My quest continues... not just for that magic word which would do justice to music, but also to find the path that would let me fully comprehend the gift my dad had given
me a long, long time back...
me a long, long time back...
I was searching for the right word, a politically correct word rather, to replace “intoxicated” in the phrase “intoxicated by music”. The question was posed by a dear one. According to her, the word intoxicated was negative, while music is all about positives. “You can't talk about it as though it's cheap liquor,” she said.
“Yeah right,” I nodded, quickly opening another tab in my browser to click on dictionary.com - where I generally find answers to all the problems posed by work and life these days.
Damn! No help there.
“The synonyms will all sound negative to her,” I muttered under my breath, “she being staunchly against alcohol.”
“But doesn't alcohol cleanse wounds,” I had attempted the old reasoning on her once, the one which all “spirited” ones try. To which she didn't reply, but her silence gave me the answer.
She wasn't that silent in her non-acceptance of “Orgasmic” though, but she agreed that it comes close. “But it is still not the word I want.” Man, she is stubborn!
The English-language journalist in me had his back to the wall with this one. I told her I will search for it when I get time to think.
“Right now I am watching that big-man Chris Gayle dismantle Mumbai Indians bowlers in the Indian Premier League (IPL) ‘semi-final’, the result and report of the cricket match I've got to edit and package and put it on paper for tomorrow's edition baby,” I said.
Now here is Gayle, the larger than life Jamaican, who, if it was the renaissance and exploration era, would have been a buccaneer for sure. Johnny Depp, listen up, why isn't Gayle a character in your Pirates of the Caribbean Franchise? Big loss Maan!
Instead, the West Indies destroyer is wreaking havoc for another Franchise here in India - at the IPL, playing for the ‘King of Booze Times’ (oops ‘King of Good Times’) Vijay Mallya's Royal Challengers Bangalore team.
Mallya, arguably the one and only Billionaire Playboy in the Indian Parliament (assuming the rest of them are just billionaires who don't play), believes and practices the “Law of Conservation of Matter”.
For the benefit of the uninitiated to the ways of science I shall give you the definition here, hope I am right. The Law states that: “Matter can never be destroyed. It can only be transformed to other forms.”
Just replace “Matter” with “Money” in Mallya's case and you will unlock the secrets to his billions, stashed in beer barrels.
Here's someone who's made big bucks through “cheap liquor”.
And he is using the money to fly, to drive F1 cars, to sail, to party, not to mention the expensive players he has roped in to play for his team, providing, again, cheap thrills for the average Indian through the IPL. The people in turn will revel in their team's victory or drown in its defeat, finding solace and cheers in - no prizes for the guess - CHEAP booze, what else.
(But please note that with ‘CHEAP booze’ I mean the quality of the spirits and not the price tag.)
Mallya gets his money back, no matter what, states his law of conservation of money.
Meanwhile, Gayle delivered for Royal Challengers as they made it to their first final in the four-year history of the IPL, while my office boy delivered the cup of coffee I ordered to keep my senses awake, a long night I was expecting.
But I ended up staying at office longer than I imagined...
Nay, it was not work. The relative boredom of composing and sending pages, with a creative garnish of a headline here and there, went smoothly enough.
But my plans to hit the road all changed the moment we all decided to plan a movie.
“Kung Fu Panda,” the decision was unanimous.
And as we were checking our options for a weekday show, someone decided we needed music to spice up the guy-talks. I and my neighbour in office, James Hardy, have a decent collection of music with Hardy's stash being much more decent than mine. My folders do have its obscenities, the rather revealing videos I try to justify saying “the music is just awesome, listen to that” guys.
They all listened and then my phone rang. I didn't pick up. Why?
I was busy swaying to my new ringtone -- the theme music from the big daddy of all Kung Fu movies made in Hollywood -- Enter the Dragon.
Inspiring, this soundtrack used to be, still is by the way. It is genetic I guess.
My dad, who is one of the most senior Karate masters in Kerala, began his journey in martial arts way back in 1977 after watching this Bruce Lee flick. His life entered a new phase with that movie and this theme would have played its part too, I am sure.
In the tinsel world, this multi-star Warner Bros production changed the perception Hollywood had towards martial-arts movies forever and paved the way for oriental stars like Jackie Chan and Jet Li to become world icons. Bruce Lee became the saint, a martyr in a way, which every institution needs - be it political, religious, or the arts.
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| Jeet Kune Do emblem |
The Saint Lee had his set of disciples too, who followed his religion in martial arts - one which erased all the boundaries between styles and forms. His ‘Jeet Kune Do’, which means ‘the way of the intercepting fists’, was a style which was, according to Bruce Lee, “the best of all the arts brought under one form, a fighting style without any style”: A hybrid of Kung Fu, Karate, Judo and Jujitsu, wrestling, Taekwondo, Muay Thai and even western boxing among others.
Bruce Lee did have his critics and purists - masters and exponents from various arts - regularly challenged him to prove his claims about Jeet Kune Do. It is said that Bruce obliged them all and proved his point too. Naturally he would have done it with ease.
When death caught him unawares in 1973, at the young age of 33, he was in his prime, his prowess and physical sharpness clearly evident on screen in his Magnum Opus, Enter the Dragon, the final stroke of a genius.
The Kung Fu part of Jeet Kune Do had its firm base in the ‘Foshan Wing Chun’ style, the first form Bruce Lee learnt under the legendary Hong Kong master Yip (Ip) Man. A close combat style, whose famed hand movements were used extensively by Bruce Lee for his movie fight sequences.
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| Bruce Lee in the legendary climax of Enter the Dragon where he takes on the villain Yan in his mirror chamber |
But the “Dragon's” fight moves were not the object of attention in office this day. It was the music from his most famous movie, present in which are the immortal scenes that made him a legend, including the fight with the villian ‘Yan the Iron Fist’ in his mirrored lair.
My unusually loud ringtone attracted ears from a usually silent corner of the office too - the international-cum-nation desk. I could see Mr Kumaraguru's (Guru Sir) eyes sparkle as he listened and smiled to the beats of the theme which was composed by the renowned Argentine director Lalo Schifrin.
Guru came up to me, telling me it was “super” and asked me to play the ringtone one more time. I decided to play the full version from my hard-disk.
Guru was happy and was at his smiling best as he appreciated my jukebox act with his usual nod which I always felt had the grace and ‘discipline of motion’ of an officer from the armed forces.
Guru Sir is around 5-ft 8-inches tall or there about, lean and dresses in semi-formals generally. He carries himself around office conveying a deep and discreet disposition seen in men we term these days as “old fashioned”. And I attributed his sudden attachment to a 70’s martial arts movie theme to him being from the retro generation.
How wrong I was.
Guru went back to his seat to complete the night’s job while Hardy, I and designer Kannan went about jobless - listening to songs and bitching about bosses.
It was way past midnight, and around 1.30 or so in the morning, when we decided to head for our summer-heated beds at home.
“Let me take a smoke first, come out we will talk at the stairs,” Kannan's last wish. I said “yeah.”
We were standing at the stairs when Guru Sir came out, smiling again. He was going home.
Our talk went back to Enter the Dragon. Apparently, Guru is a big fan of Bruce Lee and we were sharing our passion with words while Kannan was adding his inputs to the fact agreed by many - Bruce being the best of the lot.
And after a rush of excited words which lasted about 15 minutes, Guru took a few steps down the stairs to go home to his wife and kids when he suddenly heard me mentioning about dad and Karate. He looked up again, and I knew he had decided to keep his family on hold for a little while more.
Apparently, he was a martial artist too and trained with his cousins under a friend who was a third Dan black belt in the Shito-Ryu school of Karate.
During my fighting days, I had come across a few Shito-Ryu fighters and the give-and-take encounters still make me smile and crave for more. But not now and certainly not with Guru, I was damn sure.
I mentioned about my dad (Xavier Master or Sensei Xavier to many) and about our style of Shorin-Ryu while Guru confessed that he never really trained the art. And from his words I realised he was right and the talk was not an attempt at humility which Karate students, except me of course, develop down the years.
“I didn't train the katas or the art. My friend used to train me and my cousins in sparring. It was fun. And mornings we used to do fitness exercises. It was tough, especially the frog jumps up the stadium stairs and all. And then we used to go to college where I used to sleep the whole time dead tired. And in the evenings I would get beaten up by my friend when we train free sparring. But it was fun,” Guru Sir opened up his memoirs in his slightly accented good English.
Again the talk went back to Bruce Lee. “Obviously this man was a big fan,” I told myself looking at Guru.
This time he demonstrated the speed of Lee’s 'back-fist' (Uraken in Japanese - an attack with the back of one’s fist), the technique which Lee uses to begin the systematic dismantling of O'Hara (Robert Wall - a Karate and kickboxing champ) in Enter the Dragon.
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| Bruce Lee takes on O'Hara (kick boxing and karate champ Robert Wall) in Enter the Dragon |
My dad was also very fond of the 'back-fist'. In fact my dad and I also at times, have employed it to score quick points off an attacking opponent who forgot to keep his guard up above his shoulders.
“Only fools rush in,” was my dad’s quick advice each time I got hit by his ‘back fist’ every time I rushed in blindly. It’s obvious my dad was an Elvis fan too, or else why would he use the line from one of The King’s famous songs all the time.
Guru Sir would have continued talking and I and Kannan would have chipped in our bit too. But then, he is a family man now, not the teenager who never used to mind getting kicked around by a black-belt. “We had so much fun then,” he smiled again before saying “Goodnight”.
Something else amazes me though. Guru, like all the rest of us guys in office, takes a whole lot of stinky stuff from the big ones on the floor. But unlike me, who is known for occasional emotional trips, Guru handles it very calmly. I haven't seen him lose his cool even once.
Now, we both have trained in Karate at one point and this Japanese art is supposed to reign in our tempers. I had trained the art as a whole, the full aspects of it including the art of fighting, while Guru Sir had trained just for sparring. But it seems, he had acquired the Zen of Karate much more than I did.
Maybe my sense of Karate was diluted a little bit by my days as a fighter, where aggression and loads of it, helped me win bouts. The dilution was further heightened by the occasional creative indulgences, or rather excesses, in the last couple of years.
And the final straw would have been the lack of training. My dad used to say, “Karate training is like tempering Iron for a Katana (Japanese sword). The sword-smith has to bend and beat the metal. Then heat it, bend it, beat again and again, a million times probably, till it is the finished product. And then the warrior or the Samurai has to prime the sword again, with sweat. Just like that, a Karateka should train and heat himself day in day bout till his reflexes and techniques and mind becomes as sharp as a sword, sparkling and deadly.”
My dad also had a simple view on arguably the most decisive edge in a fight -- speed.
“A person can only see and block an attack which is as fast as his own punch or kick,” my dad used to say in between counts while making me train the reverse punch, which according to him was like a powerful shot from a sniper rifle.
“Bang, and it would be over,” he explained. “Emphasis should be on the power, speed and of course accuracy,” the Shorin-Ryu way.
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| PM Xavier, my dad, executes a side kick during a demonstration at his Dojo in Fort Kochi in the early 1980's |
The truth behind my Sensei's above mentioned insight into the art of fighting I realised the hard way during a tournament, when, in the semi-finals, I was knocked down by a punch which I didn't see coming.
It was that fast. I got up though and managed to bleed and huff my way around him to win the bout on a split decision, even though my dad was unhappy with the way I went defensive after ensuring a single point lead.
“You should have given it back and finished him off, that would have been the victory. You won't get a chance again,” he said. But then he also knew that the other fighter’s speed was too much for me and I had to be foxy for a win. But being a fighter to the core and not a businessman, my dad's heart was never happy with my win that day.
It took three days for the taste of blood in my mouth to subside. My dad waited too and the fourth morning, he took me to the backyard after warm-up. On the coconut tree trunk was tied a piece of sponge, barely thick to protect my knuckles, ensuring my fists will take 80 percent or so of the brunt from my punches.
By the way he was taking it easy on me. I have heard the grand-ma of my neighbour saying that my dad used to train on the same tree-trunk and he used to have just a few sheets of newspaper for cushion. I asked him about it.
“There used to be blood marks on the trunk,” he said before asking me to bend my knees to start my training. My dad was not keen on wasting time on chit-chat and believed in maintaining intensity even if one is just training for five minutes.
For the next month or so I used to spend my mornings punching at the tree trunk standing in Shiko-Dachi (deep stance with knees bent low) while my primary fighting focus – wrestling – was relegated to just evening mat sessions with the college wrestling team. My punches became crisper and faster and that's what my dad wanted.
Man, that’s history! Snap out of it, will ya?
“Ok, ok, chill, I am back,” I answered, trying to satisfy my inner voice, which is as cranky as me these days -- rational when I don’t need it to be and totally wacky when I want it to be level-headed.
Anyway, right now the “voice” pulled me back to the present day newsroom where I don’t need a crisp punch but a bridle for my temper and Guru seems to be having no problems at all with aggression.
His secret was maybe something else than the Zen of Karate altogether. Something I also have realised but failed to accept and act accordingly. It is true that the “significant ones” in office are so, so insignificant and minuscule in the bigger scheme of things collectively called life. In other words, they are not worth your anger.
Ah, anger management and its mysterious ways – wish I knew them!
My dad believed Karate helps one channelize that negative energy.
“But how,” I kept on questioning as I cycled back home after my martial arts episode with Guru. The query was playing inside my mind repeatedly like a stuck record in a gramophone.
Eureka!
Stuck record player! Probably that is the answer; probably it is music, the music of Karate - the resonance from the muscles performing a well-choreographed dance to the tunes coming from the trained mind. That is the music of Karate and it is intoxicating and it also calms one down.
There you go again: Back to the old question of replacing intoxicants while explaining music.
But while performing a Karate kata or training in its various forms, one does get into a trance, a war dance of sorts. All who have practiced the art will agree. And the music which induces the trance is indeed intoxicating.
Oh yeah! Maybe the word my friend is searching for is “trance”.
“That should explain it right?” I rang her up to ask her.
“No, it doesn't,” came the sharp reply, faster than any punch I have faced. How to train for this dad? Women!
My quest continues for the time being though. Maybe I should start practicing Karate. Its music might enlighten me to the word and many things more.
Or maybe, my friend George Poikayil, the wise one, who secretly reads my blog without acknowledging it, would pass a wise-guy comment as expected.
I can see it coming: “You don't know the word. What kind of an editor are you? Can't blame you though, sports journalist right, it's expected. The word is *******. Now thank me OK,” George, the business journalist will say, laughing his guts out.
I don't mind George. I don't mind at all.
Peace!
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