Ennamo Vagaiyay Varuguthu Maane

Foreword Minecraft is 15 years old! I can think of no other phenomenon that belongs to the children of the 2010s at such an emotional level. We grew up playing it, though some of us were too poor or too strictly raised to be able to buy the original version. I myself played it for many years in trial mode: playing in one world, in survival, for only 90 minutes until Mojang demanded that I pay, at which point I would be forced to delete everything I had made. I was elated once when a bug in Minecraft: Windows 10 Edition allowed me to use cheats in a world and extend my play time, and also enter creative mode. To me, this game has two disciplines: the crude and bitter realities of survival mode, and the godlike powers of creative mode. This month, I bought Minecraft with the winnings from a quiz (another pastime of mine). Both family and friends have come forward to condemn this as a poor financial decision. But I do not regret what I have done, even a little. Minecraft is worth much mo

Alliance Française de Trivandrum recently screened the French arthouse production Chien de la Casse by Jean-Baptiste Durand. Short (1hr 33m) as it is, the movie is pure artistry, packed with philosophy and meaning. I've never brought myself to watch French movies before, and this was a good experience and an outstanding introduction to the world's oldest cinema industry for me.  The movie is set in a village in the French Riviera whose name is mentioned only once ever. The main characters, Dog and Mirales, have been thick friends since the age of twelve. Their life is confined to their small village and their gaming and drinking parties, other than playing with Mirales' dog, Beefcake. Dog is aloof and disconnected from the world: he isn't very outgoing, doesn't talk until prompted and doesn't know where Quebec is. Mirales constantly taunts him for his lack of general knowledge, calling him un imbecile heureux (a happy idiot). Mirales himself is a low-key drug d

Yesterday, the Indian music community lost one of the greatest Hindustani vocalists of the era. I think it is impossible to talk about Hindustani music today without talking about Rashid Khan; to borrow an expression, it would be like going on and on about the Ramayanam without ever saying the word 'Rama'. He entertained and inspired two generations of singers, instrumentalists and rasikas and his death at a tender 55 has come as a shocker.   There was a phase in my life (2017-20) when I listened almost exclusively to North Indian and Pakistani classical and semi-classical music. On those journeys, I came across many great musicians, and Rashid Khan was perhaps the greatest khayal singer on that list. Yaman: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oSEuCJSnu94 A khayal piece. An amazing Tarana (thillana, as its rough equivalent is known in the Carnatic system) begins at 16:30. Puriya Dhanasree:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VB7jujlb5o Half an hour of great khayal. Another Puriya Dh

 I imagine that many posts here will be about Carnatic music and technology in the days to come, and so a redesign from my old "public diary" style felt necessary. The title, Ennamo Vagaiyay Varuguthu Maane , is from a Ghanam Krishna Iyer composition beautifully rendered by Sanjay Subrahmanyan , music by T S Sabesha Iyer. It roughly means ''O deer (deer-like girl), some strange feelings have conquered me." This is my exact mental state when it comes to making any decision, writing any article or just sitting somewhere on a fine sunny day. Although for me, those feelings are far less romantic than what Ghanam intended when he wrote the song. The layout is also a lot simpler, reminiscent of the good old days of the Internet in the early 2010s and late 2000s.

One fine September afternoon in Trivandrum. Own picture. As I wrote earlier on this blog, Carnatic stalwart Sangīta Kalānidhi Sanjay Subrahmanyan performed in Thiruvananthapuram at the Padmanabhaswamy Temple's annual Navaratri concert last week. These concerts, one for each of the nine evenings, are held in the Navaratri Mandapam in the Kuthiramalika Palace, near the temple's eastern gate. He was performing on the sixth, for which Maharaja Swati Tirunal has composed the Kamavardhani kriti 'Saroruhasana Jaye'. Only the compositions of Swati Tirunal are performed here. I was slightly late to the show. The city's traffic held up the bus I had boarded, and I could only reach the temple by 18:05. I felt embarrassed: concerts like those at the Navaratri Mandapam are not meant for people without a sense of punctuality. In fact, Prince Rama Varma had written on his blog that no one would be allowed to come late. There is also the rule that patrons cannot leave before the c

 He took out his grey earpods and stuck them in, deep. He was now seated in the train, in a car that by its looks seems to have been coupled onto the others ages ago and repeatedly dragged from each end, back and forth, for hundreds of miles, every day. The unreserved cars on the Intercity were packed with people as usual, but fortunately, no one could be seen standing anywhere and a few of the three-seater chairs had only two occupants. He could eventually find a seat, and retired to his favourite music. Indian classical. Not many people are into that. Especially not people his age.     The train hesitated to leave Trivandrum Central. It was already two minutes past five-thirty and the crowd was not in the mood for a languid, laidback journey. Youths, probably here because one of their friends' sister got married, stood in the vestibule after realising how late they had arrived to secure a seat. The crowd clears after Kollam, someone consoled them. Proud government officers with t