#a mil is about six miles apparently

[austerulous]

◈   @warmaiidens

In the cold light of dawn, a silver-black fox had weaved through the mist, slinking along the riverbank on velvet paws.  The sleepless eyes of Soma – who invariably retired late and rose early – had watched the strange-coloured creature, seeing in it an omen.  It wasn’t until later in the day, when that same gaze beheld Eivor riding triumphant through the gates of Grantebridge, that the lord understood the significance, recognised the fox had been a foretoken of a friend’s arrival.

A tight smile that played on her lips, warm and sincere despite its brevity.  Grief was a cloak Soma could not take off, distrust a weight she could not wriggle from beneath.  Still, the sight of Eivor brought with her a moment of respite.  Here was one of the golden few she could rely on, one whose company remained effortless. A pleasure, even.

“Your visit was foretold, Eivor Wolf-Kissed, though I failed to read the signs.”  Soma raised a gloved hand, shielding her eyes from the syrupy shine of late morning light.  Varinsdottir towered above her, astride her towering steed.  “Are you saddle-sore, or do you have another ride in you?  A mil out and a mil back is all I ask.”

[shankarjaikishanfansassnintl]

INFINITE SHADES OF GREY :  A tribute to Hemant Kumar on his 100th birthday

Monday, June 15, 2020

Flashback of my long meeting with Hemant Kumar 34 years ago

by

Raju Korti

After years of longing, I finally managed to catch up with legendary composer, singer and producer Hemant Kumar in 1984, just five years before he passed to leave an unfilled vacuum. He was well past his prime then but his composing and singing instincts were as impeccable. As a keen devotee of film music, thanks to those golden fifties, sixties and early seventies, I nursed an abiding regret of not being able to meet the man about whom I had read and heard so much. As I write this blog, there is a tangential satisfaction to that anguish that it is better late than never. I have no answer to why I didn't write about the intensive interaction I had with him all these years but as an apology of a consolation, I am happy that this blog coincides with his 100th birthday today (June 16).

I will never forget the long, searching look Hemant Da gave me when we met. Dressed in white pyjamas and a long kurta, his six-plus feet lanky frame towered above my diminutive 5-plus feet. Having recovered from an acute heart condition, he looked pale, drawn and weak. Apparently, he was incredulous that someone who had just stepped into his thirties could even think of talking to a veteran who was been-there-done-that. I had to pull myself together before I lent credence to his apparent misgivings. He was accompanied by playback singer Aarti Mukherjee (of 'Saara mora kajra chhudaya tune' fame) who did not take any part in the three-hour conversation except occasional nods and smiles. "Hemant Da, they always talk about the two faculties that you straddled so brilliantly -- as a composer and a singer. So who's better between the two?" I asked him. "I can't put my finger on any one of them. Both are an inseparable parts of my musical instincts. Although, I began as a short story writer, my mind was into music. So I quit Engineering despite vehement opposition from my father. Mind you, one of my short stories won critical literary acclaim when I was barely sixteen but I was prepared to chuck that talent for Rabindra Sangeet." Hemant Da's predilection towards his passion was right on target as within a year he became a singer for All India Radio, his deeply baritone vocals tailor-made to take on the depth of Tagore's compositions. "In those days, my singing hero was Pankaj Mullick and I use to ape him so well that I was nicknamed Chhota Pankaj. But beyond this hero worship, I regret I could not get my teeth into rigorous classical music. It is a regret I will carry to my grave," he said. Having followed Hemant Da's career closely, I could see that the lack of adequate classical music -- by his own admission -- was no handicap, especially in films. In the early forties, his contemporary was King Talat Mehmood whose chaste Urdu diction and rendition of ghazals had made him a darling of the masses. Mohammed Rafi, who later went on to become the premier singer of the industry, was just struggling to gain a toehold while Mukesh had just got going. Kishore Kumar was nowhere on the scene. As someone carrying the stamp and legacy of Rabindra Sangeet, Hemant Da found himself at variance with the genre of film songs. That, however, wasn't a handicap as he had the prime examples of Sachin Dev Burman and Salil Choudhury, both Dadas in every sense of the word. Another Dada was in the making to join this exalted company. "It was in the early forties that I hitched onto the Indian People's Theatre Association (IPTA), a Left-leaning  body which had composer and song writer Salil Da as one of its mainstays. I was in the midst of some musical greats and it was particularly satisfying that Rabindra Sangeet was a common chord that ran through us," Hemant Da recalled. "I wasn't doing badly at all, composing for Bengali films, but when Filmistan made Anandmath in 1951 and I was asked to compose its music, I decided to explore Mumbai, the Mecca of film music. The film was a moderate success but a then raw Lata's Vande Mataram struck perfect patriotic notes and made people sit up and take notice. Then came Shart where I did my own bidding with Na ye chaand hoga." "But wasn't this a turning point for you? Dev Anand happened," I asked him. "Na ye chaand hoga was just the platform. Ye raat ye chaandni (Jaal), Chup hai dharti chup hai chaand sitaare and Teri duniya mein jeene se  (House No 44), Hai apna dil to awaara (Solva Saal) and Na tum hame jaano (Baat Ek Raat Ki) happened because Burman Dada was convinced I could fit on Dev Anand's lips," Hemant Da reminisced, pointing out that in the years to come, he steered himself with his own talent through Naagin, Duniya Jhukti Hai, Bees Saal Baad, Bin Badal Barsaat, Kohra and Anupama. The interesting aside here is this was the same Burman Dada who before being a guide to Hemant Da was contemplating to quit and go back to Calcutta because the scene in Mumbai didn't appeal to his Bengali ethos. Such was Hemant Da's unflinching belief in the potential of Rabindra Sangeet that in those days he was considered as only next to Mullick in the intricacies of that genre ahead of seniors like Burman Dada and Salil Da. This hierarchy was also with its anomalies. Burman Da understood little or nothing of Hindi. He needed to understand the mood of the song and its words written in Bengali before he could employ his compositional genius. Hemant Da was in comparison much more comfortable, having come from the Hindi hinterland of Benares. He was also very much in tune with the musical philosophy of Salil Da and although it didn't show much in his (Hemant Da's) compositions, he had as much flair and understanding of the symphonies, notably among them being Bach. Naagin made Hemant Da a household name. For many, that was no big surprise as composer Ravi who he assisted for many years, told him that given his talent, it was time he started going his own way. The film's feet-tapping music with a string of Lata hits as also his solos and duets, was a revelation as against the three-hour visual atrocity on the viewers. People rather went to 'hear' the movie than 'see' it. The film won him a Filmfare Award. But Hemant Da preferred to dwell on mid-1955 when he sang four solos for the legendary Uttam Kumar. It was the beginning of an enduring friendship and their chemistry showed they were the most poplar singer-actor combination holding an unchallenged sway for almost a decade. Hemant Da lapsed into nostalgia as I mentioned to him that period when he was composing for a lot of Bengali and Hindi films while jealously guarding his roots in Rabindra music. "I was at the peak of my career then as a composer and singer. The best was I was singing for maestros like Nachiket Ghosh, Robin Chatterjee and Salil Choudhury. Some of my songs were remakes or improvisations of the Bengali original. I also hobnobbed with production. Bees Saal Baad, Kohra and Khamoshi were produced by me. Neel Akasher Neeche was directed by Mrinal Sen and went on to bag the President's Gold Medal after an unsavoury controversy." Bees Saal Baad and Kohra forged a wonderful relationship with Biswajeet. After almost an hour, Hemant Da was coming to the perception that for a youngster, I had done my home work fairly well as I mentioned his one song after the other in the course of the meeting. A faint smile creased his face when I mentioned to him that in the bevy of beauties that he sang, my favourites happened to be the 1955 Sardar Malik beauty filmed on Prem Nath 'Mai garibo ka dil hoon watan ki zubaan' (Aab-e Hayat) and a duet with Geeta Dutt from Detective (1958) 'Mujh ko tum jo mile ye jahaan mil gaya' (Fabulous use of Hawaii guitar). He had a word of lament for Mukul Roy, Geeta's brother and the composer of that dulcet duet. "He was such a talented music director and understood the nuances of film music so well but it beats me why his career didn't pick up." In an era when he rubbed shoulders with the likes of Shankar Jaikishen, OP Nayyar, C Ramchandra, Naushad, Madan Mohan, Roshan, Hemant Da did not even once go in for lavish orchestrations. His accompaniments were minimal and the song carried itself on the weight of its sweetness. Hemant Da was particularly delighted when I pointed out how sublime Lata sounded in 'Chhup gaya koi re door se pukar ke' in that obscure film Champakali (1960). He seemed touched when I said it could give Madan Mohan's 'Chaand maddham hai' (Railway Platform/1957) a stiff competition. "I think Burman Dada's influence rubbed off on me. Even when it came to the choice of singers. I remember how he had singled me out to sing for Dev Anand when everyone else felt that my voice wouldn't suit his persona. See how Burman Da stood vindicated. In my career as composer, my choices have been guided by the demands of the song per se rather than factors like who was lip-synching the song and how many instruments I must employ to embellish it." "You tuned so well with Burman Dada and sang 12-13 songs for Dev Anand. What happened thereafter? I asked him. Hemant Da paused a little but the gentleman in him came to the fore. "I don't know what happened after Baat Ek Raat Ki. He never called and I didn't ask. I didn't think too much about it and got busy with my own work." Was it that on Burman Dada's exacting scale Hemant Da's voice had lost its baritone edge? Unlikely, as you know that the quality of his voice was still replete with the same refined sensitivity. I can vouch as I heard him in flesh and blood. "I used Mohammed Rafi and Kishore Kumar sparingly even at the peak of their careers. For that matter, I sang my own song only when it was absolutely called for. I shared a great working rapport with them and I was devastated when I lost two dear younger brothers -- Rafi and Uttam Kumar -- in a span of just one week. They were giants. Why didn't I work with them more? I loved Rafi's Dil ki aawaaz bhi sun (Humsaaya), Manna's Piya maine kya kiya (Us Paar), Mukesh's Woh tere pyaar ka gham. Even an otherwise exuberant Kishore was polite when he teamed up with me. He knew exactly what I wanted to deliver in Kashti ka khamosh safar hai (Girl Friend). I have memories of Rafi walking up to me and wanting to know the pronunciation of some Bengali words before he sang those songs. He was one singer who knew how to use the mike well -- like when to sing from the throat and when to sing from his navel." For all his modesty, Hemant Da could run a quick temper at times and did not hesitate to mince words. He revealed how he had warned Guru Dutt against the latter's penchant for changing his singers and composers at the last minute, citing the example of the 1962 classic Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam that had adultery as its theme. "I agreed only after Guru gave me an undertaking saying that only I was equipped to handle the music since it was set in the backdrop of Bengal." History was made before it was written. For a man on whom the Government of India issued a stamp posthumously in 2016 and had won a spate of awards and recognition, including two national Awards, Hemant Da didn't make much of this memorabilia. He never mentioned any of his songs when asked about his favourites. Having refused Padmashri in the 1970s, he also shunned Padma Bushman which was three years after I met him. More than three decades after his death music companies keep releasing his albums, repackaging his old songs. There are dime a dozen who copy Rafi, Kishore, Mukesh and don't admit so but I personally know many who take a great delight in unabashedly conceding that they love to imitate Hemant Da's style but are nowhere near. Close your eyes and hear the Kishore Kumar composed 1964 beauty from Door Gagan Ki Chhaon Mein: 'Raahi tu mat ruk jaana, toofan se mat ghabrana Kabhi to milegi teri manzil Kahin door gagan ki chhaon mein..' It may have been incommoded by KK's own 'Jin raaton ki bhor nahi hai' but has in sharp contrast hope and tranquility that make the song a quintessential Hemant Kumar from a school of music that qualifies to be a university of its own. PS: It needed a Hemant Kumar song for a film to be qualified as 'haunting'. And since the man was too modest to speak about his own songs, I will labour over my favourite HK solos and duets which I am sure might raise eyebrows for skipping songs which have hit higher popularity charts. Partly, my choices are influenced because you don't get to hear them much. So here I go. 1) Mai garibo ka dil hoon watan ki zubaan (Aab-e-Hayat/1955/Solo) 2) Mujh ko tum jo mile, ye jahaan mil gaya (Detective/1958/With Geeta Dutt) 3) Aa neele gagan tale pyaar hum kare (Baadshah/1954/With Lata) 4) Baharo se pucho nazaaro se pucho dil kyo deewana mera ho gaya (Fashion/1959/With Lata) 5) Nai manzil nayi raahen naya hai karvaan apna (Hill Station/1957/With Lata) 6) Raahi tu mat ruk jaana (Door Gagan Ki Chhaon Mein/1964/Solo) 7) Dekho wo chaand chup ke karta hai kya ishaare (Shart/1954/With Lata) 8) Zindagi kitni khubsoorat hai (Bin Badal Barsaat/1963/Solo HK version) 9) Jab jaag uthe armaan to kaise neend aaye (Bin Badal Barsaat/1963/Solo) 10) Ye nayan dare dare, ye jaam bhare bhare (Kohra/1964/Solo)

[lost-n-stereo]

they’ll call our crimes a work of art

Part 1

There are miles upon miles of sun scorched earth between San Diego and the Texas border.

He downshifts, the engine purring as he speeds down the deserted highway. Desert passes them on both sides, wide open space as far as the eye can see and he knows with almost complete certainty that they are in the free and clear.

For now, at least.

“Woooo!”

Clarke bangs on the headliner next to him, her hair messy and wild from being trapped under a baseball cap all day. A black duffle bag rests at her feet and even though it’s zipped up tight he knows that inside contains the very thing that they need to survive.

Money. Lots and lots of fucking money.

Two point two million, to be exact. He feels a little like Robin Hood, robbing from the rich to give to the poor. Only in their case, they are the poor.

Well, he’s the poor because Clarke is what she calls “rich adjacent” meaning her family is rich so by association so is she. Ivy League, medical school, scholarships. These are all words that mean less than nothing to him, just a poor kid from the wrong side of San Diego, but to Clarke they meant confinement. Restrictions.

Basically the opposite of freedom.

Murphy looks over at her, a wide smile crossing her pretty face as she rests her bare feet on the dashboard of his Trans AM. It’s a piece of shit that his dad left him before he died but it’s fast as hell and got them away from California quicker than the bus.

It only hurts a little when he remembers that he has to ditch it as soon as they hit Arizona.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Clarke says, popping her gum as she stares out at the passing scenery. “We are bad ass, baby!”

Murphy laughs, reaches over and rests his hand between her thighs. “You’re damn right we are.”

Clarke grins and reaches over to turn the radio up, rolls down her window and lets her hand make air waves as The Rolling Stones pump through the speakers.

Nothing is ever going to feel this good he thinks as they speed down the I-10. He hasn’t seen another car in miles and doesn’t expect they will anytime soon but they are going to have to stop for gas if he stays at this pace.

“Getting hungry?”

Clarke nods and turns down the music. “Let’s find a diner. One of those old school ones with the red vinyl seats and a jukebox at every table.”

“Kind of a tall order,” he chuckles. “But your wish is my command, Princess.”

If you would have told him a year ago, hell even six months ago, that he’d be pulling a Bonnie and Clyde with the richest girl from his high school he would have either laughed in your face or punched you in the face.

Probably the latter because he’s always been a bit of a shithead.

When he ran into her at a club downtown four months ago she was downright fucked, knocking back tequila shots with a girl named Raven he remembered from their high school.

“What’s eating you?” He asked when she literally bumped into him at the bar.

“No one,” she’d said with a snicker and her hand immediately went to her mouth. “Oh my god, forget I just said that.”

“Not a fucking chance.” He’d just laughed and wondered if she even remembered him. John Murphy, class asshole. Not much else to remember probably but he remembered her all the same. The way she dated both the jocks and the cheerleaders. The hottest girl in school although she cared more about her studies than clothes and makeup.

“How have you been, Murphy?”

To say he had been surprised would be a fucking understatement. In fact he’s pretty sure he actually choked a little on his Jack and Coke.

“I’ve been fine, Clarke. Yourself?”

“I got dumped,” she had lamented, her eyes rolling as if recalling whatever fucked up thing ended her relationship. “My girlfriend found herself a new girlfriend so here I am. Getting sloshed because apparently I have zero self control.”

“Oh, now I don’t know about that,” he’d laughed. “Remember that night in Finn Collins’ basement? We got matched up for seven minutes in heaven and I’m pretty sure you kneed me in the balls when I suggested you give me a little kiss.”

Clarke snorted so hard her hand shook and tequila came dangerously close to flying out of her shot glass. “If I remember correctly, you tried to stick your tongue down my throat and said ‘Hey baby, you know you want some of this.’”

“Sounds like me.”

If he was shocked as hell that she remembered him he was even more surprised when she reached her hand over, ran her pinkie finger up the inside seam of his jeans at his thigh.

“And what about now?”

He had licked his lips, let his gaze fall to the way her black dress clung tightly to her curves. “Now? Now I’d prefer if you begged me for it.”

Needless to say she blew off her friend and ended up back at his dingy apartment, her moans so loud they got the cops called on them.

Twice.

Thinking back on it now it’s kind of funny that they have been dodging cops since they first started this up.

“What are you thinking about over there?”

He smiles, tightens one hand on her leg and the other on the wheel. “Just thinking about when we first met.”

“When we were ten?”

“No,” he snorts. “I mean when this Murphy met this Clarke. Because face it, sweetheart. You are nothing like you were in high school.”

Her scowl actually turns him on. How fucked up is that? “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Relax,” he laughs, even though his mother once told him you should absolutely for no reason whatsoever tell a woman to relax or calm down. “I just meant high school Clarke wouldn’t be caught dead with high school me.”

“That’s not true,” she says, her voice taking on this raspy tone that goes straight to his dick. His heart beats faster when she leans over to rest her lips on the shell of his ear. “High school Clarke thought about you a lot, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” he croaks out, his throat drying up and he’s so hard for her he wouldn’t be surprised if he pulls over and takes her right here on the highway. “What about when you were with Finn?”

“Mhm.” She bites at his earlobe, sending shock waves through his body so intense he’s afraid they might crash.

“Lexa?”

“Yep.”

“Bellamy?”

She stiffens and he wants to kick his own ass for bringing him up. “We aren’t going to talk about him, remember.”

“Sorry, babe,” he says sincerely because he is. Bringing up the guy she almost married straight out of high school wasn’t his brightest idea but fuck if he can think straight when his dick is hard.  

He remembers their breakup their freshman year of college. Everyone though they’d end up together, married at twenty, first kid by twenty two. Mansion in the hills, two point five kids and a Golden Retriever. They were set in stone.

Until they weren’t.

Murphy didn’t go to college due to the fact that he had zero dollars to his name and did fuck all in high school. Instead he got a job right after graduation, and the fact that he graduated at all was enough to make his entire family proud. Or what little family he has left. He does remember the very public breakup since it happened at the restaurant he moonlighted as a bartender at to make some extra cash.

Bellamy gave Clarke a ring. Clarke said no. Bellamy stormed out.

It was a lot more dramatic than that but you get the gist.

“Can I just ask you one thing?”

He’s treading carefully because this is a subject they haven’t gotten into yet. She might shut him the fuck down but he’s at least going to try.

“You want to know why I said no.”

It’s not a question, just a solemn statement and that’s what he loves about this girl. She fucking knows him without him having to say a word.

“Yeah.”

Clarke sighs, her hand still making waves out the window but now he thinks she probably doesn’t even realize that she’s doing it. “My life has been planned for me since I was a little girl. Go to an Ivy League, become a doctor. Marry someone with my pedigree and have the perfect life that my parents have always wanted for me. But I didn’t want that, Murphy. I didn’t want to be some dumb girl that just lived her life the way everyone else wanted her to.”

He motions to the duffle bag resting on the floorboards. “And that’s going to help, right?”

“Yes,” she says seriously. “I want to be with you and yes, I’m sure there was another way than stealing millions of dollars from the Blake’s but this is how it had to be. Bellamy’s family is loaded, almost as much as mine. They won’t even miss it and you and I can get away. It’s better this way.”

There have been a lot of moments over the last few weeks when he thought that she would either bail or dime him out the first chance she got but damn if she proved him wrong.

The plan was simple, steal some cash from her ex’s family and leave town. The Blake’s are practically San Diego royalty, Bellamy Blake being the eldest son and a future Leader of America. Primed since birth to take over his mother’s real estate empire. Millions of cash sitting in barely locked safes, easy pickings for a criminal like him.

Clarke came up with the plan since she was still close with Bellamy’s younger sister Octavia. The Blake’s are vacationing in Belize, the house empty over the weekend since they require no staff when the family is out of the country. Clarke knew how to get in without setting off alarms, had the code to the safe hiding in the library and knew exactly how much to steal without anyone noticing for awhile.

They broke in wearing black clothes and baseball caps, her long blonde hair wrapped up and tucked in just in case any security footage caught them sneaking in and out of the house. The job took less than ten minutes, no alarms went off and they hauled ass to his car that they had parked a few streets down.

All they have to do is dump the Trans AM, no great loss there, in Arizona just in case any neighbors happened to be looking out the window when they drove away with a cool two mil in their car on the way out. He has a buddy in Texas that said he’d put them up for awhile until they figured out where they wanted to go.

It was fool proof and it worked like a charm.

What could possibly go wrong?

***

“If I eat anymore, you’re going to have to roll me out of here.”

­Murphy chuckles as he wipes his face with his napkin and throws it down on the table. “There might not be a jukebox on the table but at least you got your vinyl seats.”

She blows him a kiss before sucking on her milkshake straw and damn he can’t wait to get her in a hotel room tonight.

“Can you order us some extra food to go? I’m gonna go take a leak.”

Clarke scrunches up her nose in disgust and he smirks, drops a kiss to her temple as he’s passing her on the way to the restroom.

An old plasma television set is bolted in a corner of the kitchen, set to some local news channel, and he doesn’t pay attention to it until he hears a familiar name.

“Breaking news out of San Diego, CA. Aurora Blake, real estate mogul, has just filed a police report stating that over 2 million dollars was taken from a safe in her home today. The Blakes are currently on vacation out of the country but have understandably cut their vacation short in order to help police with their investigation. The only known suspects at this time are two individuals that broke into the Blake residence around 8 pm on Saturday night. The suspects were caught on the Blake’s security cameras but because their faces are not shown, it might prove impossible to use these videos to find them.”

Murphy’s heart drops, his eyes darting across the grainy photograph of him and Clarke sneaking through the Blake mansion, their faces completely hidden by the bills of their baseball caps.

He hurries over to where Clarke is talking to the waitress, drops three twenties on the table before pulling her up by her arm.

“Baby, we gotta go. Now.”