On the lascivious nature of Hindi movie songs.

This entry is to bring to the attention of the general reading public (or more precisely the very limited number of people who read my blog) the scandalous and sexual nature of old Hindi movie songs. Though heroes and heroines in these old movies almost never kissed, let alone made love, the lyrics of some of the songs they sang in these movies exposes this innocence as mere pretension.
The extremely talented individuals who wrote the lyrics of these songs were of course aware of what they were writing, and used common metaphors of the Hindi/Urdu language for love-making. The pretension to innocence, however, is perpetuated by prudish Middle-class parents and teachers who do not acquaint the urban youth with these turns of phrase. Most of us go to schools where the medium of education is English. We learn Hindi in school, but you honestly can't expect text-books to give you euphemisms for love-making. Our only exposure to Hindi on a large scale is Hindi movies, but our prudish parents and teachers fall short in conveying to us the nuances of Bollywood movie-speak. We are allowed to take movie song lyrics literally, blissfully ignorant of the loaded metaphors therein. Also, most of us are probably too dumb at the age of 14 to understand nuance of any sort.
In the Hindi language, the metaphor of a woman losing an ornament or an item of clothing, for instance, is a euphemism for losing her virginity. Given this simple bit of knowledge, some songs stop sounding so innocent. Take this famous song for instance:

झुमका गिरा रे बरेली के बाज़ार में
झुमका गिरा झुमक गिर
हाइ! हाइ रे!
"My earring fell in the market in Bareli (a town in India)
My earring fell off..
Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

Substitute "I lost my virginity" for "My earring fell" and you'll see what I mean.

Here's another favourite of mine:
इन्हीं लोगों ने ले लीना दुपट्टा मेरा
हमरी न मानो तो सिपहिया से पूछो
जिसने बजरिया में छीना दुपट्टा मेरा
"These are the people who took my shawl/scarf.
If you don't believe me, ask the soldier
Who snatched my shawl/veil in the market-place."

Here, amazingly, we have multiple protagonists in the sexual act, and the soldier is specifically pointed out as having "snatched the veil" of the woman. Odd how these sexual acts seem to occur in the very public realm of the market place...

Other metaphors used for having sex or misc. sexual acts are जीना "to live", and खूबसूरत खता "a beautiful transgression". Heroes of Hindi movies constantly croon to their lady loves, persuading them to "let them live", teasing them that their sensuality may result in the commission of a "beautiful transgression".

I don't mind the use of metaphors or the use of euphemisms. It's what makes poetry so appealing. But most of us who listen to these songs are too ignorant of the fact that they are in fact metaphors for love making. We need to reclaim this knowledge...it can only enhance our appreciation of the sensuality inherent in our movie songs.

An ode to breakfast, a paean to brunch

Having just had an excessively satisfying brunch of a waffle, toast, eggs and hash browns, I now sit on this lovely autumn day under the shade of a large tree on the green lawns of UNC. And I feel a sense of contentment that's making me warm and fuzzy inside.
One may argue that it is in fact the weather and the tree and the obliging lawn that're making me so gooey today. I would disagree.
I have felt this same sentiment--what I call Post-Croissant Contentment--on rainy days, on hot days, on snowy days and on very non-descript days as well. I remember that wonderful morning when I trudged through several feet of snow to Cornucopia, the corner bakery on Seminary St. in Galesburg. As I sat there buttering and jamming my croissant at 7:00 in the morning, staring out the window at the green awnings and silently falling snow, the aroma of freshly ground coffee and baking cookies heavy in the air, I felt like I was in a Thomas Kinkade painting.
Those smells and tastes of breakfast...butter, jam, coffee, toast, croissants, danish pastries, warm milk, cinnamon and nutmeg, sizzling dosas...these awaken in me sensations of pure joy and contentment and I find my senses flooded with all things beautiful. As I nibble on my buttered toast, I can almost hear the quiet opening measures of Beethoven's pastoral, I am awakened by Grieg's Morning Mood as I sip my cinnamon-y coffee. In the hubub of Bangalore's Upahara Darshini, the masla dosa brings forth visions of sacred flames in ritual altars and strains of a wedding raaga, the smells of an alley that leads to a temple.
I am transported to golden-brown fields of wheat, to cool stone temple floors on hot days, to woods and springs, to warm cosy chairs by fireplaces and to stormy days with rain pattering on the windows.
Breakfast makes life truly beautiful.