Please click on the image to get a larger resolution.
This is Shiva depicted as Neelakant (The Blue Throated One) You will find the myth behind that powerful figure in this story.
Somehow I don’t think that Lin had these ideas in mind when she suggested the topic for today’s LBC’s weekly posts when a few of us write on the same subject.
Perhaps this is what she had in mind.
You’ll see pretty browns in beautiful gowns You’ll see tailor-mades and hand-me-downs You’ll meet honest men and pick-pockets skilled You’ll find that business never closes Till somebody gets killed
If Beale Street could talk, if Beale Street could talk Married men would have to take their beds and walk Except one or two, who never drink booze And the blind man on the corner Who sings the Beale Street Blues
He said, “I’d rather be there than anyplace I know Yes, I’d rather be here, than anyplace I know It’s gonna take the Sergeant, for to make me go”
I’m goin’ to the river, maybe by and by Yes, I’m goin’ to the river and there’s a reason why Because the river’s wet and Beale Street’s done gone dry.
And what would life be without some ups and some downs. Without the one we won’t be able to recognise the other when that comes around. And this is true on a daily basis too. To be totally placid is well nigh impossible and I must confess that I do have my daily ups and downs and would not have it any other way.
This topic was suggested by Maria the gaelikaa, for the weekly Friday Loose Bloggers Consortium where currently nine of us write on the same topic every Friday. I hope that you enjoyed my contribution to that effort. The seven other bloggers who write regularly are, in alphabetical order, Ashok, gaelikaa, Lin, Maxi, Padmum, Pravin, Shackman and The Old Fossil. Do drop in on their blogs and see what their take is on this week’s topic. Since some of them may post late, or not at all this week, do give some allowance for that too!
It is difficult to believe that this one song changed my life. Believe me, it did. I have given a version where there is Satchmo’s trumpet takes the center stage, but the lyrics for the song is what changed my life.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child Sometimes I feel like a motherless child Sometimes I feel like a motherless child Long way from my home Sometimes I wish I could fly Like a bird up in the sky Oh, sometimes I wish I could fly Fly like a bird up in the sky Sometimes I wish I could fly Like a bird up in the sky Closer to my home
Motherless children have a hard time Motherless children have-a such a hard time Motherless children have such a really hard time A long way from home
Sometimes I feel like freedom is near Sometimes I feel like freedom is here Sometimes I feel like freedom is so near But we’re so far from home.
Now for how that song changed my life. This was way back in 1968 when I was dating Urmeela who subsequently became my wife. I used to go to her home in the evenings whenever I was in town, free from my touring responsibilities and we would inevitably end up having a sing song session with some other friends and her brothers joining in. Urmeela herself could play the piano but since we would be sitting out in the courtyard, she would not participate but would enjoy the sessions.
At that time, this song was one of those songs that simply would not go from my thoughts. I now understand that it is a form of tinnitus, a condition that affects one in ten of us. But while tinnitus is usually a buzzing, ringing or whistling sound in the ear, without any obvious source, in some people it could take the form of phantom music. I go through such periods even now and there is a particular tune that has bugging me the last week or so which will not go away.
To come back to my story, my late mother in law was very fond of this song and would ask me to sing this without fail and so it became my signature song as it were.
A lot of water flowed down the Musi before I discovered that the song changed my life for ever.
When Urmeela and I decided to get married the matter was discussed in a family gathering at her place when my mother in law gave her approval for the idea by saying in excellent Hyderabadi Telugu, that I was a good choice because I could sing well and particularly that song about being a motherless child.
The rest is history.
After all these years however, it has become a fact rather than just feeling sometimes like a motherless child, I am one now and so is Urmeela’s son. He became one four years ago today, as I write this post for scheduling it for the coming Friday.
I hope that you enjoyed reading this post on the weekly Friday Loose Bloggers Consortium where eleven of us write on the same topic. Today’s topic has been chosen by Maria The Silver Fox. The ten other bloggers who write regularly are, in alphabetical order, Delirious, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Maxi, Maria SF, Padmum, Paul, Shackman, The Old Fossil and Will. Do drop in on their blogs and see what their take is on this week’s topic. Since some of them may post late, do give some allowance for that too!
When a friend sent me a link to a YouTube link for a video on Louis Armstrong and Danny Kaye singing ‘When The Saints Go Marching In’, it brought back so many memories to me that I wanted to share some with some of my younger friends.
I forwarded the link to some who are jazz enthusiasts and one of them Sandeep, promptly got back to me about how much Danny Kaye reminded him of ‘Crank’s Ridge”. Apparently Danny Kaye’s daughter, Dena Kaye set up a hospital there which is operational even today.
Sandeep, a keen runner, trekker, mountaineer and an enthusiastic, if somewhat irregular blogger, decided to blog about what this chain of memories brought back to him and has written a fascinating blog – “Up On Crank’s Ridge: Where It’s Always 1969.”
You can learn a lot about Almora, the town nearest to Crank’s Ridge if you google for it as you can about Crank’s Ridge itself. I have been to Almora but not to Crank’s Ridge. When it was suggested that I go there by my friend in Almora, I as usual joked about the name and said I want nothing to do with Cranks. Apparently, even before all the notables mentioned by Sandeep discovered Almora, it was called Crank’s Ridge either after some British Colonial named Crank, which is quite likely, or due to the British calling it so, because cranks kept going there. I would not know. It however appears that before too long, I may just find out.
Sandeep plans to settle down close to Crank’s Ridge and has promised me a hut in a corner of his estate where I could quietly meditate on my navel. He promises me that, while all the money that would be collected from devotees visiting me will be kept by him, he will not interfere with the female devotees. What a considerate friend to have!