I
I noticed the yellow Ambassadors in line. Not the faded yellow and black Fiats of Mumbai I was familiar with. No, these beasts were bigger, and a stately yellow ochre, top to bottom. I approached the first of these beasts, stepping into the morning sun from the coolness of the airport terminal. A warm summer breeze sulkily enveloped me; a hint of what was to come later in the day.
The taxi growled into life and lurched forward in its diesel power, pushing me back into my seat. I knew that feeling. It’s the feeling you get when you lean back on a chair beyond the tipping point and, suddenly, you’re mystified by the lack of gravity you experience, arms and feet flailing in panic. You grab whatever is nearby, hoping to re-establish contact with solid ground. So did I, at that very moment, grabbing the door with one hand and the front seat with the other.
It wasn’t one of the more memorable moments of my life, but I remember it now when I think of my last trip to Kolkata.
The rest of the journey was uneventful. The roads were smoother than Mumbai’s and I couldn’t help notice the greenery around. There were no signs of garbage that littered the streets which I remembered with disdain. That was a surprise! Did my memory fail? Or, had Kolkata become more beautiful in the eleven odd years I had been away?
The taxi driver and his companion ignored me completely, continuing to banter over the drone of the engine until the very end of my journey. But I didn’t mind. The warm breeze filtering in through the windows was company enough for me. Plus, I had my past memories of Kolkata to keep me busy. Soon, I began to recognise some of the landmarks along the way, and before long, I had to give directions for the right turns to reach my destination.
II
“I’m cooking mangsho bhaat [mutton curry and rice] for lunch today,” she said as I entered. “I remembered it’s your favourite. Dipankar has brought fresh mutton from the market earlier this morning.”
That, more or less, was how I was greeted on my arrival. And, that’s how it continued over the two weeks I spent in Kolkata mid last year. It was a joyous revelry of meeting old friends, and a few new ones, over a feast of meals. Nothing was accomplished without food. Everything I did was woven around meals.
Not just the usual lunches and dinners which you might have guessed. There were requests too: a quick “Aarey, ak minute lagbe to” pre-lunch eelish maachh bhaja [a double-quick pre-lunch fish fry]; or a couple of “God, you must be hungry. When did you have lunch?” chicken rolls in the evening; or a mid-afternoon “Tui eta try kor, jeeb diye jol porbey” [try this mouth-watering] fish fry. There were no end to requests and invitations to eat.
Of course, I obliged happily. Every time.
[These two short articles appeared in The Times of India, Kolkata, exactly a year ago. Decided to post them today as I was supposed have been in Kolkata today, but had to cancel my trip due to work in Mumbai.]
29 April 2008
26 April 2008
The Darjeeling Limited
I’m not sure how to categorise Wes Anderson’s latest film, The Darjeeling Limited. It’s funny, so perhaps it’s a comedy. Yet, it has a serious side to it, as it deals with emotional and spiritual healing that its three leading characters need… and are seeking. But, categorising the film as drama would be superfluous.
The story is simple, though it unfolds slowly. Three wealthy brothers (Francis, Peter and Jack Whitman) come to India on a spiritual journey after their father’s death in a car accident a year earlier. The brothers haven’t met since their father’s funeral, and they have some catching up to do.
The idea of the journey seems to have been hatched by Francis (Owen Wilson), the eldest; Peter (Adrien Brody) and Jack (Jason Schwartzman) tag along. And so, The Darjeeling Limited turns out to be a ‘road trip’ film set in India, with the three brothers (foreigners) crossing the Indian landscape on a train called ‘The Darjeeling Limited’.
The brothers stay together through the journey, bickering and fighting through old differences which seem to surface between them. Secrets, pacts and trust between the three brothers criss-cross intermittently as they journey through India… carrying a horde of luggage with their father’s name imprinted on them.
What seems to hold them together is not so much the fact that they are brothers, but the fact that they, individually, are running away from something in life. Francis from a near-death experience from a fatal accident (he wears a bandage on his head throughout); Peter from his pregnant lover; Jack from a broken relationship.
That, and the hope of meeting their mother who has ‘disappeared’ in India after choosing a monastic life.
But things go wrong on the journey and the three brothers find themselves de-boarded from the train, lost in the Indian semi-desert, and held accountable (to themselves) for the death of a village boy… until they meet their mother, who disappears on them once again. Yet, all these experiences strangely enrich the three brothers and they come away as better persons.
I’m not sure if The Darjeeling Limited is a film you’ll enjoy (although I did), but there’s something about the film you’ll like. It’s not the three brothers going around like cartoon characters. Nor is it the vivid colours in the film’s cinematography. It’s possibly the message that no matter what happens to us in life, and no matter what recourse we take, experiencing life in itself can be healing and enriching.
The story is simple, though it unfolds slowly. Three wealthy brothers (Francis, Peter and Jack Whitman) come to India on a spiritual journey after their father’s death in a car accident a year earlier. The brothers haven’t met since their father’s funeral, and they have some catching up to do.
The idea of the journey seems to have been hatched by Francis (Owen Wilson), the eldest; Peter (Adrien Brody) and Jack (Jason Schwartzman) tag along. And so, The Darjeeling Limited turns out to be a ‘road trip’ film set in India, with the three brothers (foreigners) crossing the Indian landscape on a train called ‘The Darjeeling Limited’.
The brothers stay together through the journey, bickering and fighting through old differences which seem to surface between them. Secrets, pacts and trust between the three brothers criss-cross intermittently as they journey through India… carrying a horde of luggage with their father’s name imprinted on them.
What seems to hold them together is not so much the fact that they are brothers, but the fact that they, individually, are running away from something in life. Francis from a near-death experience from a fatal accident (he wears a bandage on his head throughout); Peter from his pregnant lover; Jack from a broken relationship.
That, and the hope of meeting their mother who has ‘disappeared’ in India after choosing a monastic life.
But things go wrong on the journey and the three brothers find themselves de-boarded from the train, lost in the Indian semi-desert, and held accountable (to themselves) for the death of a village boy… until they meet their mother, who disappears on them once again. Yet, all these experiences strangely enrich the three brothers and they come away as better persons.
I’m not sure if The Darjeeling Limited is a film you’ll enjoy (although I did), but there’s something about the film you’ll like. It’s not the three brothers going around like cartoon characters. Nor is it the vivid colours in the film’s cinematography. It’s possibly the message that no matter what happens to us in life, and no matter what recourse we take, experiencing life in itself can be healing and enriching.
21 April 2008
Drawing on your own biography
Tremain feels strongly that fiction should not be confined to the experiences of the author. “I’m not a writer who writes about my own life. I’ve always been bored by the idea. I think novelists who stay in the contemporary, like Ian McEwan, say, who does draw a lot on things that have happened to him...” She pauses, diplomatically. “Well it’s just, the trouble with drawing on your own biography is that eventually it runs out, doesn’t it?”
[Rose Tremain, British author, speaking to Decca Aitkenhead in a Guardian interview (19 April 2008) about her latest book The Road Home.]
[Rose Tremain, British author, speaking to Decca Aitkenhead in a Guardian interview (19 April 2008) about her latest book The Road Home.]
18 April 2008
Mother and daughter
“Ma, you’re so old. I hate you!”
That’s how her daughter greets her, bursting through the front door, dropping her school bag off on one side and stomping off to her room.
Something is wrong. She stares at her daughter’s disappearing back. Then, shutting the front door behind her, she follows her daughter into her room.
She notices her daughter’s small body sunk inside the huge TV couch, remote in hand, but the TV still not on, head hung in shame from whatever has happened to her in school today. She notices the hurt look, tears ready to burst forth in frustration.
“What’s the matter, sweetie? Did someone say something bad?”
No answer.
“Come on, you can tell mummy. It can’t be that bad.”
Still no answer.
She takes a step forward, squeezes in next to her daughter on the couch. She puts an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and cuddles the small warm body, nestling it against her breasts. The girl caves in, surrendering to her mother’s embrace. They sit like that for a moment.
“So, you want to tell me what happened?”
No answer. Then, “All my class-friends made fun of me today. Because you’re so old, Ma. All their mothers are just thirty years old. And you’re forty-five!”
“Oh, come on. Forty-five isn’t all that old.”
“Yes, it is,” tells her daughter. “They said, ‘Hey your mother looks like your grandmother? Why did your father marry your grandmother?’”
“Hmm… And what did you say?”
“What can I say, Ma? You look so old. So much older than the other mothers.”
She hesitates. “That’s because I got married late, sweetie. And I had you much after that. When I was thirty-five.”
“Why, Ma? Why didn’t you marry earlier? I could have been born earlier then. And you could have been young, in your thirties, like all the other mothers.”
True. She thinks for a while, reflecting upon the past twenty or so years of her life: the late marriage, the late pregnancy, the complication, the last-minute C-section, and the beautiful baby.
“Because I wanted to build a career for myself first, dear. I wanted to earn lots of money. Live a good life. And save some of the money for you. So, I had to work hard for many years. Time passed quickly in those days.”
“And then?”
“And then, for a while, I wasn’t sure what I should do with my life. So, I waited.”
“And then?”
“And then?” She smiles and nudges her daughter affectionately.
“And thank God for that! Because, then, I met your Papa and we got married. A few years after that, you came along.”
“Why didn’t you meet Papa sooner?”
“Ah ha. We’ll have to ask Papa that, won’t we? But, that’s what happens sometimes, sweetie. We have to wait for the good things to happen. And see, you came along only after that, no? Isn’t that a good thing?”
“I suppose it is.” Then, “I may not have been born if Papa and you hadn’t met, right Ma?”
“That’s right, sweetie. What would I have done if your Papa hadn’t come along? If you hadn’t come along? What would I have done without you?”
“But I’m here now, Ma. So, Papa and you won’t have to worry anymore.”
“Yes, I know, sweetie, I know.”
Her daughter leans in and gives her a warm hug, snuggling further into her. She hugs her daughter, running her fingers through her daughter’s smooth dark hair.
They sit quietly like that, enjoying the moment.
That’s how her daughter greets her, bursting through the front door, dropping her school bag off on one side and stomping off to her room.
Something is wrong. She stares at her daughter’s disappearing back. Then, shutting the front door behind her, she follows her daughter into her room.
She notices her daughter’s small body sunk inside the huge TV couch, remote in hand, but the TV still not on, head hung in shame from whatever has happened to her in school today. She notices the hurt look, tears ready to burst forth in frustration.
“What’s the matter, sweetie? Did someone say something bad?”
No answer.
“Come on, you can tell mummy. It can’t be that bad.”
Still no answer.
She takes a step forward, squeezes in next to her daughter on the couch. She puts an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and cuddles the small warm body, nestling it against her breasts. The girl caves in, surrendering to her mother’s embrace. They sit like that for a moment.
“So, you want to tell me what happened?”
No answer. Then, “All my class-friends made fun of me today. Because you’re so old, Ma. All their mothers are just thirty years old. And you’re forty-five!”
“Oh, come on. Forty-five isn’t all that old.”
“Yes, it is,” tells her daughter. “They said, ‘Hey your mother looks like your grandmother? Why did your father marry your grandmother?’”
“Hmm… And what did you say?”
“What can I say, Ma? You look so old. So much older than the other mothers.”
She hesitates. “That’s because I got married late, sweetie. And I had you much after that. When I was thirty-five.”
“Why, Ma? Why didn’t you marry earlier? I could have been born earlier then. And you could have been young, in your thirties, like all the other mothers.”
True. She thinks for a while, reflecting upon the past twenty or so years of her life: the late marriage, the late pregnancy, the complication, the last-minute C-section, and the beautiful baby.
“Because I wanted to build a career for myself first, dear. I wanted to earn lots of money. Live a good life. And save some of the money for you. So, I had to work hard for many years. Time passed quickly in those days.”
“And then?”
“And then, for a while, I wasn’t sure what I should do with my life. So, I waited.”
“And then?”
“And then?” She smiles and nudges her daughter affectionately.
“And thank God for that! Because, then, I met your Papa and we got married. A few years after that, you came along.”
“Why didn’t you meet Papa sooner?”
“Ah ha. We’ll have to ask Papa that, won’t we? But, that’s what happens sometimes, sweetie. We have to wait for the good things to happen. And see, you came along only after that, no? Isn’t that a good thing?”
“I suppose it is.” Then, “I may not have been born if Papa and you hadn’t met, right Ma?”
“That’s right, sweetie. What would I have done if your Papa hadn’t come along? If you hadn’t come along? What would I have done without you?”
“But I’m here now, Ma. So, Papa and you won’t have to worry anymore.”
“Yes, I know, sweetie, I know.”
Her daughter leans in and gives her a warm hug, snuggling further into her. She hugs her daughter, running her fingers through her daughter’s smooth dark hair.
They sit quietly like that, enjoying the moment.
15 April 2008
A Far Country
Daniel Mason’s novel, A Far Country, is a moving story of human migration – from the impoverished rural ‘backlands’ to the cities – told through the innocent eyes (and mind) of a 14-year-old girl, Isabel. But the story is much more than that. It’s about human endurance and, specifically, about the coming of age of an adolescent girl.
As always, the reasons for moving to the city are economic, but Mason goes deeper into human emotions to bring out the painful aspects of such relocation: leaving the simple natural ways of rural living to face and accept the modern almost-cruel ways of the city. He brings forth the psychological effects of such relocation and enmeshes the reader in its emotions.
A Far Country is the story of young Isabel growing up in a small village in the ‘backlands’ with her parents and her older brother Isaias. Drought and poverty surround her, but there is a rhythm of life and a sense of belonging. It is through Isaias that Isabel’s sense of belonging is reinforced – as it is Isaias who, being close to her age, experiences and understands what she is feeling.
When Isaias leaves for the city, Isabel awaits for his calls and letters. When Isaias does not return, she is forlorn. As she reaches puberty and her family is no longer able to feed her, Isabel is sent to the city to fend for herself. She accepts this responsibility, motivated by need to find her brother Isaias there; and when she does, she knows she will find herself again.
Isabel leaves for the city on a pick-up truck and travels for days with many others like her who are going to the city to escape the hardships of rural life. She finds lodging with her cousin Manuela, looking after her cousin’s baby during the week while Manuela works as a maid for a rich family in the better part of the city.
So begins Isabel’s acquaintance with the city and its different and difficult ways. She finds herself inadequate – unable to speak the city language, or use the skills she had learnt in the village, or understand the behaviour of the city people. Even the geographical references – the landmarks – are unfamiliar to her. Her cousin Manuela’s words are full of warning and Isabel is not always adept at following them, taking risks which repeatedly land her in trouble.
Still there is no sign of her brother Isaias. With money from a part-time job on the weekends, Isabel goes in search of her brother – only to be left clueless and helpless in the end. Painfully, she learns that people come to the city only to disappear. Not only because some harm comes to them, but also because they want to disappear.
Daniel Mason’s A Far Country is a story about change – and acceptance of it. That’s why, perhaps, choosing an adolescent girl as its main character was ideal. Because, during adolescence, we experience profound changes – biological, social, psychological and even spiritual – much of which we are uncomfortable with. And yet, we are unable stop this change, or the confusion arising from it, from engulfing our lives. Mason handles this theme expertly, almost poetically.
Interestingly, Mason does not name the country, nor the city, in his book. The story is most likely set in Latin America – a Catholic Third World country struggling with poverty, economic development, the rural-urban divide, and human migration. However, as it says on the back cover of the book, it could well be any (Third World) country where we see similar internal migration. Certainly, as an Indian, I can see Isabel’s story unfolding before me, almost everyday, in my own country.
Therein lies A Far Country’s universal appeal. It’s a book definitely worth reading.
As always, the reasons for moving to the city are economic, but Mason goes deeper into human emotions to bring out the painful aspects of such relocation: leaving the simple natural ways of rural living to face and accept the modern almost-cruel ways of the city. He brings forth the psychological effects of such relocation and enmeshes the reader in its emotions.
A Far Country is the story of young Isabel growing up in a small village in the ‘backlands’ with her parents and her older brother Isaias. Drought and poverty surround her, but there is a rhythm of life and a sense of belonging. It is through Isaias that Isabel’s sense of belonging is reinforced – as it is Isaias who, being close to her age, experiences and understands what she is feeling.
When Isaias leaves for the city, Isabel awaits for his calls and letters. When Isaias does not return, she is forlorn. As she reaches puberty and her family is no longer able to feed her, Isabel is sent to the city to fend for herself. She accepts this responsibility, motivated by need to find her brother Isaias there; and when she does, she knows she will find herself again.
Isabel leaves for the city on a pick-up truck and travels for days with many others like her who are going to the city to escape the hardships of rural life. She finds lodging with her cousin Manuela, looking after her cousin’s baby during the week while Manuela works as a maid for a rich family in the better part of the city.
So begins Isabel’s acquaintance with the city and its different and difficult ways. She finds herself inadequate – unable to speak the city language, or use the skills she had learnt in the village, or understand the behaviour of the city people. Even the geographical references – the landmarks – are unfamiliar to her. Her cousin Manuela’s words are full of warning and Isabel is not always adept at following them, taking risks which repeatedly land her in trouble.
Still there is no sign of her brother Isaias. With money from a part-time job on the weekends, Isabel goes in search of her brother – only to be left clueless and helpless in the end. Painfully, she learns that people come to the city only to disappear. Not only because some harm comes to them, but also because they want to disappear.
Daniel Mason’s A Far Country is a story about change – and acceptance of it. That’s why, perhaps, choosing an adolescent girl as its main character was ideal. Because, during adolescence, we experience profound changes – biological, social, psychological and even spiritual – much of which we are uncomfortable with. And yet, we are unable stop this change, or the confusion arising from it, from engulfing our lives. Mason handles this theme expertly, almost poetically.
Interestingly, Mason does not name the country, nor the city, in his book. The story is most likely set in Latin America – a Catholic Third World country struggling with poverty, economic development, the rural-urban divide, and human migration. However, as it says on the back cover of the book, it could well be any (Third World) country where we see similar internal migration. Certainly, as an Indian, I can see Isabel’s story unfolding before me, almost everyday, in my own country.
Therein lies A Far Country’s universal appeal. It’s a book definitely worth reading.
12 April 2008
The Smithsonian Life List
Taj Mahal
Bob Krist
Corbis
Smithsonian
While surfing the Internet for great travel destinations, I came upon The Smithsonian Life List – a list of 28 destinations around the world, handpicked by the Smithsonian, which are certain to inspire the traveller in you.
Well, without much ado, here’s the list (in the order presented by the Smithsonian):
Portals into the Past
1. Mesa Verde
2. Pompeii
3. Tikal
4. Petra
Feats of Engineering
1. Pyramids of Giza
2. Taj Mahal
3. Easter Island
4. The Great Wall
A Matter of Timing
1. Aurora Borealis
2. Serengeti
3. Iguazu Falls
4. Machu Picchu
Triumphs of Vision
1. The Louvre
2. Zen Garden of Kyoto
3, Uffizi Gallery
4. Fallingwater
Scale New Heights
1. Yangtze River
2. Antarctica
3. Mount Kilimanjaro
4. Grand Canyon
In the Presence of Gods
1. Pagan
2. Parthenon
3. Angkor Wat
4. Ephesus
Here Today, Gone Tomorrow?
1. Venice
2. Amazon Rain Forest
3. Great Barrier Reef
4. Galápagos Islands
[Citation: The Smithsonian Life List. Taj Mahal image courtesy Bob Krist/Corbis and the Smithsonian]
10 April 2008
Juno
The Indian audience for English, i.e. mostly Hollywood, films never seems to amaze me. I say ‘amaze’ because the audience almost always seems to celebrate mediocre films, like Die Hard 4, filling up the seats to packed halls, while completely overlooking the great ones, like Michael Clayton.
Invariably, the English films I like the most seem to be the ones which run in near-empty halls and end up Box Office washouts. This year, Juno was one such great film which was left stranded at the Box Office by the Indian film-going audience. If you’ve missed this film on the silver screen, get the DVD and see it. It’s worth every minute of it.
Juno is a coming-of-age film; culturally undeniably Western. It’s about teen pregnancy and, hence, a little difficult to digest by Indian moral and social standards. However, it’s perfect for the modern urban Indian. The film is engaging and funny, without a big hoo-hah about sex. In fact, it’s treated sensitively and rather neatly by its director, Jason Reitman.
In the lead character is 16-year-old intelligent independent-minded unpredictable guitar-playing Juno MacGuff (played admirably by Ellen Page) who wants to have sex like any other American teen: curiosity and for the experience; at least once. She chooses her timid and geeky boyfriend, band- and school-mate, Paulie (played by Michael Cera), as her partner; and, before she knows it, she is pregnant.
Backing out from abortion (after an unnerving episode in a clinic), Juno decides to go through with her pregnancy. Although her parents (J K Simmons and Allison Janney) are reassuring and supportive, Juno, with help from her friend Leah (Olivia Thirlby), decides to give away her baby for adoption to a young caring childless couple, Vanessa and Mark (Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman).
So begins Juno’s acquaintance with the adopting couple, as she ‘grows up’ pregnant, trying to cope with herself, her family and her friends at school. At times her emotions come to the fore, but for a pregnant 16-year-old teenager, I would say she is amazingly mature. And, therefore, in the end, no matter how unpredictable life seems to Juno, everything works out well.
Juno is a wonderful film – funny and poignant at the same time. Its appeal is universal and I’ve recommended it to everyone. The film direction is great – but, after seeing Thank You For Smoking last year, I wouldn’t have expected anything less. What is even more refreshing about Juno is the perfect script by Diablo Cody, about whom I know absolutely nothing. But, I’m certainly going to find out more.
Invariably, the English films I like the most seem to be the ones which run in near-empty halls and end up Box Office washouts. This year, Juno was one such great film which was left stranded at the Box Office by the Indian film-going audience. If you’ve missed this film on the silver screen, get the DVD and see it. It’s worth every minute of it.
Juno is a coming-of-age film; culturally undeniably Western. It’s about teen pregnancy and, hence, a little difficult to digest by Indian moral and social standards. However, it’s perfect for the modern urban Indian. The film is engaging and funny, without a big hoo-hah about sex. In fact, it’s treated sensitively and rather neatly by its director, Jason Reitman.
In the lead character is 16-year-old intelligent independent-minded unpredictable guitar-playing Juno MacGuff (played admirably by Ellen Page) who wants to have sex like any other American teen: curiosity and for the experience; at least once. She chooses her timid and geeky boyfriend, band- and school-mate, Paulie (played by Michael Cera), as her partner; and, before she knows it, she is pregnant.
Backing out from abortion (after an unnerving episode in a clinic), Juno decides to go through with her pregnancy. Although her parents (J K Simmons and Allison Janney) are reassuring and supportive, Juno, with help from her friend Leah (Olivia Thirlby), decides to give away her baby for adoption to a young caring childless couple, Vanessa and Mark (Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman).
So begins Juno’s acquaintance with the adopting couple, as she ‘grows up’ pregnant, trying to cope with herself, her family and her friends at school. At times her emotions come to the fore, but for a pregnant 16-year-old teenager, I would say she is amazingly mature. And, therefore, in the end, no matter how unpredictable life seems to Juno, everything works out well.
Juno is a wonderful film – funny and poignant at the same time. Its appeal is universal and I’ve recommended it to everyone. The film direction is great – but, after seeing Thank You For Smoking last year, I wouldn’t have expected anything less. What is even more refreshing about Juno is the perfect script by Diablo Cody, about whom I know absolutely nothing. But, I’m certainly going to find out more.
07 April 2008
Film critics are now expendable
I was rather disheartened to read a recent online article in The New York Times. The article, Now on the Endangered Species List: Movie Critics in Print, by David Carr, narrates the recent decision by several publications in the United States to lay off film critics from their payrolls.
Apparently, with so much ‘user generated’ reviews and information on films on the Internet, more and more people are turning to the Internet for film reviews, making film criticism in print a redundant function. Newspaper and magazine film critics, therefore, are no longer of great value… and expendable.
I guess this is another effect of the Internet revolution – and bloggers like me are to share the blame. But, my concern is, does this move foretell the future of print journalism?
Read entire The New York Times article here.
[Citation: Now on the Endangered Species List: Movie Critics in Print, article by David Carr, The New York Times, 1 April 2008.]
Apparently, with so much ‘user generated’ reviews and information on films on the Internet, more and more people are turning to the Internet for film reviews, making film criticism in print a redundant function. Newspaper and magazine film critics, therefore, are no longer of great value… and expendable.
I guess this is another effect of the Internet revolution – and bloggers like me are to share the blame. But, my concern is, does this move foretell the future of print journalism?
Read entire The New York Times article here.
[Citation: Now on the Endangered Species List: Movie Critics in Print, article by David Carr, The New York Times, 1 April 2008.]
01 April 2008
Converse Kurt Cobain collection
Converse are about to release a very special collection of shoes, inspired by Kurt Cobain and sanctioned by Courtney Love and the Cobain estate. In this world exclusive, the NFC will bring you the first high resolution pictures ever published of the shoes and the first description of what the collection offers.
To honor Cobain, in May, Converse will debut their Kurt Cobain collection of shoes featuring artwork and scribbles borrowed from Cobain’s personal notebooks. It will mark a central part of the year-long 100th Anniversary ‘Welcome to the Converse Century’ celebration.
“Distressed in the way Kurt Cobain wore them, the shoes provide a rarely seen glimpse into the head of this musical and lyrical genius with sketches that display his hopes, dreams and lyrics from amazing songs such as Come As You Are.”
To further pay tribute to the late singer, three of the Converse shoes that Cobain was often seen wearing will be reflected in the new collection which includes versions of Chuck Taylor All Star, Jack Purcell and One Star shoes. To make the collection even more unique, they’ll have wear and fray detailing and Kurt Cobain’s signature subtly embroidered on the shoe’s outer.
The shoes will be made available in black and white versions and should retail for around $50 - $65.
[Citation: Text and images reproduced from World Exclusive: Converse to launch Kurt Cobain collection at The Internet Nirvana Fan Club.]
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