Reviews200 is my attempt at documenting the readings I do, without going into too many intricacies; keeping it simple and short, in less than 200 words.
Twilight in Delhi, Ahmed Ali
I probably read of this book in William Dalrymple’s City of Djinns. After much searching around, thanks to Flipkart, I finally got hold of it last weekend. First published in 1940, it was banned by the British for being subversive. But hardly any portion of the book is so and disappointingly, the book is more about a family who are descendents of Mughals than it is about Delhi. But Delhi remains an important character in the background though and the writer’s description of the city is flawless. Surprisingly some of descriptions still can be very closely related to the old Delhi of these times. The writing is poetic and the book serves as an important document revealing the times and culture of city during immediate preceding years to independence. The coronation of King George V in Delhi durbar is well described. Apart from that, there are hardly any descriptions of British in Delhi.
Of so many other things, the British have to be credited again for coming up with the practice of postage stamps. Sir Rowland Hill, knighted for reforming British Postal System, is called Father of Postage Stamps. Prior to postage stamps, postmarks depicting the charges were imprinted and the charges were to be paid by the recipient. Charges, exorbitantly high, were levied according to the distance and number of sheets used. And many a times; the receivers would refuse to pay. Rowland Hill’s famous pamphlet on Postal reforms suggested few novel but presumptuous changes: that charges be levied according to weight rather than distance; that postage be paid beforehand by the sender. For pre-payment of the postage, he suggested that small adhesive pieces of paper of various denominations be used those could be affixed on the postal materials. His proposals were accepted in 1839 amid skepticism and thus were stamps born.
An exhibition cover commemorating Sir Rowland Hill
Postal correspondence increased dramatically by over cent per cent in the first few months and in 1840, the world’s first postage stamps were introduced: Black Pennnies. They were imperforated. The system was a success and later replicated in various colonies of British and over the world. Stamps were first introduced in India in the province of Sindh in the year 1852. Scinde Dawks, as they were called, were of ½ Anna denominations each and were the first stamps to be used in Asia. These became obsolete in the year 1854 and were succeeded by Red Lithos of ½ Anna, 1 Anna, 2 Anna, and 4 Anna which could be used throughout British India. Red Lithos derived their name from the printing technology used, namely: lithography and were printed and designed in Calcutta. Present day India stamps are printed at Nashik Security Press.
The system of stamps was soon replicated in all the British colonies. The British stamps did not have name of the country imprinted — a tradition which continues to this day. Mostly the stamps would feature the face of the ruling queen or king of the British Empire. At the end of colonialism, several themes, important events, celebrities, monuments, flora and fan una et cetera were incorporated. Philately first emerged as a hobby in Germany. Britain, Germany and China caboast of most number of philately enthusiasts. Philately, once a passion restricted to elite, is now gaining prominence among everyone.
Black Pennies, 1840
Red Litho, 1854
Some important terms related to philately:
Definitive Stamps: are the general purpose stamps which one usually gets at postal counters. They are printed in bulk and are of cheaper paper and ink quality. They are printed over longer period of time. They are usually smaller in size.
India: First definitive Series
Commemorative Stamps: are used to commemorate important events of significance, important personalities, national resources et cetera. They are bigger in size, of glossy finishing, and of better paper and ink quality.
First Commemorative Stamps of India: Independence Series, 1947
Proofs: are samples of stamps prior to their printing, to check the quality of ink and design at various stages of production. Proofs are usually taken on hard cover of white paper and are dried and check-tested for results.
Proof to check the ink
Essays: are various designs of proposed stamps submitted to postal authorities. Not all essays are used. They are usually altered to better the quality of ink and design.
Essays to check various designs
Fiscals/Revenue: stamps are stamps used to taxation or bureaucratic purposes. If postal stamps are used, they’ll bear different cancellations.
Fiscal Stamps
Cancellations: the cancellation marks used on stamps. Various different types of cancellations are used and the value of stamps may depend upon the type of cancellation on it.
Used: stamps which are cancelled. Used stamps are usually of more significance to philatelists.
Mint: stamps which are not used. They gum is usually preserved else may decrease the value of stamp.
Watermark: the paper used to print stamps bears a watermark which can be seen against any light source. Same stamps may be printed on different watermark papers thus differentiating the value of stamps.
Catalogue: a book containing details of stamps in chronological order and stating the importance, valuations, and intricate details about stamps. Catalogues published by Stanley Gibbons are most widely used as a standard reference to valuations.
Denomination/Face-value: the value of stamps printed on it.
Catalogue-value: the value of stamps printed in a catalogue.
Perforations: are the holes punched to make the separation of stamps easy.
Perforation Gauge: is used to measure the perforation of the stamps. Same design of stamps may be printed with different perforation values.
Perforation Gauge
Gutters: are hardly used these days. These are spaces between blocks of perforated stamps to make separation of stamps easy.
A Gutter Block
Dyes: the die used to print stamps. Same stamps are sometimes printed using different dyes.
Shades: are again little color variations used to print the same design of stamps.
Maximum cards: are the post cards of the same design as stamps with the stamp pasted and cancelled on the picture sides, on the date of release of stamp. These are usually sold to philately enthusiasts.
A Maximum Card
First Day Covers: are colorful envelops on the theme of stamp with the stamp affixed an cancelled on the date of release; again targeted towards stamp collectors.
A First Day Cover
O.H.M.S: abbreviation of On His Majesty’s Service. Cancellations on government stationary during the time of British Empire.
OHMS
Omnibus: issue of stamps of the same or nearly same design by more than one country; usually, in the times of British Empire.
Omnibus: Same design of stamps used for different Commonwealth Nations
Specimens: are stamps sent to various postmasters across the countries to be used as reference so that forgeries and fake stamps can be avoided. They have ‘SPECIMEN’ imprinted on them.; practiced mostly in the times of British Empire.
Specimen
Hinges: are small gummed pieces of paper used to affix stamps on sheets by stamp collectors. Hinged stamps are valued lesser than unhinged ones.
Hinges
Mounts: are transparent plastic covers used to protect stamps from external environment and affix them on collector’s sheets.
Mounts
Tongs: are tweezers used to handle stamps as using hands may affect the design and gum parameters.
Tongs
Overprints: are texts printed on stamps. Princely states in India would use the British stamps with the name of their state overprinted on it. A country’s stamps may be overprinted for use in abroad.
Pairs: two stamps which are un-separated.
Square: a square block of stamps; usually four.
Stock album: An album with plastic strips to hold stamps.
A Stamp Stock Album
Some of the most famous stamps:
British Guyana 1 cent Magneta, 1856:
Said to be the most famous and rare of all the stamps by philatelist. Only one of its kinds is known to exist today. Several controversies surrounding the originality of the stamp, its estimated price (Stanley Gibbon catalogue price) is more than one and a half million pounds.
Mauritius “Post Office”, 1847:
These stamps have legendary status among philately enthusiasts. Instead of imprinting “Post Paid”, erroneously, “Post Office” was printed. This error was corrected in later issues. The design was inspired from ‘Black Pennies’. Estimated price: one million pounds.
InvertedHead Four Annas, India 1854:
It is an error variety of first lithos of India. The head of the Queen was mistakenly printed upside down. A few of such survive including one in the Govt. of India collection, New Delhi.
Scinde Dawks, 1852:
First stamps of Asia.
Black Pennies, 1840:
First stamps of the world.
Inverted Jenny, US, 1918:
Image of the aero plane was accidently printed upside down. Estimated price: half a million dollars.
Mahatma Gandhi, Rs 10, “Service” Overprint, 1948:
The Rs. 10 stamp was among the commemorative stamps issued on Gandhi and was for a brief period a hundred stamps were used as revenue stamps by Rajagopalachari, Governor of India. Later, it was observed that commemorative stamps should not be used as revenue stamps. Only eight such stamps survive. Forgeries of ‘Service’ overprint are known to exist.
Azad Hind Series:
Stamps designed in Nazi Germany for Subhash Chandra Bose's. These were un-perforated and never used (after unsuccessful attempt by the army to get freedom).
Shahrukh! OMG! You can not contain him in words. Those eyes of love, solitude, longing, want, fear, hatred, and jealousy; that face of thousand honest expressions, as if possessed, conveys what exactly he wants to; that intensity of moves, which would make any tune sound good; that baritone of his voice, which would fumble, pause, and rise in exact sync with his majestic face; the fluffy mane of his past, which you would otherwise mock, but as noble, pure, and honest as his smile. You cannot describe the Colosseum to someone who is blind, you cannot describe an orgasm to someone who is a virgin, and you cannot describe Shahrukh to someone who does not belong to Shahrukhism. Shahrukh is not just a cinema; it is much more than that. Like Sachin is not just a cricketer and Beatles is not just a band. There come may better actors, but no one will ever replicate Shahrukh. Like no one will ever replicate Sachin and Beatles. He can die with his legs up in the air and it will look good. He can romance a cow on screen and it will look good. He can be beaten down to ground and it will look good. He can wear most atrocious clothes, and do most atrocious acts, but with his touch of an alchemist, everything which is him will be gold. He can be a loser and a failure, and you’ll love him.
You don’t need to write good roles for him, you don’t need to write good dialogues for him, you don’t need to design good clothes for him, you don’t need to create good songs for him; at the end of the day, it will be Shahrukh who’ll be enacting them, it will be Shahrukh who’ll be speaking those lines, it will be Shahrukh who’ll be wearing those clothes, and it will be Shahrukh who’ll be dancing to them. He’ll be the cynosure of everything, in perfect control of anything around him. It is easy to be a good actor. It really is. But it is impossible to be a Shahrukh. Try replacing anyone in any single shot of Shahrukh and you’ll know what I am talking about (Heck! You cannot chase the baddies on a rickshaw or haggle to buy a watermelon for the lead-lady and still manage to look that cool!). Shahrukh can pull off anything and make it real; make it believable. Sharukh always strikes the right chords. When you see him, you own him; you think he’s all yours; he’s someone you would want your father to be like, he’s someone you would want your brother to be like and he’s someone you would want your son to be like. Shahrukh is believable. Shahrukh is cool. Portraying the fallacies and weakness of a common man can only be Shahrukh’s forte. And he’s magical in that.
Shahrukh off screen is an equal delight. While the rest from his fraternity can carry off nothing more than a chuckle or giggle while looking dumb and annoying, Shahrukh knows, each and every time, what he’s talking about. Super-intelligent will be an understatement. He has wits which are genuine, and he has words which make others look illiterate. His brain and reactions work at the speed of light, and still all he’ll say will be meaningful and will have a right combination of philosophy, humor and sarcasm. He has what all his peers lack: a presence of mind. He’s the true off-screen show-man. You may hate his performances, but you’ll be overdoing if you hate him as a person.
Shahrukh is not perfect, and I would have not liked him had he been one. His imperfections are his charm, like the vulnerability of Sachin in his nineties. It adds to his awe. It’s like wondering for an instance how beautiful Michelangelo’s Pieta would’ve been without those broken pieces, and then thinking that the broken pieces actually add to the beauty of the sculpture. Shahrukh never gave his best; he always gasps you in want of more. I doubt he would be excited to give his all even in his swansong performance. Shahrukh is not about details, you’ve to appreciate the whole panorama. He’s a painting which you cannot absorb in a single view. You want to see it again and again.
An actor should be judged solely on the basic of his silver-screen performances. Not on the basis of awards, recognitions, fan-followings, and box office. His personal life and his background should be nobody’s business. But if you still want to use such parameters for Shahrukh, do your own mathematics.
Shahrukh’s success is a success of a common man. And it is the only reason you may hate him. It is a success which all of us dreamt of, but hardly achieved. Yes, people wonder how a mediocre looking guy coming from nowhere can storm the whole world. WHOLE WORLD! This observation fuels jealousy and hatred. You wonder what he has in him that took him that high. It makes you feel restless. Shahrukh is a winner any day. He’s not an underdog. People love when underdogs perform. And unfortunately, all his underdog companions have been surprisingly incompetent and that again is Shahrukh’s fault. When his peers succeed ephemerally, they are hailed and no one remembers their bulk serial failures of the past. Shahrukh’s success is taken for granted, but his failures are archived and more intensely mocked. Even in his success, dots of failures will be searched. When his peers promote their projects by giving haircuts to public and traveling in rickshaws across the nation dressed as jokers, they are lauded and termed innovative; when Shahrukh outscore them, it is just shameless marketing. When movies with no story succeed and shirts tear off by it selves, they’re cult-classics; but each of Shahrukh’s movies is sharply analyzed on the balance of logic. A sixty-year bald actor with his clownish acts is a demi-god on screen, but they never fail to count the forehead creases of Shahrukh who unlike his peers, thanks to his injuries, cannot take help of Botox to look young.
They have tried everything possible to match his success. Some have tried to pretend ‘different’ and act as the ‘art-house’ of Hindi-Cinema (it no doubt works, for people too need to fake their elitism by pretending to like such ‘art’). Others are desperately finding solace in remaking southern hits shot-to-shot. May they all succeed. They need all such tactics for they all are mechanical and expressionless. They all are insecure and it is perceivable how difficult it must be for them to hold their ground. But it was Shahrukh who first changed the laws of cinema well back when he started. He made the audience believe that heroes can be bad, heroes can cry, and heroes need not flex their muscles all the time. No matter what others say, Shahrukh changed all the conventions, truly as the first iconoclast of Hindi cinema. Shahrukh is the benchmark of everything. All accomplishments in Hindi-cinema are and will always be compared to that of Shahrukh! Does one need to say anything more?
Shahrukh is termed shallow because he wants to have all the money in this world. He unfortunately does not accept the morals we impose on him. But thank god he’s not pretentious. Thank god he does not sit for Medha Patkar’s causes without actually understanding what they are about (only to run away later when they vandalize and halt your movie screenings). Thank god he does not second Anna’s campaign just for the heck of him. We did not see him when the Olympic torch arrived in the country. He does not belong to there. But he’s always at places where he belongs to, and he challenged the so called tiger in his “own den” while reiterating his statement backing Paki cricketers. Shahrukh is shallow because he does not care what people think of him. He works day and night so that he can have enough money when he’s old and feeble. He’s an artist who now seeks commerce over estheticism, who now prefers glamour and indulgence over abstinence. He’s the Indian god for hedonism. We all the hedonists but hate him for the very same reason. Because he's excelling at it.
Millions of people across the globe cannot go wrong. Respect their judgments. And no one can argue that his name has transcended the barriers of nations, languages, and religion like no one else. It is, it is difficult and beyond the imagination of most of us, the fan-following he enjoys overseas. He’s unarguably, the most recognized Indian man alive in the world. The world knows just his face. But even if he hadn’t achieved all of this, he would have been this charismatic.
To me, cinema is nothing but Shahrukh. I’ve cried and laughed with him every time. I wanted to scream my lungs out when I was next to Mannat. I, unfortunately, don’t understand any other actors. I’ve tried, really, again and again but failed. But I am sure they all are good. But I just don’t get them. And it’s okay if you don’t get Shahrukh. Yes, each of you has your own taste of cinema. You may hate him to your core. You may make fun of everything which is him. You may think he’s ugly and not a hero in Hindi-cinema sense. I would understand all of that, but still pity that you would never experience the array of emotions we, the followers of Shahrukhism, experience every time we see him. Shahrukhism is not an elite cult, but still pity that you don’t belong to it. And more pity that you cannot convert to Shahrukhism for if you are not into it, you cannot be into it. And those who belong to it will know what I am talking about. For the rest, this post will mean no more than, a maudlin paean, a drama, a joke? To rest, all in the name of Shahrukh Khan, he has promised to entertain us as long as he lives. The milestone may say forty-six, but picture abhi baki hai mere dost…
His sons did not listen to him. He would plead Bashrat every month and Saqib every other, as they took turns to take care of him in his last days, to take him back home.
“I’ve to refurbish the interiors of John & King gallery in West London next week. The firm will recommend my name for lifetime-membership of Royal Society of Architects if they like my work,” Bashrat would say.
“The molar-surgery of Mr. Neville Hitchkraft is scheduled this Friday. He’s a former Labour Party MP from Manchester,” Saqib would argue.
His memory was betraying him but the images of Firozpur, his white-painted home, and childhood afternoons spent under the mango-garden, survived.
And finally, one day, after seventy two years and five months and twenty-one days after Abdul Ali first left India — on a ship from Bombay to London with the help of a Parsi gentleman, Faramroz Wadia, to study Law — his soul abandoned his body. And against his wishes, they buried him not in Firozpur, the homeland of his ancestors in India, but thousands of miles away, uprooted and exiled in London.
His soul swam across the Atlantic for thirty days, wandered across the Sahara for a year, before sympathetic djinns showed him the right directions, braved the black-magic of gypsies in Arabia for sixteen months, and coiled itself in a corner of an unoccupied cabin; on a ship to Bombay from Aden. Its resolution to see its homeland and its mango-garden helped it survive all those adversities. In Bombay, it overheard and followed a Sikh family; journeyed with them in an overnight train to Amritsar. Overjoyed, it was the first to jump off the train before the train halted completely. It ran as fast as it could for the next three hours before it reached Firozpur.
The Sun was high and the town was abandoned. Its eyes looked for the mango-garden, where it was to spend each of its forthcoming day and night. But there was no mango-garden. Instead, there was a barbed-fencing on both sides as long as it could see. There were tanks and cannons, and men with guns patrolling on each side.
To its shock, it saw several of its kind: souls of the dead in-between the two fences; in no man’s land. They were laughing and celebrating. They were cheerful and loud. They seemed happy and content. They belonged to no country. They saw it and they knew it existed. They called it over and asked it,
“What do you look for?”
And after two years and five months and seven days, Abdul Ali’s soul spoke for the first time,
“Where are my mango-trees?”
They all looked at each other and then at him before an old-man’s soul answered,
“There are no mango trees across the LoC. Years after you left they divided this country. Hindus and Muslims…”
“Yes. I know that,” Abdul Ali’s soul screamed, “I know all of that.” It almost cried.
“Some religion-fanatics came that day,” the old man’s soul continued with coldness, “and they argued if the trees were Hindus or Muslims; that they should remain in India or go to Pakistan. They asked the branches, the leaves, and the fruits, to what religion they belonged, but none would answer. They would come every day to shout and curse, but the trees would not answer. And one night, someone burned the trees.”
“They burned my trees?! They killed my trees? The only reminiscence of my childhood!” Abdul Ali’s soul shrieked with a pain that penetrated the calmness of the dead. The Sun dimmed in brightness and the wind stopped blowing. And the soldiers patrolling across the border felt restless.
“Next morning there was a massacre. The Hindus accused Muslims. The Muslims accused Hindus. The Hindus killed Muslims. The Muslims killed Hindus. The Hindus raped the brides of Muslims. The Muslims raped the brides of Hindus. The Hindus burnt the children of Muslims. The Muslims burnt the children of Hindus. The Hindus blamed the Muslims of starting it. The Muslims blamed the Hindus of starting it. There was blood of the Hindus. There was blood of the Muslims. The blood of the Hindus was red. The blood of the Muslims was red.” the old man’s soul completed.
Abdul Ali’s soul fell on ground; and when the night was cold and the stars shone bright, it took its hands away from its face. And it saw:
Millions of like it, as long as it could see
Between those who lived, on both sides of LoC
Children of massacre, from here and from there
Now all dead, they chose to belong to nowhere
Some were killed in Punjab, and some in Sindh
All in the name of Pak, all in the name of Hind
Now living in peace, and living in unison
Because they had no names, and they had no religion
Abdul Ali’s soul, no longer longed for mango trees
It learnt from the dead, to bury sorry histories
The brothers across the fence, it wished could understand
The love which bonds, the dead of the no man’s land
It was summer of 2008. My friend from US, while discussing books, suggested that I read Twilight which was heading NY Times bestsellers since its release. According to her, it was the ‘avant-garde’ work of modern times. Those were the times of Orkut and sanity. The country was yet to import and witness the hype and mania surrounding the saga. Local bookstores were oblivious to the series but the store I patronized, promised me a copy in about ten days. Twenty days later, I had an overpriced imported copy of the book. The cover looked aesthete with a pair of hands holding a neat-fresh red apple in cusped palms over a complete black background. The title - twilight and author’s name – STEPHNIE MEYER were embossed in white at the top and bottom of cover respectively. Pages and fonts reminded me of cheap copies of pulp literature.
Long story cut short: the protagonist, a timid teen girl with ‘family-issues’ moves out to a new place and discovers that her ‘soul-mate’ is a vampire. A wolf-pack is touted against the vampire family to entwine the plot in later sequels. Apparently, the favorite pastime of all the characters in the saga is to protect the half-wit girl who has all the baddies vying for her blood. The writing was prosaic at best with irritating biblical undertones.
No hard-feelings towards Stephnie Meyer till then. But one day, they come up with a movie by the same name. All characters that came alive on the screen were necessarily beautiful and terribly incompetent as actors. The suave vampires had their faces and bodies painted white. The wild and brutal wolf-pack was characterized by their six-pack abs. Rob Pattinson, the chief vampire protagonist, who did the commendable job of maintaining a single grinning-cum-snaring expression throughout the movie, was giving Bills and Boon a run for their money. He was only overreached by Kristen Stewart, the female lead, who achieved the double feat of simultaneously fidgeting her hair while giving her signature constipated look and acting as dumb as she could.
And guys had a tough life. Girls went frenzy and copies of saga became their cult accessory. (Most of them, in their lives, had not read anything beyond Chacha Choudhary). Every girl-profile I trawled on Orkut would depict the love for Twilight. Dating standards went all time high. Every girl at campus grew smugger and meaner. Although, the saga emphasized the importance of having a boyfriend, anyone less than an immortal would not do for them. The girl I was dating suggested that I get a ‘Rob-cut’ (Yes! The first time I heard that word, I felt something inside my guts wanting to scream!) Damn Twilight. Damn Hollywood. Damn globalization. And yes, damn MTV movie awards as well! (All rich and dumb kids in West vote for it!) So, when this friend of mine, with her unfading excitement for the saga, mentioned how the lead protagonists are getting married in the next sequel, a thought ran down my mind. Bollywood can befittingly reply to the torture of Twilight and excel at that. All we need is a KJo.
If KJo were to make a remake of Twilight, the movie would be named either ‘Kuch Kuch Twilight hai’ or ‘Kabhi Vampire Kabhi Wolf’. He’d properly buy the rights for the remake rather than just remaking. And no prizes for guessing who the male protagonist will be: Shahrukh Khan. Of course he’s busy with his superhero commitments, but he can’t say ‘No’ to a KJo project and those who have watched the visual torture of Twilight can assure you; a vampire is no less than a superhero. And we all know how well Shahrukh can pull off the character of a student. Any of the KJo’s actresses can be cast as the female lead. They all look more or less dumb, but I think Kajal, dancing in the rain in a white saree, will add a new dimension to the character of Kristen Stewart while seducing the wolf-pack. Finding a wolf-pack would not be a major headache for KJo. New gen Hindi actors compensate for their acting skills with their six-packs. But obviously it will be a casting coup if KJo could persuade Salman Khan to enact the role of Taylor Lautner. It will be interesting to watch the Khan rivalry flame the silver screen. And man! He’s without his shirt all the time. The role of the aloof cop-cum-father should go to Big B. Of the baddies, I so much see (or want to see) Mallika Sherawat play the role of Victoria.
Obviously the story would be set in Switzerland and opening shot will depict Shahrukh, playing a violin and subsequently stretching his arms, waiting eternally for his true love. Contrary to Robert Pattinson, he can have as many expressions as he want on his face. The viewers will be free to choose the one they like and ignore the rest. Biology lab would replace classes on literature. (Of course the ones those teach the meaning of love) And songs choreographed by Farah Khan would see books and sarees flying. The Main Hoon Na prom dance can be re-enacted at the end before the credits roll.
With my limited knowledge from the one book I read, and one movie and few trailers I saw, this is all I see KJo doing. Of course with his creative freedom, he’ll stretch this by too far. The movie will surely be a hit in NRI strongholds (Indian audiences are getting too critical of Shahrukh these days) and Shahrukh will get another Filmfare for best actor. (Of course they’ll make him cry in the movie)
Post Scripts:
I would like to leave the portrayal of the marriage sequence to your imagination.
