I recently got back in touch with an ex-student of mine. Nicolitta, a teenager then, was gifted with facile technique, her performance bolstered by many years of practice and attention to detail while studying advanced works by the likes of Bach and Bartok. I recall visiting her leafy cottage in Bandra, and after a piano session over the obligatory cup of tea and snacks, watched her kickstart an old Bullet motorbike and take a cautious ride in the crowded, narrow winding lanes outside her house. That was the first time I glimpsed the hidden spitfire in her. In time, we parted. I moved to Canada, she went on to use her seamstress skills designing bridal wear and garments for export.

A passion is however hard to kill – Nicolitta is now a seasoned dirt bike rider, having come to terms with high altitude sickness, bike breakdowns and the fact that she can be regarded as somewhat of an unusual spectacle in rural male-dominated India. She has undertaken extensive trips to remote places and has shot some breathtaking stills on the way. Her latest adventure released on DVD with four other fellow bikers of the motorcyle club ’60kph’ was filmed by Gaurav Jain of Dirt Track Productions – a solo effort with no tech crew or support across a route that no GPS or map has recorded. I recently watched this award winning documentary - a beautiful film with geographical chapters unfolding a spectacular journey, sometimes raw, but always real. This is not your typical ‘bike tour’ with luggage being towed by an alternate form of transport and a Comfort Inn at day’s end. I can’t help but be proud of Nicolitta for chasing the dream against all odds to realize her passion. Here’s a trailer from the DVD:

The DVD was shipped to me in excellent tamper-proof wrapping and can be purchased here.

I was in Mumbai (formerly Bombay, the name I find hard to discontinue using since I knew it as such for most of my life) during the month of November, on a vacation to visit family and friends. During this time, we visited our favourite haunts including the majestic Taj Hotel where we lunched at the Golden Dragon restaurant. I distinctly remember how impressed I was by the rich decor, classical ambiance and spaciousness of this century old structure. A few things were different I sensed, compared to my last visit seven years ago. There were more people for sure – milling in the lobby and at the entrance, with hundreds more just outside the periphery of the Taj, a spill over from the squeeze of visitors to the Gateway of India. Just outside the lobby, at the foot of the gleaming marble stairs, was a solitary narrow metal detector that visitors had to pass through before entering the hotel. It looked ugly, out of place in these surroundings, and hardly seemed effective. Once inside the hotel lobby, we tried to capture some video footage on our camcorder of the enormous room with the stunning chandelier and artefacts, but were politely asked to refrain from doing so, as we would be “offending guests”. (Had the staff been instructed to curb people from filming the interiors for security reasons, or was it truly because we might offend the sensibilities of guests and intrude their privacy, albeit in a fairly public place?)

A few days later, we were enjoying an exquisite Indian buffet spread at a restaurant in another 5-star hotel a few kilometres away at an area popularly know as the Juhu beach. There was an outdoor wedding reception taking place on the beachfront. We saw headlines flash by on the restaurants big screen TV - there had been shootings at the main railway station in Mumbai, then at the Metro cinema in South Bombay. Within minutes, the channel was showing raw footage of the aftermath of gun attacks at Leopold’s Cafe. We thought it might be gang-related, but Leopold’s was hardly the kind of venue for assassinations of this sort. It was essentially a tourist hangout, and its clients didn’t didn’t seem to be sort who might be involved in trouble of this nature. Within few minutes we heard that the Taj was under attack, and there were gunshots in the Oberoi hotel lobby. My brother, who was dining with us, and who also manages a luxury hotel property in Bombay was on his Blackberry pretty much the rest of the night asking his staff to secure the hotel gates, and to screen ID’s of all guests. It was difficult to swallow further morsels of food after this. Then the bomb explosions in North Bombay.  We knew at this point the police were on the street, and curfew had been imposed. Our hotel had closed its gates, but the restaurant staff were still on duty, serving guests and going about their duties, making sure we did not rush through our meal. However, we decided that it would be in our best interest to head homeward as soon as possible.

As we all know, Bombay was shaken by some of the most horrific terrorist attacks that night. The Golden Dragon restaurant we visited a few days earlier at the Taj was one of the venues targeted by the killers, the hotel as we all know, a major portion of it destroyed by fire. A couple from NYC (who incidentally had table reservations at the Golden Dragon) detailed their harrowing experience in a Forbes interview and in an interview with Charlie Rose, commended the Taj hotel staff, most of them who put their lives at risk and some who died in turn.

A saga that lasted nearly three days, it was a disaster in crisis management. The city is not used to guns and automatic weapons. It takes two years or more to get a license to own a gun, so most security guards do not carry one. The most common form of a weapon is a lathi or a wooden cane, still popular with the police force, mainly used as a crowd control measure. And if they do carry guns, they haven’t been fired in years. It was nerve wracking to to see a lone firefighter perch on a wall across the second floor window of the Taj trying to douse the raging flames with no bullet proof vest or armour, with no policeman or agent covering him, a sitting duck for the terrorists. Most Bombayites wanted to hear from Ratan Tata, chairman of the Tata Group that owns the hotel, and heads the vast Tata empire. Ratan, like his predecessors in the Tata family is known for his patronage of art and culture. The Taj had a treasure of irreplaceable paintings, old maps, artefacts and several modern works. Many were lost in the fire. Fareed Zakaria interviewed him soon after, and it was no surprise that he was frustrated by the slow response to this catastrophe.

And so, in some twisted way I admit was glad to have been there when this happened. At least, if nothing, an expression of solidarity with my city folk. Life is tough for most of the population here on just a normal day. Water shortages, traffic jams, dust and pollution, failures of the power grid, poverty. Now bring into this equation, a recession and terrorism – amounting to an incredibly challenging time that is going to test the city to its gills, and one that I hope the city manages to survive with grace and determination.

[This travel article was published in the November 2007 issue of the Qatar-based feature magazine ‘New Era’.]

It is late afternoon, and I’m writing this article on a muggy, fall day in New York City’s Central Park. I’m seated on patchy grass after finding myself a hotspot (thanks to free wi-fi in the park), catching up on e-mail and news. I arrived here on the comfortable Acela train from Boston, three and a half hours of super-smooth travel that skirted the Eastern seaboard with barely a whisper. Since my arrival, I’ve been drawn into a gritty, urban state of mind, while savouring the ability to keep walking for hours, being simultaneously assaulted and lulled by the sights and sounds of Manhattan. In contrast, the park is an anticlimax – a green cocoon of quiet; free of exhaust and the taut energy that wraps the avenues outside. The purpose of my visit? None really. I have no appointments to keep, no deadlines to meet. I’m staying at the New Yorker Hotel, in midtown Manhattan. Built in the art deco style of the jazz swing era, it was one of NYC’s premier hotels and hosted famous big bands such as those led by Benny Goodman and Woody Herman during its heyday. Unfortunately it stands in various states of disrepair today, but its location is hard to beat, offering an almost instant access to several key tourist spots and vistas in the city core. Situated a few blocks north is Times Square and Central Park, and to the South, Lower Manhattan and the Village with its interesting, funky neighbourhoods such as SoHo, Chelsea, Little Italy and Chinatown.

New York City has one of the highest land use densities in the world, and its street design and flow is based on the grid system, using straight lines and right angles. Parking in the city requires an investment of several hours a week, a cool and perseverant mind, and the likelihood of several parking tickets, which is why most residents prefer using public transportation or a bicycle. Nevertheless, it is a breeze to navigate the perpendicular geography of this walker’s city. The streets reflect the American ideal of a ‘melting pot’, and I overhear different tongues and accents as I pass by rows of closely packed shops, convenience stores and restaurants. A few blocks later, I am met with sweeping concrete towers of business and commercial edifices, laying testament to the fact that every neighbourhood has something different to offer, and the environment can change as rapidly as the change in the Avenue or street number.

I’m a great fan of street food, and beyond the predictable such as pretzels and hot dogs, there is an array of ethnic foods which has gone mainstream in New York. The past few years have seen a proliferation of mostly immigrant-owned stands selling kebabs, gyros and falafel, and the city even has a ‘Vendy awards’ that rewards the best carts in the city, while also acting as a union to provide the vendors a voice. Rahman, a beaming young man, originally hailing from Pakistan, had his cart stationed near the Rockefeller Center. Drawn by a mixture of hunger and enticing aromas, I purchased a couple of terrific chicken and lamb rice plates from him. Topped with a mysterious, but delicious white yoghurt sauce, the meat was succulent and infused with Eastern spices, the rice was long-grained basmati, redolent with delicate seasonings. There were more impromptu al fresco dining choices including Jamaican jerk chicken, South Indian dosas, barbequed pulled pork, French crepes and Mexican chili and burritos, but stuffed to the gills by now with Rahmans’ culinary offerings, I opted instead for a small paper bag of freshly roasted honey almonds to satisfy my sweet tooth.

A visit to the ongoing AES (Audio Engineering Society) convention at the Javits Center was a must – it is an annual event providing a meeting ground for the pro audio scientific elite and high profile manufacturers who shape the world of audio. More of an enthusiast than a participant, it was nevertheless fascinating to browse through the booths displaying recently announced products and offerings. A trip to the Blue Note jazz club (be prepared to share tables and be herded along with other strangers in a micro-space), and another to imbibe some refreshing sangria and tapas at a Spanish restaurant in the Village a little before midnight (seemingly, New York never sleeps) was an evening well spent. Times Square after dark was dazzling, a cacophony of voices and traffic, gigantic neon television screens that winked loudly at the swarms of locals and tourists below. I admit my noggin began to spin with the frenetic bustle and constant flashing of cameras around me. It was time to exit this spectacle and head back to the hotel.

It has been estimated that nearly half of all Americans today can trace their family history to at least one person who passed through the Port of New York, personifying NYC as the immigrant capital of the world. A quote by John Rockefeller, whose enormous influence is felt all over the city, sums up the spirit of New York best: “I believe in the dignity of labor, whether with head or hand; that the world owes no man a living but that it owes every man an opportunity to make a living.”

Ramona Borthwick is a jazz pianist who was classically trained. She lives in Boston, MA where she performs and teaches. Visit her on the web at: www.ramonaborthwick.com.

[This article was published in the August 2007 issue of the Qatar-based feature magazine 'New Era'.]

Attending the Montréal Jazz Festival in Canada has been a musical pilgrimage of sorts for me since emigrating to the West in 1994. A musical marathon, this festival spans eleven days and nights in the summer, turning the Western hemisphere’s largest French-speaking capital into an entertainment mecca for everyone from aficionados of pure jazz to its musical offshoots. By providing entertainment and plenty of other distractions to approximately two and a half million people, this festival overshadows both Canada Day and the Fourth of July, two big holidays in North America, with the European ambience strong enough to make one forget about anxieties south of the border such as war and terrorism.

Journeying from Boston northward through New Hampshire’s craggy granite White Mountains and the rolling pastoral hills of Vermont’s Green Mountains, the journey to Montréal takes approximately six hours by road. The interstate highways are beautiful and well maintained, the scenery awesome, and I’ve always reached Montréal fresh enough to venture out to the Festival venue immediately. My stay was at a cheerful little bed and breakfast in the Latin Quarter, just off Rue Denis, a street famous for its sidewalk café’s, bars and ethnic restaurants, making for a pleasant 15-minute walk to the festival venue. Rounding the corner onto St. Catherine’s Street brought an eclectic urban mixture of fast-food joints, art supplies stores, nightclubs, sex shops and a church or two.

The festival site encompasses the downtown core, four blocks of which are closed to traffic for the duration of the event. This certainly makes pedestrians feel special! With ten free outdoor stages set up on streets and in parks, as well as some dozen indoor venues (one usually pays for these) located in the same area, there are roughly 50 concerts per day showcasing around 3000 musicians and street performers. Impressive too is stage and sound setup at various venues. Being an outdoor festival it is prone to the vagaries of weather, but the technical and sound engineers are armed and ready for the occasional downpour and high winds. Preceded by a daily New Orleans style parade, shows start at 6PM and end at midnight, with audiences standing shoulder to shoulder in front of raised stages. There are many food and beverage vendors in the area and it is great fun to grab a hot dog and ‘poutine’ (a calorie laden Québécois comfort food consisting of French fries and fresh cheese curds topped with hot brown gravy) and wander through the festival. Getting a seat at a nearby restaurant to watch a show is practically impossible, unless you want to wait in queue for an hour and miss the musical acts.

The artists featured this year were a mixed bag – Bob Dylan, Keith Jarrett, Harry Connick, Jr., Cesaria Evora, Wynton Marsalis, Manu Chao, Zachary Richard and Francis Cabrel. The Invitation series (a series that runs through the duration of the festival) featured hosts Richard Bona and Mike Stern playing with other invited artists of their choice. Mega outdoor concerts included an Afro-beat party with Seun Kuti; a Brazilian carnival with Carlinhos Brown, and an Arabian evening featuring Rachid Taha. The festival is also known to be a launching pad for careers of lesser known acts, and this year it was bassist-singer Esperanza Spalding who impressed the crowds with her talent.

Promoted as a global ‘jazz’ festival – not all the music is jazz – there’s world, blues, rock and roll, funk, hip-hop, reggae and of late, even rave music and DJ’s on stage. I’ve noticed that in the past few years, the festival has been bringing in fewer jazz artists to perform. This year, by and large, would have been better termed generically a ‘music’ festival, with the occasional jazz thread running through. Many Montréalers feel that the “Festival International de Jazz de Montréal” has become too large for its own good, with the organizers being acquiescent to large sponsors who prefer to market their products rather than promote jazz artists and have the public listen to real jazz . The late night jam sessions at the Hyatt have a worn out air about them and participation by visiting artists has dwindled to a trickle. I miss the passion and creativity that was flying at these sessions during my earlier visits here.

As a musician, it was interesting to see two new side shows at the festival: the Montréal Musician and Musical Instrument Show (MMMIS) showcasing vendors in the music recording and software industry along with makers of digital instruments and gear; and the Montréal Guitar Show, where luthiers from all over the world exhibited their hand-crafted instruments.

I’d like to believe that jazz is the force that binds this festival together. I’ve heard tons of great music here that was celebratory, healing or cerebral; in settings from intimate duets to big bands. There have been bands from Scandinavia, Eastern Europe and Russia, artists from countries not usually heard in the US. My expectations to feast on a platter of jazz at this festival have diminished through the years, and to a certain extent I admit there’s a sense of disappointment. However, it’s the idea of a vacation combined with music that makes this trip worth repeating every year.

So, the abundance of music paired with lazy mornings followed by walks on the cobblestone streets of Old Montréal, sipping beer brewed in-house in large copper vats, tasting delectable treats at local patisseries and chocolatiers, sampling fresh produce at the farmers market and window shopping in Montréal’s trendy, chic malls, the International Jazz Festival of Montréal is a great place for music lovers who like also like to party on vacation. I know I’ll be returning next year.

Ramona Borthwick is a jazz pianist who was classically trained. She lives in Boston, MA where she performs and teaches. Visit her on the web at: www.ramonaborthwick.com.