Love Triangles

Love triangles are fascinating. They are excellent literary devices and allow for 'thickening of plots' like few other things can. Most of us have been in love triangles ourselves. There are many things that make love triangles interesting - the awkwardness when all the three parties are together; the dilemma which the choosing party faces as we all are when faced with more than one options but this being the most gratifying and self-important of dilemmas, she (usually the choosing party is a she) stretches it out as much as she can; the way we align our loyalties with one of the contestants;  the general frustration of a worthy yet wracked-with-self-doubt candidate who will not act until it is too late, but, most of all, how the two competing parties behave around each other. There is a fair amount of sizing up, often reserve or a false sense of bravado, at times an undercurrent of hostility; yet, in other circumstances double-entendres and if the parties manage to bond, even inside jokes. In my experience, it usually leads to a strange kind of camaraderie which is unlike any other; the bond of a shared taste is a strong bond.

Some of my favorites stories are built around love triangles. The most interesting sequences come about when the suitors are thrown together leading to tension, banter, repartee, bonding and often all of the above. A drunk James Stewart hiccoughing animatedly against a bemused Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story, a curious Amit trying to size up an overconfident Haresh in A Suitable Boy or a patronising Casey discovering Gordon is actually a pretty formidable rival in Sports Night, they all makes for fascinating contests.

Some of the most interesting love triangles come from real life. Be it Nehru-Edwina-Mountbatten or the very marriageable Sanjeev Kumar and the very much married Dharmendra falling for the very Iyengar Hema Malini on the sets of Seeta aur Geeta. But the most fascinating modern love triangle is without doubt the Harrison-Boyd-Clapton episode. George Harrison and Eric Clapton's love for Patti Boyd was the stuff of legends and gave us some of the most fascinating love songs of the last century from 'Something' which Sinatra dubbed as the greatest love ballad of all time to the brilliantly desperately pathetic 'Layla' and 'Bell Bottom Blues'. Clapton fell in love with Patti Boyd while she was still married to Harrison and short of inviting Harrison for a pistol duel (though they did sort of duel with electric guitar and amps once for Patti according to her) did everything to snake away his good friend and music collaborator's wife including writing her desperate love-letters daily, emotional blackmail, dating her sister as a sort of consolation prize, not to mention writing some of the finest songs he ever wrote. Strangely, even after Patti left Harrison for Clapton, the two remained friends and used to refer to each other as husbands in law!

Another fascinating tale to another man's wife inspiring some beautiful writing is Leigh Hunt's poem Jenny kissed me written for Thomas Carlyle's wife Jane. I reproduce the story here taken verbatim from a website.

In 1835 Leigh Hunt and his large family moved to Chelsea in London and became neighbor to poet and author, Thomas Carlyle, at his suggestion. The two became close friends and Hunt’s home was always open to his circle of friends, of which there were many.
Two stories exist. One story is that Leigh Hunt visited the Carlyles to deliver the news that he was going to publish one of Thomas Carlyle’s poems. When the news was delivered to Carlyle’s wife, Jane, she jumped up and kissed him. The other story is that during one winter Hunt was sick with influenza and absent for so long that when he finally recovered and went to visit the Carlyles, Jane jumped up and kissed him as soon as he appeared at the door. Two days later one of the Hunt servants delivered a note addressed, "From Mr. Hunt to Mrs. Carlyle." It contained the poem, Jenny Kissed Me. 

Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in.
Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in.
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad;
Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I'm growing old, but add -
Jenny kissed me!

Reputedly, Leigh Hunt was a flirtatious man, often in trouble with his wife. Also reputedly, Jane Carlyle was a bit sour and better known for her acid tongue than for impulsive affection.

There are some rare songs which make you want to immediately sing it to someone. Like Lovely Rita or Fly me to the moon or Main koi aisa geet gaoon or Chanda re. Yet there some other songs, rarer still which make you want to find someone who will sing it to you. These days, I want someone to sing I'll be your mirror by The Velvet Underground and Nico to me. With backing vocals and guitar and all. It would be an added bonus if they had an accent like Nico's.

I'll be your mirror

Reflect what you are, in case you don't know

I'll be the wind, the rain and the sunset

The light on your door to show that you're home

When you think the night has seen your mind

That inside you're twisted and unkind

Let me stand to show that you are blind

Please put down your hands

'Cause I see you

I find it hard to believe you don't know

The beauty you are

But if you don't let me be your eyes

A hand in your darkness, so you won't be afraid

When you think the night has seen your mind

That inside you're twisted and unkind

Let me stand to show that you are blind

Please put down your hands

'Cause I see you

I'll be your mirror

Stereotyping Dravid

I write this as the second day's play ends in the Test-match at Trentbridge. I wrote an article on Cricinfo comparing Dravid and Ganguly a couple of years ago in which I predicted that Dravid may not have a swansong end to his career for the one thing he lacked which his co-debutante had in plenty was a sense of timing and occasion. Over the last two years, watching Dravid falter against good bowling attacks on most occasions, I feared that I had been right. Whether Rahul Dravid is scripting a fairy-tale final few chapters of his career or this is a second wind that may yet last another season or two, only time will tell. What his last three centuries have done is reinstate my belief in something that has been true for Dravid through most of his career. He is the most constantly evolving batsman of this generation.

One of my major grouses in recent years has been how unimaginative and cliche-ridden cricket journalism, in general and cricket commentary, in particular has been. I have always believed Rahul Dravid to be a prime victim of this. Over the years, he has been stereotyped as the defensive wall in a line up of more attractive and flamboyant stroke-makers. I am really tired of expressions like solid, orthodox and straight-from-MCC-coaching manuals being used to describe Dravid's technique. These descriptions are not only inaccurate but have been a disservice to Dravid, for by stereotyping him as such, we have made him too easy and consequently, boring to analyse.

Dravid is a defensive batsman, an old school batsman who puts a greater price on his wicket but he is not an orthodox batsman. An orthodox technique is based largely on the idea of economy and efficiency of movement. Dravid's technique is his own. He gets beside the line of the ball rather than behind it like say,  Tendulkar, a much more orthodox batsman, does. He has a high back-lift which comes down at an angle from the direction of the third man, something the coaching manuals would frown upon. Most Indian batsmen like Tendulkar, Sehwag and Laxman rely greatly on a steady balance for strokeplay. Dravid has always been more in the mould of Lara and Ponting in his high backlift and shuffle. Yet, unlike them and other batsmen with high backlift like Yuvraj and Yusouf, Dravid doesn't rely on great bat speed. His bat comes down more cautiously, more watchfully and with lesser flourish. He plays often with an angled bat outside the off stump, a recipe for disaster on seaming tracks some would say, but Dravid makes it work by watching the ball till the last moment and softening his grip if the ball jumps or moves away late.

What makes Dravid's technique work, especially his method of getting beside the line of the ball is that he plays the cricket ball later than I have seen anyone do. This allows him to control the height better and the angle at which is bats meets the balls most often ensures that he keep it on the ground. That is what ties together his entire technique. Everything he does, every adjustment he seems to have made over the years seems to be devoted to that one objective of keeping the ball on the ground. This is what makes his technique so different from any other batsman. 

An aspect of Dravid's batting largely ignored around all this talk of him being an orthodox, defensive wall is his strokeplay. Lara, who I always thought was the most attractive strokemaker of this generation was all about the high back-lift, great bat-speed, twinkle toes and an extravagant flourish. He brandished his bat like a sword, swiping and thrusting. Dravid's strokemaking lacks that violence but is replaced by an ornate quality. His batting is a lot about the curves and angles that his bats makes. It has a carefully constructed beauty as opposed to Laxman's careless drives and flicks, which often escapes us for Dravid, being the wall is not associated with beauty. His on-drive in second only to Mahela Jayawardena's in modern times. His bat comes down at its usual angle and he plays it very late, his front foot across and his entire body leaning on it with the ball right under his eyes. He plays a prettier late cut, I believe than anyone else in this era. Dravid likes to get on to the front foot and commits to an early front foot movement on all his strokes, yet he manages to not get scissor-footed which most who get the front foot across right away might be wont to. For the late cut, once he picks the length, he rocks back using the depth of the crease, shifts his weight on the back foot and plays it very fine and late. 

But the most important feature of Dravid's technique is its constant state of evolution. For instance, in the last few months, with his reflexes having slowed down, he shuffles much less, staying on the leg-stump and looks to score much more through the steer to the third man. He is undoubtedly someone very deeply aware of his game and more than anything else that is what makes me doubt my prediction of two years ago. Someone who tinkers with and works on his arsenal in such detail even at this stage certainly continues to enjoy his game. This could well be Dravid's second wind.

Disappointments

In 1951, there wasn't a more passionate rivalry in sports than between the Brooklyn Dodgers and the New York Giants. Giants fans hated Dodgers fans. Dodger fans hated Giants fans. Fathers passed it onto sons! In August 1951, the Giants were 13 and a 1/2 games behind the Dodgers. That was considered insurmountable. But, Giants make a comeback and put together a streak unequalled in history, winning 37 out of 44 games and the last 7 in a row to end with a first place tie with the Brooklyn Dodgers. They play a play-off game to see who goes to the world series. The Dodgers had it won, until a guy named Bobby Thompson hit what since has been known as the 'shot heard 'round the world' to win the game 5-4. Russ Hodges, broadcaster immortalised the hit with his famous words, "The Giants win the Pennant!!The Giants win the Pennant!!The Giants win the Pennant!!The Giants win the Pennant!!"

In an episode of Sports Night, not surprisingly titled "The Giants Win the Pennat, The Giants Win the Pennant", Issac Jaffey recalls how he attended the game in 1951. He had been in the press-box standing all through the game for there was no place to sit. Ralph Branca was notorious for taking his time warming up and Issac rushed to the men's room knowing he had time. Except Branca warmed up a lot faster that day. Issac didn't see the home run. 

Only a true sports fan can understand the mammoth disappointment of missing an event like that. Imagine, if you can, being there and yet for some reason not being there for Dhoni's emphatic six off Nuwan Kulasekara to win the World Cup. 

Rain and I

The best things in life, I have come to realize, are always very brief and transitory. The first sips of cold water when thirsty, the brief moments of triumph when you crack a difficult question, the last bits of chocolate in Cornettos ice-cream, the last forty or so seconds in Schubert's Ave Maria. My favorite kind of weather is the 15-20 minutes just before it begins to rain. The sky changes colour faster than at dusk or dawn, the breeze is swift and cool, there is a sense that it could start raining any second, of anticipation or apprehension depending on whether you want it to rain or not. Then, the rains come down and at times, for me, it spoils everything. 

Someone told me today that she thinks that she shares a special relationship with rain as it always rains on her birthday. Come to think of it, I cannot remember any birthday of mine either when it hasn't rained for at least a little bit. And, yet my relationship with rain has always been a turbulent one. I love to watch it rain. I like the sound of it. I like the little splatters it makes on concrete, as a kid I used to pretend they were dancing dwarfs with a life-span of a fraction of a second, one emerging and disappearing immediately, with the next one following on its heels. I love the idea of a raaga like Megh-Malhar or Amritavarshini bringing about rain. Rains, I find provide the best sort of backdrop to a certain kind of writing. Stories need their own weather, just like they need they own music. Dark themes need the night, horror need the chill, the ambiguous ones require cloudy weather. Maybe its a reflection on too many Yash Chopra movies at an impressionable age, but I think love stories need the rain. 

But I hate being in the rain. I hate getting caught in the rain, the grainy dirty feel on my chappals, the splash and the muck and most of all, droplets dripping down my hair to my forehead. I have watched people getting drenched in the rain and enjoying it with feeling ranging from curious amusement to exasperation to distaste to perplexity. Its something I have never understood. My love for rain is that of a homophobe for a friend of the same gender - at an arm's length. Rain foils plans, causes road blocks and gives you a cold. They are meant to be watched from the protection of indoors, preferably if they are of the cats and dogs variety, not the effeminate and persistent Bangalore drizzle. But I still like the monsoons, mostly for those 15-20 minutes before it rains.

Top 5 Screenwriters

No. 5. Salim-Javed

Salim Khan and Javed Akhtar brought screenwriting in limelight like noone before and noone since has done in Indian Cinema. They created the 'Angry Young Man', in my view undoubtedly the most important single phenomenon in Bollywood, gave Amitabh Bachchan his best roles and wrote some of the most entertaining films ever written. Javed Akhtar is supposed to have been adept at dialogue while Salim Khan's forte was complicated plots.

Crowning Achievement: Sholay. The Seven Samurai meets the spaghetti westerns meets Mera Gaon Mera Desh. I cannot think of another movie with a larger canvas, yet not being stretched or boring at any point.

No. 4. Ernest Lehman

Lehmann is best known for his musicals (The King and I, Westside Story, The Sound of Music) but his body of work also includes some very fine comedies (Sabrina, Hello Dolly), satires (Sweet Smell of Success), thrillers (North by Northwest, Family Plot, Black Sunday) and one of the finest dramas ever written (Who's Afraid of Virgina Woolf).

Crowning Achievment: The King and I.

No. 3. Woody Allen

His body of work is huge and ranges from farce to fake documetary to tragicomedy to serious drama. Allen is  possibly the most important American filmmaker we have had. His range of influences are extremely diverse be it Swedish Cinema, Jewish neurosis, Russian Literature, Psychology, Philosophy, Jazz and many others. Aside from writing some of the most cerebral and neurotic humor, Allen combines it with a depth of feeling and poignant self mockery, often achieving a balance which makes his films funny as well as heartbreakingly tragic at the same time.

Crowning Achievement: Annie Hall. I am partial to the gloomier Manhattan but Annie Hall is where he writes his best. The lines remain comic yet there is a somber and serious feel to the proceedings. The fourth wall is broken at the right moments where we empathise with what Allen feels. Annie Hall is also one of the finest female characters ever written.

No. 2. Aaron Sorkin

Aaron Sorkin is without doubt the best screenwriter of this generation. Noone has written dialogue better than Sorkin. His writing is fast, engaging, smart, and funny in a dry way and fits in perfectly with long time collaborator Thomas Schlamme's walk and talk routine. Sorkin is also one of the rare writers to move effortlessly from theater (A Few Good Men) to film (Malice, The American President, Charlie Wilson's War, The Social Network) to television (Sports Night, The West Wing, Studio 60). Clearly resentful at being labelled by the right as unpatriotic Hollywood Liberals, his writing echoes a strong sense of Americana one would associate with the likes of Frank Capra coupled with the rapid pace dialogue reminiscent of Cary Grant and James Stewart in the 30s screwball comedies. His screenwriting involves a lot of verbal sparring, flirtatious banter and references to obscure trivia making him the most literate writer around.

Crowning Achievement: The West Wing. It's a fast paced, gripping, serious yet funny White House drama. What more do you need?

No. 1. Billy Wilder

Wilder wrote each and every one of his films. And he did it consistently for over 40 years. Consequently, his body of work is unparalleled in American Cinema (with the exception of Woody Allen). Wilder's films were minimalistic and precise, and while his pictures were intimate and unpretentious, what stood out was his writing. Wilder wrote sour, bitter comedies and harsh, morally compromising dramas. It was a sharp and refreshing contrast from Hollywood's sappy sweetness. His films were bitter, acerbic and cynical but they also came with  a sad sort of hope and tentative love. Sunset Boulevard, Double Indemnity, The Apartment, Stalag 17, Ace in the Hole, Some like it Hot, Sabrina, The Lost Weekend, Witness for the Prosecution. Need I say more?

Crowning Achievement: Sunset Boulevard. While I enjoyed Double Indemnity almost as much, Sunset Boulevard is the more polished product. Wilder was unique in that he made movies on many diverse subjects, but it is fitting that his crowning glory remains one dealing with Hollywood itself.

Gloom in Poetry

I read Bereft by Robert Frost after a long time today. I had been in love with this poem since the time I read an excerpt from it in an Erich Segal novel in my early teens. It is dark, weirdly rhythmic despite a very odd rhyming scheme, it is about loneliness, and even more so about the fear that comes with that loneliness.

Bereft

Where had I heard this wind before

Change like this to a deeper roar?

What would it take my standing there for,

Holding open a restive door,

Looking down hill to a frothy shore?

Summer was past and the day was past.

Sombre clouds in the west were massed.

Out on the porch's sagging floor,

Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,

Blindly striking at my knee and missed.

Something sinister in the tone

Told me my secret my be known:

Word I was in the house alone

Somehow must have gotten abroad,

Word I was in my life alone,

Word I had no one left but God. 

My love for poetry began as a kid with Robert Frost. 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' remains till date one of my favorite poems. Stopping by the woods was the beginning of my love-affair with dark poetry laced with cold imagery. Yet, all was not dark and morose. Some of the happiest memories of my boyhood years revolve around enjoying the pleasures of masterpieces by Lewis Carrol, Edward Lear, Ogden Nash and our very own Sukumar Ray. But even in this genre, my favorites remain the macabre 'Macavity the Mystery Cat' by Eliot or the quiet, funny reflections in poetry by Roald Dahl and Ogden Nash. Sonnets 18 and 116 of William Shakespeare led me to love poetry. In the meantime, I tried my hand at writing some of my own, mostly self-indulgent attempts at unrequited love poetry, sad and morose, though in this case, more so by the circumstances of my inspiration than a taste for gloom. Through adolescence and if I may term it so, early adult life, I have often turned to poetry for inspiration (Whitman), beauty of language and the power of metaphor (Donne, Herbert) simplicity (Jonson), quiet reflection and rhyme (Seth) escapism (Nash, Lear) or the sheer beauty of words (Neruda). And while the uplifting and inspiring works of Whitman or the drama in Donne's works have at various times blown away and enchanted me, more often than not I turn to poetry for gloom, subtlety and irony, which is were Frost, Daruwalla and to some extent, Vikram Seth give rich dividends.