I get a lot of junk email, especially in my work inbox, for some reason (perhaps it's that Gmail's spam filter is particularly good).
However, this one struck a cord with me. If only everyone thought like this, whatever their religion...
SUB:AN OPEN LETTER TO MUSLIMS
Dear Muslim Brothers and Sisters,
God forbid if any one of our near one and dear one is
killed then the killer is evil, a beast and what not
and should get penalty but if one among us kills
anybody then he is not evil and we start lying,
denying or even justifying the killing.... double
standards?
Being Muslims, many of our brothers and sisters are
not working for peace. They are misguided, mistaken
and spreading the virus of hatred and revenge through
telling deliberate lies, disinformation and false
accusations, which is resulting in death and miseries
for number of innocent people living around the world
at the hands of merciless KILLER MUSLIMS and also
bringing bad name to Mohammed (PBUH) who never killed
anyone in his life time.
Instead of teaching about Good & Evil, certain Radical
Muslim Clerics are only "Trading in Religion". They
teach us about accusing, abusing and killing the
non-Muslims. They try to hypnotize us to Hate and Kill
the non-Muslims and brethren of other sects or be
killed and without using any common sense, we readily
believe in whatever is being said by these Hate
Mongers. Actually, they are "Agents of Satan" who is
paying them heavily and in return they are cutting at
the very roots of the Ummah. Instead of "Mourning"
most of the Muslims are rejoicing on the brutal
killings of the non-combatant innocent civilians and
"The Murderers" have always been "Our Great Heroes".
Before it is too late and the Curse Of God falls upon
us, we should use common sense, find out the TRUTH and
must change ourselves to save Muslims from becoming
the most "Hated, Isolated, Discredited and Suspicious"
people in the world. We must start working for
promoting "Sectarian Harmony and Religious Tolerance"
in the society and should prove to the WORLD through
our deeds that Islam is not a religion of Zero
Tolerance and Mohammed (PBUH) teaches "Love & Peace"
and not Gangsterism, Terrorism, Barbarism, Extremism,
Sectarianism, Cruelty, Inhumanity and "Hatred &
Killing" of the innocent civilians.
Islam is a religion of peace. Islam teaches respect
and love for all even the animals. But many
narrow-minded Muslims have so far failed to learn
anything good from the teachings of Mohammed (PBUH)
who preaches love for the peoples of all religions. We
are far away from the basic principle of Islam i.e.
"Enjoining the people to do Good and forbidding them
from Doing Evil" and thus, possess no quality of the
civilized society. Unfortunately, many of us show Zero
Tolerance towards others and have wrongly learnt few
thing to be called as good Muslims and those are
"hate" the non-Muslims and "Accusing, Abusing and
Cursing" the non-Muslims. ...act of madness?
The killing of others in the name of religion is a
Sin. Can a FATHER ever teach his Children to be the
permanent Enemies of each other?
The time has come for us to stop readily believing in
whatever is being said, read and written by the LIARS
/ Hate Mongers. Unfortunately, some misguided-Muslims
believe that the Holy Koran and Holy Prophet (PBUH)
both have instructed Muslims that the opponents be
KILLED and that they are simply following the orders.
We should use our own common sense and only believe
which is logical, convincing and in the best interest
of the humanity.
Why do we hate others so much, may be they are better
humans then what we are. My feeling is that the
Muslims should unite to discredit and deactivate the
fringe mullahs (Preachers of Hate) who promise a quick
trip to paradise to people who have little and
sacrifice themselves with bombs strapped to their
bodies. If the mullahs (THE LIARS) thought that it
really was a way to paradise they would be strapping
bombs to themselves! Their followers are kept too
ignorant to see this for themselves and enlightened
moderate Muslims should educate them. We must promote
understanding and peace. We are all watched by the
same God and need to help one another, not Hate and
Hurt.
Our contention is that the WORLD should resolve the
conflicts facing the Muslim World to stop the
terrorism. Unfortunately, all the disputes facing the
Muslim World are our self created. The root causes of
all the disputes are based on the Muslim Philosophy of
Hate against the non-Muslims. The Muslim literature,
teachings and preaching are spreading and injecting
this hatred in hearts and minds of the Muslims. Our
intolerant behavior is further proved by the root
causes of all the pending conflicts that we (Muslims)
cannot live side by side in peace with the
non-Muslims. All the disputes facing Muslim World can
be resolved easily, only if we (the Muslims) are able
to condemn the "Philosophy of Hate" created in us by
our past and present elders who have divided the
peoples of the world in the name of "Religion, Cast
and Creed".
Fellow Muslims! if God is one and he loves mankind, we
should value each others life and strive to protect
each other than thinking that if we kill we shall have
reward. God looks at human beings not as belonging to
different religions, that is why the rain falls to
all, the sun shines to all and we all breathe the air
freely. We are all created or given life in the very
same way- whether Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Jew etc.
Let us learn to love each other sincerely.
The change of heart and mind is possible to achieve if
we keep up our relentless efforts for a violence free
and peaceful world. We need to preach love, kindness
and humanity with extremist devotion and mission. The
mullahs (THE LIARS) and the preachers of HATE must be
excommunicated at every level and we should stop
giving them donations as it is our money which is
being used by them to spread HATRED for killing of the
innocents.
We must also stop dividing the World into Muslim and
non-Muslim blocks. Our political leaders and religious
teachers must offer positive ideas. Without the
ability to imagine a better world, we cannot build
anything together. Tolerance of the beliefs of other
peoples in the world, warmth and friendship across
racial cultures MUST be the objective of all peace
loving people worldwide. What is being offered today
through religion is "Death, Destruction and
Sufferings".
MY PRAYER FOR PEACE:
Merciful God, please give to peoples of the world, the
required wisdom and determination, to Forgive and
Forget the bitterness of the past and learn to live in
peace like brothers and sisters, by condemning the
divisions and hatreds created in us by our past and
present elders.
(Amen)
Please Read And Circulate this Message For Peace.
Thank you.
S.A.Rehman
Peace Activist
…………………………………………………………….
AN OPEN LETTER TO
Osama bin Laden and Ayman Al-Zawahiri.
(Wherever You Are)
Aslam-o-Alaikum!
Do you know what degree of shame, abomination, misery
and wretchedness is being heaped on the innocent and
peace-following Muslims all over the world because of
this so-called and self styled Jihad of yours?
Do you know how many innocent, unsullied people are
being daily butchered as result of this professed
Jihad of yours? How many children are being orphaned
and women being widowed precisely for the same reason.
And do you know, killing one faultless human being is
like killing the entire humanity. You must definitely
be knowing that you will surely be held accountable
for this all bloodshed. Will you, then, be able to
face your God? I challenge, no!
Then, why have you become an agent of some hidden
hand. Why are you taking the responsibility of the
murder of entire humanity to yourself on his behest.
Why are you dragging the Muslims down? Why are you
demeaning Islam by presenting it as a terrorist
religion? Acting like this, which religion are you
rendering a great service to? Are you raising the
standard of Islam high or you (if you reflect on it)
are causing the heads of the followers of the path of
the righteous bow down with shame in-front of the
entire humanity.
Today most of the Muslims believe that you are not a
true Muslim but planted by the enemies to destroy the
image of Islam..
For God's sake, take recourse to sense, and announce a
CEASEFIRE at-once so the inhabitants of world may be
introduced to that divine aspect of the Muslims at
whose hands no soul suffer, whose words and actions
bear no tinge of dichotomy, whose speech when uttered,
conveys to others the message of love and protection,
whose thoughts, when thought, are devoted to the well
being of others. Herein lies the true success, and
herein lies the victory of the true religion of Allah.
S.A.Rehman
(Peace Activist)
CC:- Dear Muslims,
All those who connived with Osama must forswear. The
people, who still cooperate with Osama etc, will be
the equal partners in the sin of terrorism. All the
criminal elements and their supporters cooperating
with Osama Bin Laden and other dissidents, who want
to spread lawlessness and anarchy in the fortress of
Islam, have gone astray from the righteous path of
Islam and are terribly mistaken. They and their
supporters, who are the copartners in their hideous
crime, should recant for the sake of the glory of
Islam. They should abjure this path of evil and try
to atone for all the repercussions of all the
wrongdoings they have committed so far.
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
Sunday, 9 March 2008
In Abstentia
Before I start writing about whatever I’m going to write about (which is my way of revealing that I haven’t decided what the topic for this post is going to be even as I type this), I’d just like to say “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
I was horrified to see that I hadn’t written anything on this blog since June of last year, when logging in for the first time in ages just last week. So I guess it’s high time I rectify the situation. The fact that I’m on a train bound for London certainly aids the process – owing to the fact that I’m very bad at sitting still unless I absolutely have to, most of my meaningful reading/film watching and, historically, blog writing gets done on trains. The fact that I take one on average at least once a week means my excuses for not blogging more often are fairly limited. So, I’ll see how I go from here, without wishing to make any rash promises about regular future posts.
The second thing I should say is “Happy New Year” to you, although arguably it’s a reasonably pointless gesture given that a) I’ll have done so in person to most of the people who read this blog and b) it’s, er, March. But I’ve done it anyway, so there.
I think this post is just going to be a “Me” update, just to warm up for longer, more detailed rants about world peace and the price of fish, so here goes:
Well, I’ve had a fab start to 2008. At work, I’m getting some great feedback from my superiors, and I’m really enjoying my job to boot. Without wishing to bore you with the finer details, the nature of my role changed slightly last September upon my return from South Africa, and to my benefit. In short, I’m now a press officer who deals with “issues” based stuff, which can range from RAC’s view on escalating fuel prices, to announcing the loss of umpteen staff as part of the ubiquitous and seemingly interminable desire to restructure our business and fire people. Ho hum. The facts are, though, that for whatever reason I’m far happier standing in front of a TV camera doing a live interview about job losses than I am articulating some fluffy survey about the fact that more motorists are going to paint their wing mirrors pink this summer than ever before (I made that last bit up, incidentally, but you get my meaning). So it’s all good.
In January, I visited India for my good friend Balaji’s marriage to his beautiful bride Renuka, in wonderful Hyderabad. Not only was my first Hindu wedding an unforgettable experience in itself, but I met so many fantastic people who made me feel so very welcome. Touchingly so, in fact. So I’d like to say a fond “Hi” to each and every one of my new friends, who include Ravi (special thanks to you, mate), Sinu, Srikanth, Sowmya and Santhya. I hope you can forgive me for those whose names I’ve forgotten/omitted, and for the most-probably horrible misspelling of those I have mentioned!
Whilst in India, I treated myself to a few days in Calcutta (or Kolkata, if we’re toeing the Dravidian renaming line), which is a fascinating city, and not the hell-hole that most people, including most Indians themselves, portray. Or perhaps I’ve become acclimatised to Indian life, which I don’t think is too far from the truth, as I remember thinking it to myself as I took a quiet moment to gaze wistfully over the Hyderabad skyline from a balcony at Jain Bhavan, the hall where Bala and Renuka tied the knot. Thank you to Sowmya from rescuing me from my daydreaming on that particular occasion, and encouraging me to be sociable once more…
I took the relatively colossal internal flight to Mumbai (three hours!), a city I adore, though I’m firmly in the minority on this (Aldous Huxley famously described then-named Bombay as “the most appalling…in either hemisphere”). Whilst the endemic poverty cannot be ignored, I think it is the most fascinating city I’ve ever visited, and not without its fair share of beauty. I was pleased to help out at a church school for homeless children close by Mumbai’s stately Victoria Station, which was such a rewarding experience. I’ve never met such a wonderful group of children, so proud, dignified and full of hope, though I cannot pretend that waving them off at the end of the day wasn’t an emotional experience, destined as they were for a night spent under a flyover, along with 118,000 other children in Mumbai alone. The beers at Leopold’s that evening had certainly tasted sweeter on previous visits, and dining at the opulent Tendulkar’s certainly put things into a somewhat warped perspective.
So now, I’m back home of course. I’ve plenty of things planned for this year – buying a house, for one (the autumn seems like a good time to me), learning a language (after much deliberation, I’ve decided to learn Hindi, and the course is on order) and if the pennies stretch and the scenario is right, there are tentative plans to visit India again in November. The fact that the England cricket team happen to be touring then is, of course, incidental…oh, and I’m off to the USA in May for my good friend Paul’s birthday celebration, which sees us take in Florida, before heading for a few days in New York. Can’t wait!
I think that’s it for now. I’m just off to Woking as I write, via London for a bit of shopping, to see my sister. We’re heading down to Bognor tomorrow to see our delinquent fourteen year-old brother, who is doing the predictable teenager thing of being easily led by some new-found cronies, a misguided union that has recently seen him arrested for the mild vandalism of a derelict house (“mild vandalism” – is that a recognised legal classification?). The beauty of the story is that, whilst his fellow criminals followed the Chav Getaway Handbook to the letter and scarpered at the first sight of the flashing blue light, Jamie just froze and was alone in the experience of being handcuffed and marched to the police station. A career criminal is hardly in the making, I would estimate J Incidentally, he was let off with a caution, as the police realised he was far more a spectator to the crime than a ringleader…I shouldn’t find the whole thing hilarious, I know, but Joanna and I concur that we’re going to find it difficult to do the whole reprimand thing with a straight face tomorrow!
Bye for now...
I was horrified to see that I hadn’t written anything on this blog since June of last year, when logging in for the first time in ages just last week. So I guess it’s high time I rectify the situation. The fact that I’m on a train bound for London certainly aids the process – owing to the fact that I’m very bad at sitting still unless I absolutely have to, most of my meaningful reading/film watching and, historically, blog writing gets done on trains. The fact that I take one on average at least once a week means my excuses for not blogging more often are fairly limited. So, I’ll see how I go from here, without wishing to make any rash promises about regular future posts.
The second thing I should say is “Happy New Year” to you, although arguably it’s a reasonably pointless gesture given that a) I’ll have done so in person to most of the people who read this blog and b) it’s, er, March. But I’ve done it anyway, so there.
I think this post is just going to be a “Me” update, just to warm up for longer, more detailed rants about world peace and the price of fish, so here goes:
Well, I’ve had a fab start to 2008. At work, I’m getting some great feedback from my superiors, and I’m really enjoying my job to boot. Without wishing to bore you with the finer details, the nature of my role changed slightly last September upon my return from South Africa, and to my benefit. In short, I’m now a press officer who deals with “issues” based stuff, which can range from RAC’s view on escalating fuel prices, to announcing the loss of umpteen staff as part of the ubiquitous and seemingly interminable desire to restructure our business and fire people. Ho hum. The facts are, though, that for whatever reason I’m far happier standing in front of a TV camera doing a live interview about job losses than I am articulating some fluffy survey about the fact that more motorists are going to paint their wing mirrors pink this summer than ever before (I made that last bit up, incidentally, but you get my meaning). So it’s all good.
In January, I visited India for my good friend Balaji’s marriage to his beautiful bride Renuka, in wonderful Hyderabad. Not only was my first Hindu wedding an unforgettable experience in itself, but I met so many fantastic people who made me feel so very welcome. Touchingly so, in fact. So I’d like to say a fond “Hi” to each and every one of my new friends, who include Ravi (special thanks to you, mate), Sinu, Srikanth, Sowmya and Santhya. I hope you can forgive me for those whose names I’ve forgotten/omitted, and for the most-probably horrible misspelling of those I have mentioned!
Whilst in India, I treated myself to a few days in Calcutta (or Kolkata, if we’re toeing the Dravidian renaming line), which is a fascinating city, and not the hell-hole that most people, including most Indians themselves, portray. Or perhaps I’ve become acclimatised to Indian life, which I don’t think is too far from the truth, as I remember thinking it to myself as I took a quiet moment to gaze wistfully over the Hyderabad skyline from a balcony at Jain Bhavan, the hall where Bala and Renuka tied the knot. Thank you to Sowmya from rescuing me from my daydreaming on that particular occasion, and encouraging me to be sociable once more…
I took the relatively colossal internal flight to Mumbai (three hours!), a city I adore, though I’m firmly in the minority on this (Aldous Huxley famously described then-named Bombay as “the most appalling…in either hemisphere”). Whilst the endemic poverty cannot be ignored, I think it is the most fascinating city I’ve ever visited, and not without its fair share of beauty. I was pleased to help out at a church school for homeless children close by Mumbai’s stately Victoria Station, which was such a rewarding experience. I’ve never met such a wonderful group of children, so proud, dignified and full of hope, though I cannot pretend that waving them off at the end of the day wasn’t an emotional experience, destined as they were for a night spent under a flyover, along with 118,000 other children in Mumbai alone. The beers at Leopold’s that evening had certainly tasted sweeter on previous visits, and dining at the opulent Tendulkar’s certainly put things into a somewhat warped perspective.
So now, I’m back home of course. I’ve plenty of things planned for this year – buying a house, for one (the autumn seems like a good time to me), learning a language (after much deliberation, I’ve decided to learn Hindi, and the course is on order) and if the pennies stretch and the scenario is right, there are tentative plans to visit India again in November. The fact that the England cricket team happen to be touring then is, of course, incidental…oh, and I’m off to the USA in May for my good friend Paul’s birthday celebration, which sees us take in Florida, before heading for a few days in New York. Can’t wait!
I think that’s it for now. I’m just off to Woking as I write, via London for a bit of shopping, to see my sister. We’re heading down to Bognor tomorrow to see our delinquent fourteen year-old brother, who is doing the predictable teenager thing of being easily led by some new-found cronies, a misguided union that has recently seen him arrested for the mild vandalism of a derelict house (“mild vandalism” – is that a recognised legal classification?). The beauty of the story is that, whilst his fellow criminals followed the Chav Getaway Handbook to the letter and scarpered at the first sight of the flashing blue light, Jamie just froze and was alone in the experience of being handcuffed and marched to the police station. A career criminal is hardly in the making, I would estimate J Incidentally, he was let off with a caution, as the police realised he was far more a spectator to the crime than a ringleader…I shouldn’t find the whole thing hilarious, I know, but Joanna and I concur that we’re going to find it difficult to do the whole reprimand thing with a straight face tomorrow!
Bye for now...
Monday, 2 July 2007
An impressive tool
The weather's been shite, and everyone's a bit down in the dumps and needs cheering up, SO...
...how about seeing a bloke play a saw to the tune of Wichita Lineman by Glenn Campbell? "Hooray", I hear you cry...
Take it away Rhodri Marsden, writer of this consistently entertaining blog and all sorts of other stuff. And a thoroughly nice chap, to boot.
Click here to be musically fulfilled (it takes a moment or two to load, but it's worth every second of the wait)...
...how about seeing a bloke play a saw to the tune of Wichita Lineman by Glenn Campbell? "Hooray", I hear you cry...
Take it away Rhodri Marsden, writer of this consistently entertaining blog and all sorts of other stuff. And a thoroughly nice chap, to boot.
Click here to be musically fulfilled (it takes a moment or two to load, but it's worth every second of the wait)...
Saturday, 16 June 2007
Me old Cocker
Friday night was fantastic. Despite getting stuck in a traffic jam on the A14 for a whole hour way past midnight (delays at that time of night are against the rules, in my book), it couldn't take the shine off a great evening at the music venue the Luminaire in Kilburn, north west London.
Like father, like son, my dad and I are loyal creatures when we give our hearts to a particular artiste's music. Me, the ethereal-voiced Green Gartside of Scritti Politti; him, Bob Lind, an American folk singer with a special talent for a clever lyric.
Both have careers and lives that run spookily parallel in many ways. Neither can be considered prolific, each with only a handful of studio albums to substantiate their long service in the music business. Both have had well-documented problems with substance abuse. They've had just enough commercial success to make a living over the years, but tend to find more acclaim from their peers and critics than from the masses. Both are exponents of beautifully crafted, meaningful songs that often touch the heart.
After his 26 years of refusal to gig due to crippling stage fright and panic attacks, a dream came true when I finally got to see Green play live last year, also at the Luminaire. It's a great place to watch music - Time Out magazine's live venue of the year for 2006, no less, and the very definition of "up close and personal". This is the ideal venue to mingle with your heroes; it's like having a gig in your (slightly larger than average) front room.
Finally seeing (and meeting) Green was great, but it got me wishing that, somehow, my father could have a similar experience with Mr Lind one day. It seemed that a trip to Lind's native Florida, where most of his gigs seem to be, would be the only way to make this happen.
But then the unexpected happened. During a phone call with my sister, she casually mentioned "Oh, have you seen that Bob Lind's playing at the Luminaire?" I hadn't, the regularity of the weekly email from the venue to advertise what's on meaning that I don't always read it as throughly as I used to. We had to go. I called Dad to announce the amazing news - amazing indeed, as Lind hadn't played live in England before, and hadn't even visited since 1966 when he laid down some tracks in a London studio. Dad initially fussed over how he would get the day off work, before coming round to his son's thinking that life's too short to miss opportunities like these.
So, to last night. Dad's wife Dinah joined us for the trip. Having become quite a fan of Bob's myself, I got that same, I-never-expected-this-to-happen feeling as I did when I first set eyes on Green in the flesh, as Bob casually wandered into the room to take in the female support act. It's strange to be in the close presence of your heroes.
He proceeded to play a superb set to a full house, young and old, who whooped and applauded the veteran performer throughout the evening. Bob, clearly touched by the warmth of the audience, wore a smile as wide as the Mississippi as he basked in deserved adulation. Later, he was joined by the fabulous Richard Hawley, (of Longpigs, High Llamas and solo fame) for three songs, who ad-libbed most brilliantly on guitar (he'd only met Bob earlier that day for the first time, with no time for rehearsal).
Fluent in his patter and repartee with the crowd between each song, Lind expressed his gratitude to artists such as Hawley and Jarvis Cocker for helping to raise awareness of his music on this side of the Atlantic (there is a Pulp song titled "Bob Lind"), just two of over 200 bands and artists to cover his music.
After a third encore, he left the stage for the last time. Dinah, rarely shy in coming forward and determined that Dad should get to meet with Bob, decided to steal a march on those loitering hopefully by the bar for Bob to appear, instead inviting herself through the curtain behind the stage in search of the man himself. She re-appeared seconds later and called to me to "Get your father through here!"
Bob Lind, alone in the Green Room, greeted us warmly. Dad shared a conversation with him whilst I just leant on the doorpost and and savoured the moment. Like father, like son. Some people joined us in the room. It was Richard Hawley and an instantly recognisable, bespectacled, painfully thin bloke. "This is Jarvis, Bob", he said. Bob acknowledged them, but was in no hurry to finish his chat with Dad. I lit a cigarette and tried to look cool. Fucking hell, we're alone in a room back-stage with three musical legends. The Pulp front-man looked nervous as he waited his turn with Bob. Hawley tucked into some red wine. Bob readily agreed to a couple of photos with Dad, and we all shook hands and left.
Bob Lind, Jarvis Cocker and Richard Hawley. And us. In a small room. I must admit to feeling slightly star-struck by the whole, bizarre encounter. Outside, I tried explaining to Dad and Dinah what had just happened, as, other than Bob, they clearly had no idea what exalted company they'd just kept.
During the journey home, Dinah was still grappling with her lack of recognition of a megastar. "Well, I have heard of Joe Cocker", she claimed, "but I've no idea what he looks like".
I just smiled and kept driving. Nights like these don't come around too often.
Like father, like son, my dad and I are loyal creatures when we give our hearts to a particular artiste's music. Me, the ethereal-voiced Green Gartside of Scritti Politti; him, Bob Lind, an American folk singer with a special talent for a clever lyric.
Both have careers and lives that run spookily parallel in many ways. Neither can be considered prolific, each with only a handful of studio albums to substantiate their long service in the music business. Both have had well-documented problems with substance abuse. They've had just enough commercial success to make a living over the years, but tend to find more acclaim from their peers and critics than from the masses. Both are exponents of beautifully crafted, meaningful songs that often touch the heart.
After his 26 years of refusal to gig due to crippling stage fright and panic attacks, a dream came true when I finally got to see Green play live last year, also at the Luminaire. It's a great place to watch music - Time Out magazine's live venue of the year for 2006, no less, and the very definition of "up close and personal". This is the ideal venue to mingle with your heroes; it's like having a gig in your (slightly larger than average) front room.
Finally seeing (and meeting) Green was great, but it got me wishing that, somehow, my father could have a similar experience with Mr Lind one day. It seemed that a trip to Lind's native Florida, where most of his gigs seem to be, would be the only way to make this happen.
But then the unexpected happened. During a phone call with my sister, she casually mentioned "Oh, have you seen that Bob Lind's playing at the Luminaire?" I hadn't, the regularity of the weekly email from the venue to advertise what's on meaning that I don't always read it as throughly as I used to. We had to go. I called Dad to announce the amazing news - amazing indeed, as Lind hadn't played live in England before, and hadn't even visited since 1966 when he laid down some tracks in a London studio. Dad initially fussed over how he would get the day off work, before coming round to his son's thinking that life's too short to miss opportunities like these.
So, to last night. Dad's wife Dinah joined us for the trip. Having become quite a fan of Bob's myself, I got that same, I-never-expected-this-to-happen feeling as I did when I first set eyes on Green in the flesh, as Bob casually wandered into the room to take in the female support act. It's strange to be in the close presence of your heroes.
He proceeded to play a superb set to a full house, young and old, who whooped and applauded the veteran performer throughout the evening. Bob, clearly touched by the warmth of the audience, wore a smile as wide as the Mississippi as he basked in deserved adulation. Later, he was joined by the fabulous Richard Hawley, (of Longpigs, High Llamas and solo fame) for three songs, who ad-libbed most brilliantly on guitar (he'd only met Bob earlier that day for the first time, with no time for rehearsal).
Fluent in his patter and repartee with the crowd between each song, Lind expressed his gratitude to artists such as Hawley and Jarvis Cocker for helping to raise awareness of his music on this side of the Atlantic (there is a Pulp song titled "Bob Lind"), just two of over 200 bands and artists to cover his music.
After a third encore, he left the stage for the last time. Dinah, rarely shy in coming forward and determined that Dad should get to meet with Bob, decided to steal a march on those loitering hopefully by the bar for Bob to appear, instead inviting herself through the curtain behind the stage in search of the man himself. She re-appeared seconds later and called to me to "Get your father through here!"
Bob Lind, alone in the Green Room, greeted us warmly. Dad shared a conversation with him whilst I just leant on the doorpost and and savoured the moment. Like father, like son. Some people joined us in the room. It was Richard Hawley and an instantly recognisable, bespectacled, painfully thin bloke. "This is Jarvis, Bob", he said. Bob acknowledged them, but was in no hurry to finish his chat with Dad. I lit a cigarette and tried to look cool. Fucking hell, we're alone in a room back-stage with three musical legends. The Pulp front-man looked nervous as he waited his turn with Bob. Hawley tucked into some red wine. Bob readily agreed to a couple of photos with Dad, and we all shook hands and left.
Bob Lind, Jarvis Cocker and Richard Hawley. And us. In a small room. I must admit to feeling slightly star-struck by the whole, bizarre encounter. Outside, I tried explaining to Dad and Dinah what had just happened, as, other than Bob, they clearly had no idea what exalted company they'd just kept.
During the journey home, Dinah was still grappling with her lack of recognition of a megastar. "Well, I have heard of Joe Cocker", she claimed, "but I've no idea what he looks like".
I just smiled and kept driving. Nights like these don't come around too often.
Tuesday, 29 May 2007
Sunset over Mumbai
The sun is setting to the left of me over the Arabian Sea, with only the Braborne cricket stadium in between me and the cloudy waters of Back Bay in Mumbai. In an hour or so's time, I shall be running the gauntlet of negotiating a fair cab fare for the long drive north through the city's suburbs to Chatrapati Shivaji international airport. This is the end of my short trip to India.
It's been a useful time for me, time to get away and have some space to think, to relax; to not think, sometimes, and just go with the flow; to feel both privileged with the life I am afforded in the West, but also, on occasion, to wonder who has got it right, the peasant with very little, or me, with a whole host of "modern conveniences" but, conversely, precious little time in the hectic world I occupy back home.
India is a place that can shock, frustrate, delight, amuse and sadden you all within the course of one day. You will curse the heat of the midday sun, yet a couple of hours later enjoy the warm blanket of the early evening and an orange sunset. There will be crowds, but also space sometimes for peaceful reflection or a quiet conversation with a stranger, who will more often than not be genuinely pleased to take time to engage you in conversation and find out about your world. A smile here goes a long way, and you will find plenty in return.
It's been good to meet new people and make new friends, plus to see old ones, both in planned meetings, but also meetings of total and utter chance. For all these things, I am grateful, and they have certainly been the highlight of my visit.
It will be quite a change to leave the airport in Norwich tomorrow morning and experience cool temperatures again, after the heat of India, save for the occasional coastal breeze if I've been lucky. I will both miss, and enjoy, the lack of the constant cacophony of traffic noise that has awoken me each morning in the cities here. I will miss life as you've never seen it, from the poorest of the poor to the affluent
Mumbaiker who rides around in their top-of-the-range Mercedes, observing this vibrant city through designer shades that could be traded for enough to feed a slum-dwelling family for I shudder to think how long.
This is the ultimate land of contrast, and its possibilities are huge. India is developing at rapid pace, but I hope it retains its underlying values and does not get totally immersed in rampant commercialism, or prize possessions and wealth above all else, something I feel we are often guilty of in the world which we inhabit in the West. India certainly reaffirms to me the value of the gift of family and friends, if ever I should forget.
Until the next time...
It's been a useful time for me, time to get away and have some space to think, to relax; to not think, sometimes, and just go with the flow; to feel both privileged with the life I am afforded in the West, but also, on occasion, to wonder who has got it right, the peasant with very little, or me, with a whole host of "modern conveniences" but, conversely, precious little time in the hectic world I occupy back home.
India is a place that can shock, frustrate, delight, amuse and sadden you all within the course of one day. You will curse the heat of the midday sun, yet a couple of hours later enjoy the warm blanket of the early evening and an orange sunset. There will be crowds, but also space sometimes for peaceful reflection or a quiet conversation with a stranger, who will more often than not be genuinely pleased to take time to engage you in conversation and find out about your world. A smile here goes a long way, and you will find plenty in return.
It's been good to meet new people and make new friends, plus to see old ones, both in planned meetings, but also meetings of total and utter chance. For all these things, I am grateful, and they have certainly been the highlight of my visit.
It will be quite a change to leave the airport in Norwich tomorrow morning and experience cool temperatures again, after the heat of India, save for the occasional coastal breeze if I've been lucky. I will both miss, and enjoy, the lack of the constant cacophony of traffic noise that has awoken me each morning in the cities here. I will miss life as you've never seen it, from the poorest of the poor to the affluent
Mumbaiker who rides around in their top-of-the-range Mercedes, observing this vibrant city through designer shades that could be traded for enough to feed a slum-dwelling family for I shudder to think how long.
This is the ultimate land of contrast, and its possibilities are huge. India is developing at rapid pace, but I hope it retains its underlying values and does not get totally immersed in rampant commercialism, or prize possessions and wealth above all else, something I feel we are often guilty of in the world which we inhabit in the West. India certainly reaffirms to me the value of the gift of family and friends, if ever I should forget.
Until the next time...
Thursday, 24 May 2007
Some like it hot
The first thing people here in India have been bemused about, upon meeting me, is why on earth I would want to travel here at this time of year, when the temperature is reaching its annual peak and the locals cower in the shade waiting for the sun to relent as day turns to evening.
Well, it is certainly good to get away from home for a bit, for a start, but one thing there is no getting away from is that it is swelteringly hot in India just now, as many parts of the country count down the days until the monsoons hit. Thankfully, this has not happened yet, although there has been some fairly heavy rain storms whilst I have been in Chennai and (briefly) in Bangalore; in the case of the latter, the plane which I was sitting in, bound for Goa, was stranded at the top of the runway for around 45 minutes as it waited for a storm to pass before it could take-off.
I have spent a few days down in the south-west state of Tamil Nadu, in Chennai, where I spent time with Balaji in this heaving metropolis. Indian cities aren't the most comfortable places to be, with suffocating pollution, furnace-like heat and sheer weight of population making for a claustrophobic experience - certainly not for the faint hearted. Despite this, I made the effort to see as much of the city as I could, from the ridiculously busy T. Nagar shopping district (I have never seen so many people in one place in my life), to the sweeping sands of Marina beach, one of the longest city beaches in the world. I also enjoyed the opportunity to visit both Hindu and Christian places of worship; the Kapleeswarar temple in the district of Mylapore is a stunning feat of architecture, with its amazingly intricate artistic detail; and I felt suitably humble when I visited St Thome Cathedral, one of only three cathedrals in the world built over the tomb of one of Jesus' disciples - the original "Doubting Thomas" in this instance.
Travelling around Chennai for a few days, it was strange not to spot a single Westerner - not that I seek out those of my own colour, you understand, but in most world cities you tend to find a cross-section of nationalities. It turns out that they tend to favour air-conditioned western-style hotels as refuge from the 40 degrees heat, before being chaffeured to air-conditioned offices in the morning. I only know this having spent my last evening in town dining in the roof-top restaurant of the opulent Rain Tree hotel, enjoying the company of Balaji and his friends Sriram and Vidhi, whilst business men and women discussed the events of the working day on adjacent tables over bottles of chilled wine. Not a city for the casual sight-seer at this time of year, Chennai.
I spent the vast majority of yesterday in airports and on planes, encountering various delays before finally arriving in Goa for 6pm. One surprisingly hassle-free transfer later (perhaps unfair - hassle and Goa rarely go hand in hand, unlike the other 99% of this country!), and I find myself in a sleepy village by the beach from where I write this. I have until Sunday until I fly back up to Mumbai - whether I can summon the energy to move onto another resort between now and then remains to be seen, although the heat may mean that I just loll around here, strolling on the beach, catching up on some reading and indulging in the delicious local seafood. It's a tough life...
Well, it is certainly good to get away from home for a bit, for a start, but one thing there is no getting away from is that it is swelteringly hot in India just now, as many parts of the country count down the days until the monsoons hit. Thankfully, this has not happened yet, although there has been some fairly heavy rain storms whilst I have been in Chennai and (briefly) in Bangalore; in the case of the latter, the plane which I was sitting in, bound for Goa, was stranded at the top of the runway for around 45 minutes as it waited for a storm to pass before it could take-off.
I have spent a few days down in the south-west state of Tamil Nadu, in Chennai, where I spent time with Balaji in this heaving metropolis. Indian cities aren't the most comfortable places to be, with suffocating pollution, furnace-like heat and sheer weight of population making for a claustrophobic experience - certainly not for the faint hearted. Despite this, I made the effort to see as much of the city as I could, from the ridiculously busy T. Nagar shopping district (I have never seen so many people in one place in my life), to the sweeping sands of Marina beach, one of the longest city beaches in the world. I also enjoyed the opportunity to visit both Hindu and Christian places of worship; the Kapleeswarar temple in the district of Mylapore is a stunning feat of architecture, with its amazingly intricate artistic detail; and I felt suitably humble when I visited St Thome Cathedral, one of only three cathedrals in the world built over the tomb of one of Jesus' disciples - the original "Doubting Thomas" in this instance.
Travelling around Chennai for a few days, it was strange not to spot a single Westerner - not that I seek out those of my own colour, you understand, but in most world cities you tend to find a cross-section of nationalities. It turns out that they tend to favour air-conditioned western-style hotels as refuge from the 40 degrees heat, before being chaffeured to air-conditioned offices in the morning. I only know this having spent my last evening in town dining in the roof-top restaurant of the opulent Rain Tree hotel, enjoying the company of Balaji and his friends Sriram and Vidhi, whilst business men and women discussed the events of the working day on adjacent tables over bottles of chilled wine. Not a city for the casual sight-seer at this time of year, Chennai.
I spent the vast majority of yesterday in airports and on planes, encountering various delays before finally arriving in Goa for 6pm. One surprisingly hassle-free transfer later (perhaps unfair - hassle and Goa rarely go hand in hand, unlike the other 99% of this country!), and I find myself in a sleepy village by the beach from where I write this. I have until Sunday until I fly back up to Mumbai - whether I can summon the energy to move onto another resort between now and then remains to be seen, although the heat may mean that I just loll around here, strolling on the beach, catching up on some reading and indulging in the delicious local seafood. It's a tough life...
Monday, 7 May 2007
Amazing Grace
There are some pieces of music that can truly bring a tear to the eye, but in a good way. A hymn that particularly stirs me is John Newton's "Amazing Grace", which has recently been enlivened by Rick Wakeman (of Yes fame), his daughter Jemma and the English Chamber Choir, for his DVD/CD compilation of the same name. Quite beautiful, and if you've a place in your heart for well-played piano as I do, all the more special, and Mr Wakeman more than obliges on that front.
Take a few deserved, quiet moments for yourself and enjoy this quite magnificent rendition...
Take a few deserved, quiet moments for yourself and enjoy this quite magnificent rendition...
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