Silicon Valley legend Steve Wozniak (“Woz”) is one of the pioneers of the personal computer revolution. He co-founded Apple Computer in 1976 along with Steve Jobs. It was Woz, the engineering genius, who designed and built the company’s first products, the Apple I and Apple II.

I met Woz and his charming wife Janet last evening for a photo session in Los Gatos, California.

Steve Wozniak
5D Mark II, 85L II

Woz
5D Mark II, Zeiss ZE 100 f/2 Makro Planar

Steve and Janet Wozniak
5D Mark II, Zeiss ZE 50 f/2 Makro Planar

Added: The following shot is my favourite. However, it was taken at f/1.8, resulting in a very shallow depth of field that throws the nose distractingly out of focus.

Woz
5D Mark II, 85L II

For over 1000 years, the Icelandic sheep has remained a pure breed. Raised wholly on natural mountain grass and without hormones, the quality of Icelandic wool and lamb meat is rated to be the finest in the world. The annual sheep roundup in September, known as réttir, is an important cultural tradition, an occasion for both work and celebration, where families and friends gather on farms all over the country to participate in the ritual to track down, corral and sort the animals.

Traffic jam on the Ring Road near Höfn
5D Mark II, 24-105L

Herding sheep on the Ring Road near Höfn
5D Mark II, 24-105L

Curious - at Núpsstaður
5D Mark II, 24-105L

Icelandic lamb - at Gerði
5D Mark II, 85L II

The annual autumn roundup - at Skaftartungur
5D Mark II, 70-200L f/2.8 IS II

[Update: Anthony Gonsalves passed away in Goa on January 18, 2012, at the age of 84.]

In the 1977 movie AMAR AKBAR ANTHONY, composer Pyarelal (of the Laxmikant-Pyarelal duo) scored the music for the number My Name is Anthony Gonsalves that went on to become a super hit in India. Not as well known is that the opening line was Pyarelal‘s nod to his mentor, the great Goan composer and musician, Anthony Gonsalves.

Before I get to the subject of this post, let me dispose of a couple of niggles. One, I don’t find Amitabh Bachchan funny at all. His is the kind of oafish nonsense that passes for humour in India. Two, Kishore Kumar‘s pronunciation of “Gonsalves” even today grates on every Goan ear. The syllable “Gon” is phonetically close to “gone,” not to “lone.”

Anthony Prabhu Gonsalves was born in 1927 in the beautiful coastal village of Majorda in south Goa. His father, Jose Antonio Gonsalves, was a choirmaster at Majorda’s Mãe de Deus church. Musically precocious, Anthony quickly absorbed his father’s lessons and then, barely into his teens, went to Bombay to join his fellow Goan musicians. In those days, Goan Catholic musicians, with their grounding in Western music, were critical to the composers of Hindi film music as they helped in developing what became the defining sound of that genre. The Goans were also pioneers in establishing a strong culture of jazz music in Bombay. For a brief account of these then-unsung and today-forgotten Goan musicians, see this.

Anthony Gonsalves was in a league all his own. A highly cerebral musician, Anthony was ahead of his time, and that meant he was a man without a musical home. With his deep love and passion for Indian Classical Music, he did not quite fit into the mould of his fellow Goan musicians. On the other hand, he was self-taught, without much formal training in Indian Classical Music. This meant he did not have a support base in that tradition either. The musical world was not yet ready to appreciate the type of musician he embodied, a bridge between two disparate genres. The struggles and attendant frustrations left Anthony deeply disillusioned.

An episode in 1959 was to injure Anthony‘s psyche, one from which he never quite recovered. The then-Minister of Information and Broadcasting, B.V. Keskar, in a display of bigotry, refused to let Anthony compose a score for an animation film because Keskar held the barbaric view that “Indian Christians should not even be provided with jobs.” This was the same douchebag who had banned the use of harmonium on All India Radio, and imposed his prejudices in other areas as well. For Anthony‘s sensitive soul, this was a fatal blow. He recounted the sorry tale in a conversation with me in 2008. I remember well the pain writ on his visage during this retelling 5 decades later. Listen to it here.

[Update: See this for a background on Clair Weeks and his pioneering work in animation in India that Anthony refers to in the audio clip above.]

In 1965 Anthony left for Syracuse, New York, and joined the music department at the university. His son Kiran and daughter Laxmi were born there. In the early 1970s, he came back to India and retired to a quiet life in his ancestral village of Majorda. He never again worked in the music industry. All the symphonies and orchestral scores he wrote and conducted in his prime lie stashed away in an old rusty trunk. The musical works carry names like Symphony in Raga Multani and are a testament to his abiding love of Indian Classical Music. He still hopes that someday they will be revived and replayed.

I met Anthony-bab several times in 2008, and during one of our sessions recorded an extended conversation with him. He spoke about his experiences with the great music makers of yesteryear – Khemchand Prakash, Anil Biswas, Naushad, S.D. Burman, Salil Chaudhary, K.L. Saigal, Lata Mangeshkar, and many others. He cited some of the major scores he had written, such as for the movie JAAL (S.D. Burman), DO BIGHA ZAMEEN (Salil Chaudhary), and so on. An excerpt of that conversation is appended at the end of this post.

Last week I visited Anthony-bab and found that his health is in decline. In May of this year, he received an award from the Dadasaheb Phalke Foundation. Soon thereafter, a fall in his home left him confined to his bed. Other afflictions include a fading memory and impaired hearing. He is being looked after by his daughter Laxmi.

A documentary on the Anthony‘s life is slated for release in Panjim next week (Aug 5), and will be available on DVD. It has been produced by Shrikant Joshi, who made a similar documentary on composer Dattaram (Wadkar) some years ago.

Let us now turn to the photo essay. Following this series of images is an audio excerpt of my conversation with Anthony-bab.

Anthony Prabhu Gonsalves
5D, 85L II

At home in Majorda, Goa (2008)
5D, 24-105L

At the "Mother of God" church in Majorda (2008)
5D, 24-105L

Speaking on violin technique (2008)
5D, 85L II

Anthony-bab with daughter Laxmi Gonsalves at Arossim (2008)
5D, 24-105L

Anthony-bab and wife Melita in upstate New York in 1965
Photo courtesy of: Laxmi Gonsalves

Lata Mangeshkar at Anthony's home in Syracuse, New York (1967)
Photo courtesy of: Laxmi Gonsalves

Lata Mangeshkar with Melita Gonsalves in Syracuse (1967)
Photo courtesy of: Laxmi Gonsalves

The maestro at his flat in Bandra in 1961
Photo courtesy of: Vivek Menezes

Anthony Gonsalves conducting Lata Mangeshkar and Manna Dey at St. Xavier's Quadrangle in Bombay (1958). Also seen are Pyarelal on the violin and Laxmikant on the mandolin.
Photo courtesy of: Vivek Menezes

Goan Quintet: (L-R) A.P. Dourado, Anthony Gonsalves, Lucila Pacheco, Luis Correia, João Anton Noronha, Bonny D'Costa at Mehboob studios (1958)
Photo courtesy of: Vivek Menezes

(L-R): Joseph Maski, Lata Mangeshkar, Anthony Gonsalves, in 1958
Photo courtesy of: Vivek Menezes

Laxmikant-Pyarelal Nite at Shanmukhananda Hall in 1963: (L-R) Pyarelal, Anthony Gonsalves, Goa's 1st Chief Minister Dayanand Bandodkar, Unknown, Laxmikant
Photo courtesy of: Vivek Menezes

As a young man...
Photo courtesy of: Laxmi Gonsalves

...In July 2011
5D Mark II, Zeiss ZE 100 f/2 Makro Planar

An excerpt of my conversation with Anthony Gonsalves in May 2008.

Harvesting salt from the land is an ancient practice in Goa, one that predates the Portuguese by centuries. Not long ago, wide open spaces of salt pans graced the Goan countryside. Specific villages and sub-communities – such as the mithgaude (“mith” being the Konkani word for salt) – specialized in the occupation of salt farming.

As is now well known, Goa is being rapidly third-worldized. With their lands and homes under pressure from the real estate juggernaut, the traditional salters are now on their last legs. This going to seed of Goa‘s salt culture has been documented by Reyna Sequeira of Goa University (I haven’t read her thesis but am well aware of her conclusions).

It didn’t have to be this way. The salt harvested in Goa is renowned for its flavour and is a vital condiment in every traditional Goan kitchen. No Goan cook worth her salt will touch the packaged rubbish sold in stores. An American entrepreneur would have marketed Goan salt crystals in an attractive bottle, slapped the “Organic” label on it, and made a lot of money, and maybe saved the tradition in the process.

I recall my young days when farmers in bullock carts laden with salt went door to door during these final days of May before the arrival of the pre-monsoon showers. This coincided with the festival of purumento (“purumetachem fest”), a seasonal open bazaar where folks stocked up on provisions for the coming season.

Salt of Goa's earth
5D, 85L II

Salt pans at Agarvado
5D, 24-105L

Geometry of salt
5D, 24-105L

In Agarvado
5D, 24-105L

Harvesting salt in Batim
5D, 24-105L

Fresh salt for sale by the roadside in Batim
5D, 24-105L

Goa is home to an ancient Hindu tradition, something most Indians are unaware of. Of all the Goan temples, none is more central to that tradition than the one at Mangeshi, the eponymous ward in the village of Priol, deep in Goa‘s hinterland. Mangesh is the Goan name for Lord Shiva.

Upon their arrival in Goa in the 16th C, the Portuguese destroyed hundreds of Hindu temples in a savage frenzy of religious violence. Among them were the three great temples to Shiva: Saptakoteshwar, Ramnath, and Mangesh. The old lingas had to be retrieved and squirreled away for reconsecration in the relative safety of the jungle. The reinstall at Mangeshi took place circa 1560.

Each of these temples holds sway in the Goan imagination to this day, and the affiliation transcends religious divides. It is not uncommon to see young married Catholic couples at Mangeshi, for the Great Yogi is also the acknowledged Head of the Dept. of Fertility.

Mangeshi‘s cachet does not derive solely from its historical and religious significance. For long it has sheltered and nourished aspirants in music and dance, and from its mandapa have emerged some of the most distinguished names in Indian music. Dinanath Mangeshkar was born here and grew up in the shadow of the temple. His daughters Lata and Asha are known worldwide for their contributions. The great Indian classical master, composer & scholar Jitendra Abhisheki was born here, and his family has traditionally served as priests at the temple. Kesarbai Kerkar, from the nearby village of Keri, had her musical awakening here through the kirtans and bhajans she absorbed as a child.

Before it was powderized, the original temple of Mangesh was located in the village of Cortalim (also known as Kuththali or Kushasthali). The origins of the deity lie in antiquity. The Gavdas, a tribe of the earliest settlers in Goa, are said to have worshipped the form and still enjoy special dibs during rituals at the temple. The legend of Mangesh is in essence a tale of the love between Shiva and Parvati.

Given the limited space available on the premises, a Tilt-Shift lens was necessary to keep the vertical lines vertical in the photographs of the temple and its deepastambha. Canon’s remarkable TS-E 24L II lens was equal to the task.

A long view of the hilly, forested Mangeshi area on a misty monsoon morning.

Mangeshi
5D Mark II, 70-200L f/2.8 IS II

Mangesh temple
5D Mark II, TS-E 24L II

The deepastambha (tower of lamps) is a characteristic feature of Goan temples.

Deepastambha at Mangesh temple
5D Mark II, TS-E 24L II

This new form of Sri Mangesh cast in solid gold illustrates the avidya of modern Hindus. They don’t even know what it is that they are worshipping. Shiva is the exemplar of vairagya but the Goan boneheads have transformed him into a glittering tinseltown hero, no doubt an unintended reflection of their own attachment to coin.

Sri Mangesh
5D, 85L II

This is a photograph of an old photograph (1925). Note that Mangesh is also spelled as Manguexa or Manguesh. The (orange) tower in the foreground is the naubatkhana where the shehnai and other musical instruments are played during temple ceremonies.

Temple tank circa 1925 (© Souza & Paul)
Reproduced in "Postais Antigos do Estado da Índia" by João Loureiro

Temple tank today
5D Mark II, TS-E 24L II

This 16th C sculpture of Kalbhairav occupies a small shrine outside in the temple compound.

Kalbhairav outside the temple
5D Mark II, Zeiss ZE 50mm f/2 Makro Planar

The Icelandic horse is a unique breed and an integral part of the Icelandic landscape. You may read about this beautiful animal here. Icelanders take their horses seriously. As the Wiki entry explains, “Icelandic law prevents horses from being imported into the country and exported animals are not allowed to return.”

Near Kirkjubæjarklaustur
5D Mark II, 24-105L

Nose to the ground
5D Mark II, 85L II

Handsome dude
5D Mark II, 85L II

A stud farm near Kirkjubærklaustur
5D Mark II, 85L II

Backlit
5D Mark II, 24-105L

The 'Golden Mane', near Mývatn
5D Mark II, 70-200L f/2.8 IS II

R&R, in Eyjafjörður
5D Mark II, 24-105L

Out in the midnight sun near Húsavík
5D Mark II, 70-200L f/2.8 IS II

Posing for the camera
5D Mark II, 70-200L f/2.8 IS II

Mare and foal in Fljótsdalur
5D Mark II, 70-200L f/2.8 IS II

Horsing around - my guide Börkur Hrólfsson in Öxarfjörður
5D Mark II, 24-105L

Among the most feared volcanoes in Iceland, Katla last erupted in 1918. At the time Ólafur Pétursson (b. 1909) was 9 years old, and his wife þórunn Björnsdóttir (b. 1911) was 7. The couple are today the last living witnesses to that cataclysmic event.

Ólafur and þórunn still live in the shadow of Katla at Giljur, their farm in south Iceland. When I heard their story from my friend Guðmundur Eyjólfsson, I knew I had to go see them. The opportunity to take a portrait of a centenarian doesn’t come by often.

We dropped in unannounced at their house one morning in June 2010. þórunn, now 99, was under the weather and we could not meet her. Ólafur, on the other hand, was in good spirits, and with his grandson Ólafur Gunnarson serving as translator, we ended up shooting the breeze…and a few portraits as well.

Ólafur Pétursson, 101 years
5D Mark II, 85L II

Ólafur Pétursson at his home at Giljur, south Iceland
5D Mark II, 24-105L

Ólafur Pétursson
5D Mark II, 24-105L

The quiet village of Parsem in north Goa remains frozen in time with its echt-Goan character and spirit intact. It is proud of its quirky heritage: the unusual façade of the ancient temple of Goddess Bhagwati, the nearby banyan tree said to be the largest in Goa, the magnificent old sculptures of Brahma, Vishnu, and so on.

For a place this obscure, Parsem has world-class achievements under its belt. The all-women’s professional theatre company formed here in 1917 was among the earliest of its kind. One of India’s finest musicians and the greatest Hindustani violinist of the 20th C, Sridhar Parsekar, was born in the shadow of the Bhagwati temple. He died tragically young but the villagers of Parsem haven’t forgotten him; an annual classical music festival is celebrated in his name. He also composed for Hindi and Marathi films. For more on Parsekar and his music, go here.

The title of this post is taken from an essay by Alister Miranda, and you are encouraged to read it for a better appreciation of the photographs that follow.

Note on pronunciation to non-Konkani speakers: The ‘m’ in the ‘sem’ syllable in Parsem denotes a nasalized ‘se’.

The deepastambha is characteristic of Goa’s Hindu temples but this paired arrangement at the Bhagwati temple is unique.

Temple of Bhagwati devi in Parsem, Goa
5D Mark II, TS-E 24L II

Bhagwati devi of Parsem
5D Mark II, 24-105L

Notice the kaavi art (sgraffito) on the temple walls.

Temple of Ravalnath, Parsem
5D Mark II, 24-105L

Pastoral Parsem
5D Mark II, 14L II

Subsidiary shrines adjacent to the Bhagwati temple host inestimable treasures such as these images of Vishnu and Brahma.

Vishnu at Parsem
5D, 85L II

Brahma at Parsem
5D, 85L II

Ageless Parsem
5D Mark II, 24-105L

Ensconced in an orchard in the Goan village of Advalpal, an old and precious temple of Hanuman lies in a state of criminal neglect. Physical decay of the structure has taken hold, inside and out. This corrosion of the land’s cultural soul is a corollary to the ecocide underway in Goa.

Inside the shrine an exquisite image of Maruti greets the visitor. But there is more – the entire temple is embellished with kaavi (sgraffito) and represents one of the finest examples of its kind in Goa, as seen in the photographs below.

Ravaged by destructive mining the settlement of Advalpal is under severe pressure from rapacious miners and their political enablers. The future of this temple is highly uncertain – it is located on private property and the owner has had ‘offers’.

Hanuman of Advalpal, Goa
5D, 85L II

Hanuman temple in Advalpal, Goa
5D, 24-105L

Kaavi art on temple façade
5D, 24-105L

The Deepastambha is a characteristic feature found in the courtyards of Goa‘s Hindu temples. The word is formed by conjoining the Sanskrit words Deepa (lamp) and Stambha (pillar), and thus means “Pillar of Lamps.”

This photograph of the Deepastambha at the Mahalsa temple in Mardol was taken at daybreak.

Deepastambha at Mahalsa temple in Mardol, Goa
5D Mark II, TS-E 17L

A more modest Deepasthamba adorns the courtyard of the temple of Goddess Bhumika in the village of Chopdem.

Deepastambha at Bhumika temple in Chopdem, Goa
5D Mark II, 85L II

An ancient Deepasthamba near the remains of Piso Ravlu temple in Mayem is embraced by a Peepal tree.

Deepastambha in Mayem, Goa
5D, 24-105L