of doors in a meadow, where they used to meet to discuss philosophy. On the appearance of Alexander and his army, these venerable men stamped with their feet and gave no other sign of interest.

Alexander asked them through interpreters what they meant by this odd behavior, and they replied: 'King Alexander, every man can possess only so much of the earth' surface as this we are standing on. You are but human like the rest of us, save that you are always busy and up to no good, traveling so many miles from your home, a nuisance to yourself and to others. Ah well! You will soon be dead, and then you will own just as much of this earth as will suffice to bury you.'

Alexander expressed his approval of these sage words; but in point of fact his conduct was always the exact opposite of what he then professed to admire. [...] One must admit, than, that Alexander was not wholly a stranger to the loftier flights of philosophy; but the fact remains that he was, to an extraordinary degree, the slave of ambition."

This incident, whose dramatization I first watched in the Indian national television channel (in the TV Series, Chanakya), has ever since amused and made me ponder.

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Acknowledgements:
http://www.hindustantimes.com/news/625_0019000100173762,0.htm; for the Gaza Strip picture
[1]http://www.livius.org/caa-can/calanus/calanus.html
[2]http://www.livius.org/aj-al/alexander/alexander_t60.html
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Note: Edited excerpt from a mail from my Persian friend:

"Yup...sar=head and zamin=land, but it's NOT generally categorized as a compound noun. In Farsi, it means only LAND or TERRITORY. Sarzamin differs from zamin in the sense that it refers to great, vast lands, whereas zamin usually refers to small pieces; e.g. a land which a building is built on, and the ancient Persian sarzamin. Sometimes they can be used interchangeably, because they are synonyms as well."

Kali Kali Zulfon Ke Phande: Noose of Jet-Black Locks*

I still remember the day the All India Radio announced the death of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan in London. It was a hot summer evening in 1997 and I had just finished my dinner.

My introduction to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan was through a friend, who had been a devout fan of him, in spite of not understanding most of the lyrics, composed in Punjabi. He had bought many of Fateh's cassettes and I had the privelege to listen to the songs over a glass of vodka or wine! Over the next few years, "Kali Kali Zulfon" had become the theme song during our drinking sessions. Until we left the dormroom, not a single time did we drink without being in the the shade of the kali kali zulfon (jet-black locks).

An overweight man fond of food, Khan was warned by his physicians to cut down his intake of food. Apprently, he did not pay much atention to their words!

It is really amazing that in a lifespan of 49 years, one could churn out 125 albums! But then this was none other than the Shahenshah-e-Qawwali (The Emperor of Qawwali).

*In memorium: Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan (13th October, 1948 - 16th August, 1997).
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Acknowledgements: http://www.music-reviewer.com/12_97/pix/nfa2.jpg; for the picture

"The White Negress" (The White Queen of Soul)

She was a white woman from England who specialized in Soul, a genre of music in which African American artistes such as James Brown have made their mark. So much so that she was nicknamed, "The white queen of Soul". Cliff Richard affectionately called her, "The White Negress".

This British artiste was perhaps the first person ever to include a 'no apartheid' clause in the contract for her South African tour. Not only that; during her South Africa tour, she declined to perform in concerts, meant for a racially segregated audience.

But then, she was not afraid of controversies or straight talking. Way back in 1972, she admitted of her bisexuality and, during the early 1970s, began speaking openly about it in interviews given by her.

She also knew how to laugh at herself, even when faced with a serious illness. When she started receiving chemotherapy for her cancer, she felt nauseous; but then she said, "I think my body liked the chemicals. I've poisoned it over so many years in the past that it went, 'Yes! Poison!' ".

She was Dusty Springfield. (1939-1999)
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Sources:
http://www.divasthesite.com/Singing_Divas/Trivia/Trivia_Dusty_Springfield.htm
http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/d/dusty_springfield.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dusty_Springfield
http://imdb.com/name/nm0819778/bio

Wish You Were Here, Crazy Diamond: Part II

Here is the full text of the song, Shine on you crazy diamond, written as a tribute to Syd Barrett.

Shine on You Crazy Diamond

Remember when you were young
You shone like the sun
Shine on, you crazy diamond
Now there's a look in your eyes
Like black holes in the sky
Shine on, you crazy diamond

You were caught in the crossfire
Of childhood and stardom
Blown on the steel breeze
Come on you target for faraway laughter
Come on you stranger
You legend, you martyr, and shine

You reached for the secret too soon
You cried for the moon
Shine on...
Threatened by shadows at night
And exposed in the light
Shine on...

Well you wore out your welcome
With random precision
Rode on the steel breeze
Come on you raver, you seer of visions
Come on you painter
You piper, you prisoner, and shine

Nobody knows where you are
How near or how far
Shine on...
Pile on many more layers
And I'll be joining you there
Shine on...

And we'll bask in the shadow
Of yesterday's triumph
Sail on the steel breeze
Come on you boy child, you winner and loser
Come on you miner
For truth and delusion and shine.
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There is a sad story related to the recording of this song.

"Coincidentally, Barrett himself actually turned up at the studio in the middle of a recording session of the backing vocals for "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" on Jne 5th, 1975, on which was also the day guitarist/vocalist David Gilmour married his first wife Ginger. Across the corridors of Abbey Road floated "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" and there he was, in person. He arrived unannounced, looking bald and fat, and had put on so much weight that some of the band did not recognize him at first. Others were close to tears; Waters later confided that he cried. Barrett asked at one point if there was anything he could do and that he was available if needed. He later appeared at Gilmour's wedding reception where some mistook him for a member of the Hare Krishna religion. He hadn't been seen by the band in five years, and wasn't seen again after that Point."

Note: I read the following today (22nd August, 2005). I think it's important that I add this here. As often, this is from Wikipedia.org.

"Waters and Pink Floyd reunited for a performance at the Live 8 concert at London, on 2nd July, 2005. They played a four song, 20-minute set. Before going into "Wish You Were Here", Waters said:

"It's actually quite emotional standing up here with these three guys after all these years. Standing to be counted with the rest of you. Anyway, we're doing this for everyone who's not here, but particularly, of course, for Syd." "
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Sources:
http://www.guntheranderson.com/v/data/shineony.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roger_Waters
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wish_You_Were_Here_(album)
The Cartoon: http://arania.kamiki.net/contestentries/Syd%20Barrett%20Sabi-kun%20copy.jpg

The Saint of Sex

Was it Freud who first accepted homosexuality as not an illness? Perhaps not! Right now, I can remember only two of these people, who had done pioneering studies in this field.

The first of them is Havelock Ellis. I remember his name maybe because I read his book, "The Psychology of Sex".

His book, "Sexual Inversion", co-written with John Addington Symonds, described the sexual relations of homosexual men. Ellis also developed the concepts of auto-erotism and narcissism, both of which were later taken on by Sigmund Freud.

(I once read somewhere that unlike Freud, who was guilt-ridden for his relationship with his sister-in-law, Ellis led a very idealistic life. *However, I now can not find documents in support of this statement.*)

Ironically, Ellis sufferd from impotence. "Ellis suffered from impotence until he was about 60. With the help of a devoted lover, he finally cured the problem, and remained sexually active until he was 72. "I am regarded as an authority on sex, a fact which sometimes amused one or two (though not all) of my intimate women friends," Ellis wrote in his autobiography."

But that was not all. He was the guy who paved the way to the surveys of people such as Alfred Kinsey. "He objected to Freud's application of adult sexual terms to infants, and tried to demystify human sexuality - most of his English readers were raised in the asexual, ignorant, and prejudiced Victorian climate."

The other guy, a German named Richard Freiherr von Krafft-Ebing, preceded Ellis by about two decades. To show what this guy was, I quote below from Wikipedia.

"Krafft-Ebing elaborated an evolutionist theory considering homosexuality as an anomalous process developed during the gestation of the embryo and fetus, evolving into a sexual inversion of the brain. Some years later, in 1901, he corrected himself in an article published in the Jahrbuch für sexuelle Zwischenstufen, changing the term anomaly to differentiation. He thus revealed himself as, if not as the first, at least one of the first professionals seeing homosexuals as normal people with a different sexuality.

But his final conclusions remained forgotten for years, partly because Sigmund Freud's theories captivated the attention of those that considered homosexuality a psychological problem (the majority at the time), and partly because Krafft-Ebing had incurred some enmity from the Austrian Catholic church by associating the desire for sanctity and martyrdom with hysteria and masochism (besides denying the perversity of homosexuals)."

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Havelock_Ellis
http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/havelock.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Freiherr_von_Krafft-Ebing

The Faggot*-Lover

Recently, I came across a copy of a letter written by an Austrian therapist to the mother of a homosexual in 1935. It was written in English, and mailed to America. I reproduce the complete text of the letter below[1]. Mind you, this was way back in 1935!

This perhaps shows why the man was considered ahead of his time, and why his work is considered one of the four most significant contrubutions of the 20th Century.

____________________________________________________________
"Wien IX, Berggasse 19, April 9th, 1935

Dear Mrs....

I gather from your letter that your son is a homosexual. I am most impressed by the fact that you do not mention this term yourself in your information about him. May I question you why you avoid it? Homosexuality is assuredly no advantage, but it is nothing to be ashamed of, no vice, no degradation, it cannot be classified as an illness; we consider it to be a variation of the sexual function, produced by a certain arrest of sexual development. Many highly respectable individuals of ancient and modern times have been homosexuals, several of the greatest men among them. (Plato, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, etc.) It is a great injustice to persecute homosexuality as a crime--and a cruelty, too. If you do not believe me, read the books of Havelock Ellis.

By asking me if I can help, you mean, I suppose, if I can abolish homosexuality and make normal heterosexuality take its place. The answer is, in a general way, we cannot promise to achieve it. In a certain number of cases we succeed in developing blighted germs of heterosexual tendencies, which are present in every homosexual; in the majority of cases it is no more possible. It is a question of the quality and the age of the individual. The result of treatment cannot be predicted.

What analysis can do for your son runs a different line. If he is unhappy, neurotic, torn by conflicts, inhibited in his social life, analysis may bring him harmony, peace of mind, full efficiency, whether he remains homosexual or gets changed.

If you made up your mind that he should have analysis with me!! I don't expect you will!! he has to come over to Vienna. I have no intention of leaving here. However, don't neglect to give me your answer.

Sincerely yours with kind wishes

Freud

P.S. I did not find it difficult to read your handwriting. Hope you will not find my writing and my English a harder task."

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*Note: intentionally used.
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Main Entry: faggot
Pronunciation: 'fa-g&t
Function: noun
Etymology: origin unknown
usually disparaging : a male homosexual
- fag·got·ry /-g&-trE/ noun, usually disparaging
- fag·goty /-g&-tE/ adjective, usually disparaging
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[1] Source: http://javari.com/FreudPsa/prod01.htm#LETTER2

The Drunkard And the Anti-Christ

I don't remember the source anymore, but as the story goes, this guy of ours won a major award, and then disappeared for the next few days. Why? To continue with his work? No, of course not! But to get drunk with his sailor friends.

And yet a few weeks later, this guy delivered one of the best (and briefest) speeches ever while accepting the award. And this was possible, because he was William Faulkner! He was a man, remembered both as an eccentric gentleman and an arrogant, snobbish alcoholic. And this was the same man who, in typical Faulkner fashion, sent his friends into a frenzy by refusing to attend the Nobel Prize ceremony.

At any rate, Faulkner had a colorful personality. Too short to join the U.S. Air force, he joined the Canadian Royal Flying Corps during the world War I ,but never actually had to fight. "...the day he graduated from the Flying Corps the Armistice was signed. The only "war injury" he received was the result of getting drunk and partying too hard on Armistice Day, wherein he injured his leg."

Now let me quote Faulkner extensively, because these are excellent words:

On Writer's responsibily:

"The writer's only responsibility is to his art. He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one. He has a dream. It anguishes him so much he must get rid of it. He has no peace until then. Everything goes by the board: honor, pride, decency, security, happiness, all, to get the book written. If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate; the "Ode on a Grecian Urn" is worth any number of old ladies." (from Writers at Work: The Paris Review Interviews, 1959)

On Reading and Writing:
"Read, read, read. Read everything - trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You'll absorb it. Then write. If it is good, you'll find out. If it's not, throw it out the window."

On Critics:

"The artist doesn't have time to listen to the critics. The ones who want to be writers read the reviews, the ones who want to write don't have the time to read reviews."

On Art and Artist:
"The artist is of no importance. Only what he creates is important, since there is nothing new to be said. Shakespeare, Balzac, Homer have all written about the same things, and if they had lived one thousand or two thousand years longer, the publishers wouldn't have needed anyone since."

On Racism:
"To live anywhere in the world today and be against equality because of race or color is like living in Alaska and being against snow."

On Conscience:
"A man's moral conscience is the curse he had to accept from the gods in order to gain from them the right to dream."

I've quoted enough. but let me finish this by quoting Faulkner from his Nobel Acceptance speech:

"I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail."

Now, this was on Dec. 10, 1950. Let's fast forward to 1982, and have a look at what happened!

"On a day like today, my master William Faulkner said, "I decline to accept the end of man". I would fall unworthy of standing in this place that was his, if I were not fully aware that the colossal tragedy he refused to recognize thirty-two years ago is now, for the first time since the beginning of humanity, nothing more than a simple scientific possibility. Faced with this awesome reality that must have seemed a mere utopia through all of human time, we, the inventors of tales, who will believe anything, feel entitled to believe that it is not yet too late to engage in the creation of the opposite utopia. A new and sweeping utopia of life, where no one will be able to decide for others how they die, where love will prove true and happiness be possible, and where the races condemned to one hundred years of solitude will have, at last and forever, a second opportunity on earth."

Needless to say, I just quoted Gabriel Garcia Marquez, a.k.a., Gabo.

Apparently, Marquez idolizes Faulkner. His Macondo is designed after Faulkner's imaginary Yoknapatawpha County. Even Faulkner's title, "Light in August" is converted into, "Meeting in August", by Gabo for one of his stories.

Like Faulkner, Gabo was a heavy drinker too, at least, occasionally. He also used to smoke heavily. I think, he once mentioned of smoking 1500 packs of cigerette while writing, One hundred Years of Solitude. But Gabo is also vehemently anti-Church (in almost all his books, he ridicules the Church and the religious figureheads), and pretty much Pro-Communism. Actually, once of the accusations levelled against him is that he would support any ruthless dictator in the Latin America, if that guy claims to be a Communist. I don't know if he got this trait too from Faulkner.

To comment on that aspect, I must first go through works of Faulker, which, sadly, I've not yet done!
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"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." - William Faulkner, about Ernest Hemingway.

"Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?" - Ernest Hemingway, about William Faulkner.

"I'll get Faulkner to do it; he can write better than you can anyway."
Howard Hawk's, after his offer being turned down by Hemingway (to work with his own book).

"Just a year apart in age, with Hawks the senior, both were reserved to the point of noncommunicativeness; Nunnally Johnson was astonished by the sight of the two of them just sitting together not saying a word. When they did talk, they did do slowly, in a drawling manner." Todd McCarthy in "Howard Hawks: The Grey Fox of Hollywood"

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Sources:
http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/faulkner.htm
http://brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/w/william_faulkner.html
http://www.gradesaver.com/classicnotes/authors/about_william_faulkner.html
http://nobelprize.org/literature/laureates/1949/faulkner-speech.html
http://www.powells.com/review/2004_11_04.html
http://nobelprize.org/literature/laureates/1982/marquez-lecture-e.html

Book Titles

Here are some of the book with whose titles I'm very impressed (in addition to, in most cases, their contents).

1) Of Love and Other Demons
2) Book of Laughter and Forgetting
3) Cats, Dogs and Other Strangers at My Door
4) Elvis, Jesus & Coca-Cola
5) Love Song of J. Edgar Hoover
6) Nostradamus Ate My Hamster
7) Greenwich Killing Time
8) They Came And Ate Us

for now!

Wish You Were Here, Crazy Diamond!

Most often, when we listen a song repeatedly in the radio, we don't play must attention to it consciously, and yet, at one point of time, the lyrics become a part of our vocabulary so much so that we start singing when the song plays in the radio again. "Wish you were here" by Pink Floyd is one such song for me, the lyrics of which is as follows:

Wish You Were Here

"So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here."

I never knew that there was a tragic story behind this song. That is, not until very recently. And that tragic story is the life-story of Syd Berett, who founded Pink Floyd.

Considered to be one of the most original lyricists of his day, Syd Berrett was also an innovative guitarist. He was being one of the first to fully explore the sonic possibilities of distortion. However, this did not remain this way for long. Actually, Syd had to leave Pink Floyd just 2 years after he founded it. The man who wrote songs such as the poignant "Jugband Blues," which makes obvious reference to his growing estrangement from the band with lyrics including "and I'm Wondering Who Could Be Writing This Song" was eased eased out of the group. A glimpse of his level of crazy brilliance can be witnessed in the story, where he turns up at the recording studio with a new song he named "Have You Got It Yet". "As he taught the group the song, it soon became obvious that he was changing the chords each time he played it through (hence the title) making it virtually impossible for them to learn it."

And it was not jealousy or ego clash that led to his departure, but the reason was his serious drug addiction and mental illness. And that's why it's a tragic story. And his departure was not without a deep impact on the band. The theme of mental illness and the shadow of Syd's disintegration had always been a recurring theme in all three of Pink Floyd's most successful albums, "Dark Side of the Moon", "Wish You Were Here", and "The Wall".

"Wish You Were Here", which was a tribute to Syd, was reportedly prompted by Syd Barrett's suddenly turning up unannounced at one session, claiming to be ready to work again, which led However, another version of the story tells that when Syd showed up at the studio, bald and fat,no one noticed him in particular, and even his former band members realized his presence only later. Pink Floys members have explicitly acknowledged the song, "Shine on You Crazy Diamond", to be about Syd, their former frontman.
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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Syd_Barrett
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pink_Floyd
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychedelic_music
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psych_folk