Have you ever driven to a marriage where the only person you really know is the groom. Not too many common friends, just a couple of old old acquaintances that you had met long years back- who you don’t know if are attending the marriage. You don’t even know if you can recognize them after these years and vice versa. But, when the friend has been so good, there is no way you can just walk into his marriage, say hi, wish him all the best and just move out.
As with most Punjabi marriages, there’s always this pleasure of watching some very pretty girls and some trying to look pretty. But, the fun gets lost somewhere in the absence of friends to engage in serious ornithological discussions. Despite being alone, I chose to pursue my favourite activity.
While scanning through the hall- bright with the light, rocking with the music, fragrant with the choicest of perfumes and of course, beautiful with the beautiful people around, my eyes stopped at this gorgeous lady with a charming smile. I’d seen her somewhere… (or is this the feeling that one gets after conducting Development centers and individual discussions with loads and loads of PYTs in different BPOs)…
This lady was my senior at school. Probably 2 or 3 years my senior. I think I was in 8th or 9th standard. To a boy from the (literally and culturally) distant Thiruvananthapuram, this lady was no less than an angel. This is typically an age in a boy's life when he really starts wanting/ trying to impress girls or just wants them to get impressed- just like that.
Shy that I was (scared, actually), never really mustered the courage to ever go and talk to her. Even as these memories were coming back to me, and amusing me, the bride entered the hall. In typical filmi style, the right songs were being played. The lights were dimmed in the hall, the bright light focusing only on the bride entering the hall, flanked by her folks, and the groom eagerly and impatiently waiting for his girl- passing on flying kisses in the air- for added impact. As my friend held out his hand to help his bride on to the stage, the DJ played “mere haath mein tera haath ho”. To the quintessential south Indian reader, all this may sound exaggerated and loud. I can imagine the scandal it would create if any of my cousins or friends in the community (or even me sometime in the times ahead) were to break into an impromptu jig before garlanding the bride- as my friend did.
Even the groom and bride settled down for the photo sessions, my eyes started scanning the attendees again. The lady was missing. (I couldn’t meet her through the rest of the evening/ night). I’d missed the chance to ask her name at least. I console myself saying that such memories feel sweeter when a name is not associated with the memory and the face.
Eddy, my friend- the groom, had warned me, that the principal of my college for undergrad studies might come in. And I ran in to him at the wedding.
It was like…old sparks flew… lightning struck… thunder bolted…
His eyes looked at mine and mine into his.
Circa November 2000. The time is one- one thirty in the wee hours of midnight. A bunch of students have gheraoed the Vice Chancellor’s office in Delhi University over an issue close to their hearts (and pockets). The passions are running high.
The professors and the powers that be, trapped in the office are desperately trying to use their rapport with their students to let them out. Out comes the princi, looks at me and beckons me to come to him. Here’s the conversation as I remember it.
“Humko ghar jaane do. Humaare bachhe humaara wait kar rahe hain”
“Sir, humaari baat maan jaaiye aur phir hum aapko ghar jaane denge”
“Gharwaale wait kar rahe hain”
“Sir, humaare bhi”
“Beta hum ghar jaayenge. Rok sako toh rok lo.”
“Sir, main toh aapko rokoonga nahi. Par jo mere saath hain, unka mood zara theek nahi hai. Wo shaayad jaane na de”
I smile at him… like Nana Patekar smiles at Manisha Koirala in Agnisaakshi.
He looks around and senses the anger and beats a retreat.
I smile triumphantly at my mates like Kapil Dev did after lifting the world cup.
We had plenty of such showdowns over the next three and a half years.
Circa, yesterday.
I could guess he remembered the same moment as I did.
Two to three uncomfortable seconds of silence later, I touched his feet, shook hands. He said he was happy to see me. Thankfully, he didn’t know/ remember my name.
My next brush was with an ex-boss of mine. To his credit, he still remains in touch and is as courteous and friendly as anybody I have seen. It was a real pleasure meeting him and spent some very nice minutes with him. Also, thanks to him, I had company for dinner ( I had thought that aaj toh akele hee dinner karna hoga). More so, for he had friends there and he could sense I was alone.
To the quintessential southie, the biggest difference between our kinda marriages and the ones that happen here is that ours happen in the mornings. Here, but for a few select sects, they have it from evening to late in the night. Also, in south, typically the food comes to you- typically in my community, it is served on banana leaves. Here, it is a buffet. There is a different charm about each of the systems I suppose.
As I stepped out of the wedding yesterday night, that scene from the film- “Gandhi” flashed before my eyes- where Kasturba and the Mahatma enact the saptapadi (saat phere) to their English friend and explain to him the significance of each of these.
This one is dedicated to my good friend Eddy and his lovely wife, Nidhi who got married yesterday. I have known Eddy as a gem of a guy- gentle, intelligent, sensible and sensitive. I pray you have a great life together Eddy and Nidhi.
This one is also dedicated to all my other chums who lose their bachelorhood/ spinsterhood this month.
Amongst others, to Varsha, my friend since class 11th, who gets married later next week. I’ve known Varsha as a very simple, yet elegant lady; very modern, yet with a bharatiya naari touch. Wish her a great married life.
And to my friend Shefali who is getting married in a few days from now. One of the more mature individuals I met at D-school, Shefali also happens to be one of the most sincere people I’ve known and a person of extraordinary emotional strength. Wish her a great married life.
PS- The definition of a spouse as my friend says “She, who stands by you through all the trouble which would never have happened, but for her”
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Saurav long live
It was July 2002. My dad had just had his bypass surgery. The previous month had been extremely stressful for me.
And then on 13th July, the epic Natwest final happened. I still vividly remember the scenes in Vikaspuri after that. People bursting crackers everywhere, dancing in joy. I remember being overjoyed too, for some moments, forgetting the stress at home. I felt extremely extremely good when dada did a salman khan that day.
Somebody who visited my dad the next day in hospital told me that one of the first questions he asked was what happened of the Indo-English match.
Now, these are moments in the life of an Indian cricket fan that one cannot quantify. Statistics will reveal that India won by two wickets with 3 balls to spare. Nothing on earth can quite reveal the joy Dada’s men provided us that day.
There have been multiple such moments where Dada has brought us infinite joy. Quite a lot of us actually believed that we could win the 2003 world cup. With Tendulkar- God himself- blessed be his name, Dada formed the most destructive opening pair in the late 90’s and the early 2000’s. We finally had our own (better version of) Haynes and Greenidge.
Lets go back further into history. Remember the Sahara cup in Canada, India v/s Pakistan. Wow what a series it was. One of first times I remember seeing India rout Pakistan so mercilessly. Dada was man of the match in 4 out of 5 matches. He excelled with the bat and the ball.
Remember Lords, 1996, Dada scoring that century on debut.
Remember that century at Brisbane.
Remember Steve Waugh’s last match when the Aussies were literally fighting to save their ***.
Remember those clean lofted hits over long on and long off…straight into the stands.
Dada would always be remembered as that guy who taught the Indian team to fight and win.
And then remember all those brickbats thrown at him. When that stupid egotic, Greg Chappell did whatever he did, we, as a nation, instead of standing by Dada, chose to speak Chappell’s language.
Remember those who said Dada’s career is over when he was dropped. The epitome of yellow journalism in India, the TOI, wrote a headline “has this man played his last match” with a snap of Dada walking back to the pavilion.
Remember that pepsi ad when Dada came and asked us if we still remembered him.
Remember the way he came back into the team and scored that 50 against South Africa. To me, that would remain the best ever knock he played. It is not easy to perform so well when so many question marks hover around your neck.
He scored so so so many runs after coming back. And yet, he was dropped. No cricketing reasons for sure.
What is it that made him Indian cricket’s favourite whipping boy?
Lets look at this further. There are people in our classrooms, in our offices, in our neighbourhood that we love to hate. Some for reasons genuine, and some, purely because of some insecurity we get by seeing them. Was this the case of Dada as well?
They say perceptions are hard to make and harder to break. My sense is that it is these perceptions that made Dada the favourite whipping boy. Some people just probably felt insecure with him around.
Can any sane person stand up and say that Dada’s cricketing days were genuinely over?
Dada and Tendulkar- God himself- blessed be his fame, are still better than any Tom Dick or Harry in the team. I aint getting into rhetoric. If you wanna debate around the stats or non-stats, welcome.
As a cricket fan, I feel I have been robbed off at least 18-24 months of Dada’s cricketing days.
I shall await the IPL season the next year to watch Dada in action again, thought it wont be half as good as watching him play for India.
When the history books on Indian cricket shall be written, Dada shall stand tall amongst the mortals. There will be only Tendulkar-God himself- blessed be his game, above him in this era.
Was a pleasure watching you play Dada. Privileged to have grown up in an era where you did all that you did.
This blog is dedicated to my good friend, philosopher and guide- my role model- Sir TP, the other Dada fan that I know. One sms of Sir TP sums up the spirit of the quintessential Dada fan. Once when Dada got out, Sir TP sent me an sms- “Dada has just sacrificed his wicket for the nation”.
Jiyo Dada!! Thanks for those amazing memories.
And then on 13th July, the epic Natwest final happened. I still vividly remember the scenes in Vikaspuri after that. People bursting crackers everywhere, dancing in joy. I remember being overjoyed too, for some moments, forgetting the stress at home. I felt extremely extremely good when dada did a salman khan that day.
Somebody who visited my dad the next day in hospital told me that one of the first questions he asked was what happened of the Indo-English match.
Now, these are moments in the life of an Indian cricket fan that one cannot quantify. Statistics will reveal that India won by two wickets with 3 balls to spare. Nothing on earth can quite reveal the joy Dada’s men provided us that day.
There have been multiple such moments where Dada has brought us infinite joy. Quite a lot of us actually believed that we could win the 2003 world cup. With Tendulkar- God himself- blessed be his name, Dada formed the most destructive opening pair in the late 90’s and the early 2000’s. We finally had our own (better version of) Haynes and Greenidge.
Lets go back further into history. Remember the Sahara cup in Canada, India v/s Pakistan. Wow what a series it was. One of first times I remember seeing India rout Pakistan so mercilessly. Dada was man of the match in 4 out of 5 matches. He excelled with the bat and the ball.
Remember Lords, 1996, Dada scoring that century on debut.
Remember that century at Brisbane.
Remember Steve Waugh’s last match when the Aussies were literally fighting to save their ***.
Remember those clean lofted hits over long on and long off…straight into the stands.
Dada would always be remembered as that guy who taught the Indian team to fight and win.
And then remember all those brickbats thrown at him. When that stupid egotic, Greg Chappell did whatever he did, we, as a nation, instead of standing by Dada, chose to speak Chappell’s language.
Remember those who said Dada’s career is over when he was dropped. The epitome of yellow journalism in India, the TOI, wrote a headline “has this man played his last match” with a snap of Dada walking back to the pavilion.
Remember that pepsi ad when Dada came and asked us if we still remembered him.
Remember the way he came back into the team and scored that 50 against South Africa. To me, that would remain the best ever knock he played. It is not easy to perform so well when so many question marks hover around your neck.
He scored so so so many runs after coming back. And yet, he was dropped. No cricketing reasons for sure.
What is it that made him Indian cricket’s favourite whipping boy?
Lets look at this further. There are people in our classrooms, in our offices, in our neighbourhood that we love to hate. Some for reasons genuine, and some, purely because of some insecurity we get by seeing them. Was this the case of Dada as well?
They say perceptions are hard to make and harder to break. My sense is that it is these perceptions that made Dada the favourite whipping boy. Some people just probably felt insecure with him around.
Can any sane person stand up and say that Dada’s cricketing days were genuinely over?
Dada and Tendulkar- God himself- blessed be his fame, are still better than any Tom Dick or Harry in the team. I aint getting into rhetoric. If you wanna debate around the stats or non-stats, welcome.
As a cricket fan, I feel I have been robbed off at least 18-24 months of Dada’s cricketing days.
I shall await the IPL season the next year to watch Dada in action again, thought it wont be half as good as watching him play for India.
When the history books on Indian cricket shall be written, Dada shall stand tall amongst the mortals. There will be only Tendulkar-God himself- blessed be his game, above him in this era.
Was a pleasure watching you play Dada. Privileged to have grown up in an era where you did all that you did.
This blog is dedicated to my good friend, philosopher and guide- my role model- Sir TP, the other Dada fan that I know. One sms of Sir TP sums up the spirit of the quintessential Dada fan. Once when Dada got out, Sir TP sent me an sms- “Dada has just sacrificed his wicket for the nation”.
Jiyo Dada!! Thanks for those amazing memories.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Khayaal-e-Kashmir
Its 11.30 in the night. I'm walking on a dark lonely road. This is one of the militancy hit places in the country. I can't think of anything more adventurous to do than take this late night walk. The clear night sky looks beautiful. There are twinkling stars strewn around- some randomly and some in constellations. And then there are some hiding behind the tall mountains, black in the night. And then there are those handful of houses on these mountains, their lights forming a pattern not different from the stars in the sky. Given the height of these mountains, it takes a while to differentiate between the stars and the light-bulbs. The river, blue-green in the morning, black-silver and mirror-like in the night, flows by silently. The cold wind caresses my hair, stings my face making me numb on the nose and the cheeks.
And then, for a moment, the lights go off. In the silence that pervades the night, I suddenly hear Aamir Khusro's words-
Agar firdaus bar roo-e zameen ast,
Hameen ast-o hameen ast-o hameen ast.
Welcome to Jammu & Kashmir.
My long awaited tour to Baglihar got over yesterday. There are some sights of J & K that words cannot do justice to.... for eg., the 15 minutes before the flight lands in Srinagar, the first sight of Chenab, standing quietly at Patnitop, the trek up Vaishno Devi....
For an outsider, it can be quite scary. You see army convoys everywhere. And you see bearded civilians in pathani suits everywhere. No offence meant to the followers of any religion, but it can be scary.
I spoke to quite a lot of locals there. They are very warm and cordial. They express surprise when a Keralite quotes Urdu couplets ("Thats India for you my friend"- a thought I did not verbalise)
A muezzin I met there best summed up the feelings- "Chayn se nahi jeene dete- na yeh na woh". I'd been warned by friends to not talk of the Indo-Pak issues with the locals. I could not resist the temptation. I asked the gentleman, "Hindustan se kya problem hai aapko". He replied "kya saab", smiled sarcastically, looked up towards the sky. I did not press further.
A Kashmiri Pandit, now at Baglihar, said, "Sab saale aurangzeb ki galti hai. Aur ab humaari sarkar bhi toh napunsak hai. Hum sab ko ghar se nikaal diya saab".
I'll probably not go deeper on this issue here.
As I drove back to the airport, I had memories aplenty to carry back. As I reflected back on the ironies of the day, Rumis' gem played in my ears- strangely, made popular in the modern times by Pandit Nehru and Sheikh Abdullah who jointly quoted this at Lal Bagh in Srinagar-
Mun tu shudam tu mun shudi,mun tun shudam tu jaan shudi
Taakas na guyaad baad azeen, mun deegaram tu deegari
(I've become you and you me,I am the body and you the soul
Now no one can say from now on,that you're someone and me someone else)
Afterthought: My good friend tells me that this post would be incomplete without this song that I quote often- "ye kaun chitrakaar hai" ... this i learnt from a very a special friend and senior.
For this good friend, and for you...here go the lyrix
http://www.musicindiaonline.com/lr/17/1139/
And then, for a moment, the lights go off. In the silence that pervades the night, I suddenly hear Aamir Khusro's words-
Agar firdaus bar roo-e zameen ast,
Hameen ast-o hameen ast-o hameen ast.
Welcome to Jammu & Kashmir.
My long awaited tour to Baglihar got over yesterday. There are some sights of J & K that words cannot do justice to.... for eg., the 15 minutes before the flight lands in Srinagar, the first sight of Chenab, standing quietly at Patnitop, the trek up Vaishno Devi....
For an outsider, it can be quite scary. You see army convoys everywhere. And you see bearded civilians in pathani suits everywhere. No offence meant to the followers of any religion, but it can be scary.
I spoke to quite a lot of locals there. They are very warm and cordial. They express surprise when a Keralite quotes Urdu couplets ("Thats India for you my friend"- a thought I did not verbalise)
A muezzin I met there best summed up the feelings- "Chayn se nahi jeene dete- na yeh na woh". I'd been warned by friends to not talk of the Indo-Pak issues with the locals. I could not resist the temptation. I asked the gentleman, "Hindustan se kya problem hai aapko". He replied "kya saab", smiled sarcastically, looked up towards the sky. I did not press further.
A Kashmiri Pandit, now at Baglihar, said, "Sab saale aurangzeb ki galti hai. Aur ab humaari sarkar bhi toh napunsak hai. Hum sab ko ghar se nikaal diya saab".
I'll probably not go deeper on this issue here.
As I drove back to the airport, I had memories aplenty to carry back. As I reflected back on the ironies of the day, Rumis' gem played in my ears- strangely, made popular in the modern times by Pandit Nehru and Sheikh Abdullah who jointly quoted this at Lal Bagh in Srinagar-
Mun tu shudam tu mun shudi,mun tun shudam tu jaan shudi
Taakas na guyaad baad azeen, mun deegaram tu deegari
(I've become you and you me,I am the body and you the soul
Now no one can say from now on,that you're someone and me someone else)
Afterthought: My good friend tells me that this post would be incomplete without this song that I quote often- "ye kaun chitrakaar hai" ... this i learnt from a very a special friend and senior.
For this good friend, and for you...here go the lyrix
http://www.musicindiaonline.com/lr/17/1139/
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Bismillah would have smiled
As I was about to enter the temple, I placed my hands on the temple wall and closed my eyes.
I could see Bismillah smile. I could hear the melancholy of his Shehnai. I could see him seated there- on the podium in the vice regal lodge at North Campus (where I first attended his concert). I could hear him say “roz subah” and chuckling.
"… Roz subah hum jaate the… aankh band karke mandir ke deewar pe haath rakhte the… aur fir riyaaz shuru karte the…roz subah”. An then he would choke and break into a child-like chuckle and then would re-emphasize “roz subah”.
He (Late Ust. Bismillah Khan) would say this at every concert of his (and I’ve attended/ helped organize quite a few). He would speak of his days in Kashi (Benaras) where he spent his entire life and the influence of Vishwanath temple in his life. During his concerts, I would seat myself as much in the front rows as possible, and as soon as his eyes would meet mine (or so I thought), I would say “Salaam” to him with the traditional gesture. He would acknowledge and smile back.
I was there at Benaras earlier this week, the world’s oldest town. That the town is old, hits you even as you enter the town. Or maybe its an emotional bias. I entered the town listening to Kumar Gandharva sing “Ud jaa- jaa, hans akela”, written by Kabir. These streets here have been graced by so many greats- some known to us and plenty unknown.
Adi Sankara himself stayed here for some time. Ramanujacharya, Buddha, Bharathiyaar were all here. Kabir lived his life here on these streets. Tulasidas wrote the Ramcharitmanas here. This was Lal Bahadur Shastri’s Kashi. So so so many greats... I was blessed to be here.
You need to have some sense of history or emotional association to like this place. The place is crowded and noisy. The shrieky cycle bells and the hoarse horns of vehicles can tear apart any iota of peace a traveler/ pilgrim seeks. The traffic here is bumper to bumper or rikshaw front wheel to rikshaw rear.
My friend Rosy and I set out on a rick to the Vishwanath temple- one of the 12 Jyotirlingas. The journey from where our car was parked- to the temple gate took us about 25 minutes- a distance of 1.5 kilometers. Rosy remarked “ye mandir yahin benaras mein hai na??”
We stepped down from the rick and were immediately approached by a self-styled Pandit who promptly gave us instructions on what to do and where to go (with him). I have never felt so ashamed of Brahmins ever. Being born into a Brahmin family myself, I’m ashamed that such characters exist. A Brahmin has always lived for others, not lived on others. The Brahmin was never a parasite. Especially somebody who proudly proclaimed, “hum mandir ke Brahman hai- aapko line mein khade hone ki zarurat nahi hai. Humaare saath chaliye”. These fleecers are a blot on the great sect.
Everyday, when I look at my sacred thread, I ask myself if this makes me Brahmin. Everyday, when I perform my Japas or the Sandhi-Aavandanam (the thrice-a-day prayer prescribed for those that wear the sacred thread), I ask myself if I am Brahmin. Do I become a Brahmin by abstaining from eating non vegetarian food?
Well, I may not be closer to the answer, but having looked at the behaviour of the self-styled Pandits at Kashi, I know why some look with great disdain at Pandits.
Rosy and I first went to the Dasha-ashwamedh Ghat, one of the the most pious ghats at Kashi- maybe due to its proximity to the temple. Each inch possible has been taken up by the Pandits, ever willing to perform Pujas. The water is much cleaner than I had imagined- only that the place is cramped. Dipping my feet into the Ganga river (Gangajee- as she is referred to here) was a pleasant experience. The water was cool; plus the feeling that so many greats had dipped their feet in the same famed ghat added to the experience. A few chants later, I was walking towards the temple. It is a different world altogether.
My friend and senior, Dr. Mohit ,often says that Benaras is one place where, irrespective of which part of the town one stays in, “aadmi subah ko mandir ke ghanti ki aawaaz se hee uthta hai”. When one looks around and sees the number of temples, one can know why Dr. Mohit says this.
The queue to see Baba (as Kashi Vishwanath is referred to here) was long- extremely long. The self styled Pandits attempted to fleece us here too. The decay runs deep. Even if you have to keep your chappals at a safe place, you are forced to take services of the Pandit associated with that place. The police sit by hopelessly. Instead of peace, it was anger that was pervading me outside the temple. The length of the queue was testing my patience too.
As the queue moved ahead, and we moved closer to the temple, I could envision all those greats treading the same path. Strangely, during these moments, the anger just vanished. In fact, I do not have any recollection of any negative feeling during these moments right outside the temple.
As I was about to enter the temple, I placed my hands on the temple wall and closed my eyes.
Bismillah would have certainly smiled.
Epilogue: Thanks to the long minutes in the queue, Rosy and I could not visit Sarnath that we so wanted to visit. This entry is dedicated to my friend Rosy with a promise to go to Sarnath the next time.
I could see Bismillah smile. I could hear the melancholy of his Shehnai. I could see him seated there- on the podium in the vice regal lodge at North Campus (where I first attended his concert). I could hear him say “roz subah” and chuckling.
"… Roz subah hum jaate the… aankh band karke mandir ke deewar pe haath rakhte the… aur fir riyaaz shuru karte the…roz subah”. An then he would choke and break into a child-like chuckle and then would re-emphasize “roz subah”.
He (Late Ust. Bismillah Khan) would say this at every concert of his (and I’ve attended/ helped organize quite a few). He would speak of his days in Kashi (Benaras) where he spent his entire life and the influence of Vishwanath temple in his life. During his concerts, I would seat myself as much in the front rows as possible, and as soon as his eyes would meet mine (or so I thought), I would say “Salaam” to him with the traditional gesture. He would acknowledge and smile back.
I was there at Benaras earlier this week, the world’s oldest town. That the town is old, hits you even as you enter the town. Or maybe its an emotional bias. I entered the town listening to Kumar Gandharva sing “Ud jaa- jaa, hans akela”, written by Kabir. These streets here have been graced by so many greats- some known to us and plenty unknown.
Adi Sankara himself stayed here for some time. Ramanujacharya, Buddha, Bharathiyaar were all here. Kabir lived his life here on these streets. Tulasidas wrote the Ramcharitmanas here. This was Lal Bahadur Shastri’s Kashi. So so so many greats... I was blessed to be here.
You need to have some sense of history or emotional association to like this place. The place is crowded and noisy. The shrieky cycle bells and the hoarse horns of vehicles can tear apart any iota of peace a traveler/ pilgrim seeks. The traffic here is bumper to bumper or rikshaw front wheel to rikshaw rear.
My friend Rosy and I set out on a rick to the Vishwanath temple- one of the 12 Jyotirlingas. The journey from where our car was parked- to the temple gate took us about 25 minutes- a distance of 1.5 kilometers. Rosy remarked “ye mandir yahin benaras mein hai na??”
We stepped down from the rick and were immediately approached by a self-styled Pandit who promptly gave us instructions on what to do and where to go (with him). I have never felt so ashamed of Brahmins ever. Being born into a Brahmin family myself, I’m ashamed that such characters exist. A Brahmin has always lived for others, not lived on others. The Brahmin was never a parasite. Especially somebody who proudly proclaimed, “hum mandir ke Brahman hai- aapko line mein khade hone ki zarurat nahi hai. Humaare saath chaliye”. These fleecers are a blot on the great sect.
Everyday, when I look at my sacred thread, I ask myself if this makes me Brahmin. Everyday, when I perform my Japas or the Sandhi-Aavandanam (the thrice-a-day prayer prescribed for those that wear the sacred thread), I ask myself if I am Brahmin. Do I become a Brahmin by abstaining from eating non vegetarian food?
Well, I may not be closer to the answer, but having looked at the behaviour of the self-styled Pandits at Kashi, I know why some look with great disdain at Pandits.
Rosy and I first went to the Dasha-ashwamedh Ghat, one of the the most pious ghats at Kashi- maybe due to its proximity to the temple. Each inch possible has been taken up by the Pandits, ever willing to perform Pujas. The water is much cleaner than I had imagined- only that the place is cramped. Dipping my feet into the Ganga river (Gangajee- as she is referred to here) was a pleasant experience. The water was cool; plus the feeling that so many greats had dipped their feet in the same famed ghat added to the experience. A few chants later, I was walking towards the temple. It is a different world altogether.
My friend and senior, Dr. Mohit ,often says that Benaras is one place where, irrespective of which part of the town one stays in, “aadmi subah ko mandir ke ghanti ki aawaaz se hee uthta hai”. When one looks around and sees the number of temples, one can know why Dr. Mohit says this.
The queue to see Baba (as Kashi Vishwanath is referred to here) was long- extremely long. The self styled Pandits attempted to fleece us here too. The decay runs deep. Even if you have to keep your chappals at a safe place, you are forced to take services of the Pandit associated with that place. The police sit by hopelessly. Instead of peace, it was anger that was pervading me outside the temple. The length of the queue was testing my patience too.
As the queue moved ahead, and we moved closer to the temple, I could envision all those greats treading the same path. Strangely, during these moments, the anger just vanished. In fact, I do not have any recollection of any negative feeling during these moments right outside the temple.
As I was about to enter the temple, I placed my hands on the temple wall and closed my eyes.
Bismillah would have certainly smiled.
Epilogue: Thanks to the long minutes in the queue, Rosy and I could not visit Sarnath that we so wanted to visit. This entry is dedicated to my friend Rosy with a promise to go to Sarnath the next time.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
musafir aur murphy
The longest blog I’ve written.
9th of July, 2007 was a landmark day in my life. I had my breakfast at Kolkata, lunch in Delhi and dinner @ Mumbai. Never ever felt as Musafirous in my life…
… until, yesterday.
Was to travel by the Kingfisher morning flight to Mumbai and from there to Bhuj. Missed the flight. A gut feeling told me that Bhagwan Murphy had decided to place his hand on my head for the day.
Took the ticket for the same route on Jet. The flight to Mumbai was delayed, and we landed at 12.35 PM in Mumbai. My transit flight (the last one to Bhuj) was to take off at 12.40 PM. But, with Bhagwan Murphy by my side, how could I take the flight. Along with about 6-7 others, I got stranded in Mumbai.
Jet offered us a 7 PM flight to Rajkot and offered to drop us at Bhuj on a car ( 4-5 hours). Now, the place I needed to get to is about 150 KMs from Bhuj. With no other option, I had to take the option they gave me.
Never ever have I felt like a bigger piece of sh**.
Guess, my boss could sense that. On the phone, amongst other things, he said, “it must be more difficult for you coz you are alone on this”. Never in my life had I seen empathy better at display. I cannot describe in words how light I felt after hearing this. If ever I grow big enough to write an autobiography, this bit would be written in bold capitals.
A couple of days back, I’d met some good friends from my college at IHC. While talking to them, I remember quoting to them an oft-quoted philosophy- “Worry about, and think of changing things that are in your control”. Some very senior mentors in my life have quoted this to me and also to distinguish between things in my control and things that are not.
I smiled inside my mind. This conversation with the friends and the one with my boss ensured that any worry that remained inside me was off loaded. But I had to reach my destination before tomorrow morning.
In the time I had, before boarding the Rajkot flight, caught up with some special friends in Mumbai.
Reached Rajkot half-an-hour late. Took the car… an Innova… good car…great Rafi-Mukesh-Kishore-Hemant Kumar songs playing… lashing rains… cold winds…. Moonlit night… Exotic deserted roads… driving by the river….
But for the fact that there was no girl alongside, this would have been the most romantic evening of my life.
And then Bhagwan Murphy smiled again. The headlights of the car went off. Still drove on. Missed hitting a truck, driving into a ditch and colliding against a bus- all by a whisker. While contemplating on whether to continue driving or not, the ultimate comico-tragedy happened. One of the tyres burst.
And then, more adventure… try helping out somebody trying to change a tyre in the midst of a heavy downpour… you’ll know what I’m talking about. And no street lights around- only the light of vehicles passing by (and the moon) to spot the tyre.
Guess, had had enough of adventure… ventured around…woke up a few dhabawalas fast asleep…tried asking them if I could get a taxi… A couple of them replied in expletives I cannot quote… another did not reply and yet another laughed his heart out. I could still hear him laugh as I walked back to the innova. I could almost hear him mouth “pata nahi kahaan kahaan se aa jate hain”
“Saab, abhi toh theek nahi hoga… aap doosri gaadi le lo”, said the innova driver as I reached back.
Tried stopping a few cars that raced past- they wouldn’t stop. Lifting my wet jeans up to my knees would not have helped me either. I aint Pooja Bhatt of Dil hai ki manta nahi.
Drenched… helpless… I stood there by the innova…. Mukesh singing, “duniya banaane wale, kya tere mann mein samaayee…”…
And then luck smiled. A kind truck driver stopped (if I remember right, his name was Balram). Hitched with him till a place very near Bhuj (he was not getting into the town- was going to Mundra). As I was getting out of the truck, handed the driver a 100 rupee note. He smiled, said, “kya saab” and looked away. He took it after a great deal of persuation.
Thanks to the truckwala, got a cab from where he dropped me who took me into Bhuj. My phone network started working again… got in touch with the company car driver who was kind enough to pick the call and help drop me at the company guest house at Bhuj. It was 2.45 AM.
Woke up at 5.30 today morning… and drove down to Sewagram/ Vayor where I’m writing this.
Something every touching happened on the drive. We had stopped over at a road side stall for tea. This tea was the first thing I was having since my snack on the Rajkot flight.
The tea for my driver and me cost 6 bucks. I gave the stall vendor (a teenaged boy) a 10 rupee note. He didn’t have the balance to pay me back. I was okay with it. He was not. After a lot of struggle, he found a 5-rupee coin and he asked if I had a rupee on me so that he could give me the fiver. I had a 2-rupee coin and felt it was no big deal at all if he took the extra rupee… he would have none of it… he said, “zyaada kaise le sakta hoon saab…”
This guy was wearing a very torn trouser…and an even more torn shirt…. I could sense from his utensils…and his appearance and his thela that he struggled to meet his basic needs.
As I drove past, I felt I had seen a very different world in the last few hours since yesterday morning.
This time, as I saw this world, my eyes were misty.
9th of July, 2007 was a landmark day in my life. I had my breakfast at Kolkata, lunch in Delhi and dinner @ Mumbai. Never ever felt as Musafirous in my life…
… until, yesterday.
Was to travel by the Kingfisher morning flight to Mumbai and from there to Bhuj. Missed the flight. A gut feeling told me that Bhagwan Murphy had decided to place his hand on my head for the day.
Took the ticket for the same route on Jet. The flight to Mumbai was delayed, and we landed at 12.35 PM in Mumbai. My transit flight (the last one to Bhuj) was to take off at 12.40 PM. But, with Bhagwan Murphy by my side, how could I take the flight. Along with about 6-7 others, I got stranded in Mumbai.
Jet offered us a 7 PM flight to Rajkot and offered to drop us at Bhuj on a car ( 4-5 hours). Now, the place I needed to get to is about 150 KMs from Bhuj. With no other option, I had to take the option they gave me.
Never ever have I felt like a bigger piece of sh**.
Guess, my boss could sense that. On the phone, amongst other things, he said, “it must be more difficult for you coz you are alone on this”. Never in my life had I seen empathy better at display. I cannot describe in words how light I felt after hearing this. If ever I grow big enough to write an autobiography, this bit would be written in bold capitals.
A couple of days back, I’d met some good friends from my college at IHC. While talking to them, I remember quoting to them an oft-quoted philosophy- “Worry about, and think of changing things that are in your control”. Some very senior mentors in my life have quoted this to me and also to distinguish between things in my control and things that are not.
I smiled inside my mind. This conversation with the friends and the one with my boss ensured that any worry that remained inside me was off loaded. But I had to reach my destination before tomorrow morning.
In the time I had, before boarding the Rajkot flight, caught up with some special friends in Mumbai.
Reached Rajkot half-an-hour late. Took the car… an Innova… good car…great Rafi-Mukesh-Kishore-Hemant Kumar songs playing… lashing rains… cold winds…. Moonlit night… Exotic deserted roads… driving by the river….
But for the fact that there was no girl alongside, this would have been the most romantic evening of my life.
And then Bhagwan Murphy smiled again. The headlights of the car went off. Still drove on. Missed hitting a truck, driving into a ditch and colliding against a bus- all by a whisker. While contemplating on whether to continue driving or not, the ultimate comico-tragedy happened. One of the tyres burst.
And then, more adventure… try helping out somebody trying to change a tyre in the midst of a heavy downpour… you’ll know what I’m talking about. And no street lights around- only the light of vehicles passing by (and the moon) to spot the tyre.
Guess, had had enough of adventure… ventured around…woke up a few dhabawalas fast asleep…tried asking them if I could get a taxi… A couple of them replied in expletives I cannot quote… another did not reply and yet another laughed his heart out. I could still hear him laugh as I walked back to the innova. I could almost hear him mouth “pata nahi kahaan kahaan se aa jate hain”
“Saab, abhi toh theek nahi hoga… aap doosri gaadi le lo”, said the innova driver as I reached back.
Tried stopping a few cars that raced past- they wouldn’t stop. Lifting my wet jeans up to my knees would not have helped me either. I aint Pooja Bhatt of Dil hai ki manta nahi.
Drenched… helpless… I stood there by the innova…. Mukesh singing, “duniya banaane wale, kya tere mann mein samaayee…”…
And then luck smiled. A kind truck driver stopped (if I remember right, his name was Balram). Hitched with him till a place very near Bhuj (he was not getting into the town- was going to Mundra). As I was getting out of the truck, handed the driver a 100 rupee note. He smiled, said, “kya saab” and looked away. He took it after a great deal of persuation.
Thanks to the truckwala, got a cab from where he dropped me who took me into Bhuj. My phone network started working again… got in touch with the company car driver who was kind enough to pick the call and help drop me at the company guest house at Bhuj. It was 2.45 AM.
Woke up at 5.30 today morning… and drove down to Sewagram/ Vayor where I’m writing this.
Something every touching happened on the drive. We had stopped over at a road side stall for tea. This tea was the first thing I was having since my snack on the Rajkot flight.
The tea for my driver and me cost 6 bucks. I gave the stall vendor (a teenaged boy) a 10 rupee note. He didn’t have the balance to pay me back. I was okay with it. He was not. After a lot of struggle, he found a 5-rupee coin and he asked if I had a rupee on me so that he could give me the fiver. I had a 2-rupee coin and felt it was no big deal at all if he took the extra rupee… he would have none of it… he said, “zyaada kaise le sakta hoon saab…”
This guy was wearing a very torn trouser…and an even more torn shirt…. I could sense from his utensils…and his appearance and his thela that he struggled to meet his basic needs.
As I drove past, I felt I had seen a very different world in the last few hours since yesterday morning.
This time, as I saw this world, my eyes were misty.
Friday, August 29, 2008
The Earth is Flat...
... or so you'd believe if you just came back from a trip to Kachchh.
One can't but miss the remnants of tragedy in the air. We've just landed in Bhuj. One of the most exquisitely built airports- in true Kachchhi style. Expecting to find ruins from a most devastating earthquake, we step out- my friends from ECS and me.
I'm surprised. There are no ruins that I see. The town is neat- at least in the areas we drive through. The road is very well made. The driver tells me that this is an area of NRIs.
Our destination is still over a 100 kms away. We drive through some hamlets for some time. Something unique about this place that we drive through, is that one gets this feeling that there was "something" years back where there is "nothing" now. This region has borne the brunt of many an earthquakes- some very severe.
As one drives into kachchh, one can't miss the desolation of the region. Na kuch hai, na koi hai. A couple of very small hamlets do appear along the highway. You do spot the odd coconut groves.
We drive further into Kachchh. We don't see any trees around. We see shrubs around. The area is so flat that you may actually believe that as far as you see is all that there is...on earth. We were also privileged to see a few drops of the rain of kachchh. It lasted about 20 seconds. I'm told, the area is very rain deprived.
We reach our destination soon. Its been about 2.5 hours since we left Bhuj. We stayed there for about a week. One of the hallmarks of my trips was a late evening trek in the ruins of an old fort. Was an experience of a lifetime, though in the conventional sense, there is nothing to see. Snakes are plenty in this region. You see a lot of mongoose too- some dead, a lot more alive. I've shown some of you the video I shot there.
Incidentally, the water supply, food and other stuff comes to this village/ township from another village about 60 kms away.
One of the evenings, we also visited a lonely beach, an hour away from the last street light. Having a hot cup of tea on a lonely rocky beach, enjoying the night sky and the very strong breeze is a feeling I cannot describe in words. As an icing on the cake, we visited the Pingleswar temple (near the sea shore) during the evening Aarti with the temple bell tongs in full masti. Elevating experience.
The couple of nights I can never forget there were when the night sky was crystal clear- black, specked with stars all over. Stars, twinkling stars everywhere in the sky.
On the way back, we stopped over for a couple of hours at Bhuj- enjoying a Gujarati thali and visiting the under construction Swami Narayan temple. Also visited the Kachchh museum, which I'm told is Gujarat's oldest. An entry fee of Rs. 2 is all it takes for you to view Kachchhi artifacts and Harappan seals. There are some medieval inscripted stones and rocks as well on the display.
I'm back in Gurgaon now. I have fond memories of this exotic location. For the record, I went there for work- on a project.
I've shared with some of you some of the goods and not-so-goods of a consultant's life. If adventure and travel drives you, this is a career you can think of, as an alternative to a stint with National Geographic.
This one is dedicated to my friend Osho...who was just another colleague until a few weeks back.
One can't but miss the remnants of tragedy in the air. We've just landed in Bhuj. One of the most exquisitely built airports- in true Kachchhi style. Expecting to find ruins from a most devastating earthquake, we step out- my friends from ECS and me.
I'm surprised. There are no ruins that I see. The town is neat- at least in the areas we drive through. The road is very well made. The driver tells me that this is an area of NRIs.
Our destination is still over a 100 kms away. We drive through some hamlets for some time. Something unique about this place that we drive through, is that one gets this feeling that there was "something" years back where there is "nothing" now. This region has borne the brunt of many an earthquakes- some very severe.
As one drives into kachchh, one can't miss the desolation of the region. Na kuch hai, na koi hai. A couple of very small hamlets do appear along the highway. You do spot the odd coconut groves.
We drive further into Kachchh. We don't see any trees around. We see shrubs around. The area is so flat that you may actually believe that as far as you see is all that there is...on earth. We were also privileged to see a few drops of the rain of kachchh. It lasted about 20 seconds. I'm told, the area is very rain deprived.
We reach our destination soon. Its been about 2.5 hours since we left Bhuj. We stayed there for about a week. One of the hallmarks of my trips was a late evening trek in the ruins of an old fort. Was an experience of a lifetime, though in the conventional sense, there is nothing to see. Snakes are plenty in this region. You see a lot of mongoose too- some dead, a lot more alive. I've shown some of you the video I shot there.
Incidentally, the water supply, food and other stuff comes to this village/ township from another village about 60 kms away.
One of the evenings, we also visited a lonely beach, an hour away from the last street light. Having a hot cup of tea on a lonely rocky beach, enjoying the night sky and the very strong breeze is a feeling I cannot describe in words. As an icing on the cake, we visited the Pingleswar temple (near the sea shore) during the evening Aarti with the temple bell tongs in full masti. Elevating experience.
The couple of nights I can never forget there were when the night sky was crystal clear- black, specked with stars all over. Stars, twinkling stars everywhere in the sky.
On the way back, we stopped over for a couple of hours at Bhuj- enjoying a Gujarati thali and visiting the under construction Swami Narayan temple. Also visited the Kachchh museum, which I'm told is Gujarat's oldest. An entry fee of Rs. 2 is all it takes for you to view Kachchhi artifacts and Harappan seals. There are some medieval inscripted stones and rocks as well on the display.
I'm back in Gurgaon now. I have fond memories of this exotic location. For the record, I went there for work- on a project.
I've shared with some of you some of the goods and not-so-goods of a consultant's life. If adventure and travel drives you, this is a career you can think of, as an alternative to a stint with National Geographic.
This one is dedicated to my friend Osho...who was just another colleague until a few weeks back.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Himalayan Days
Driving along a hilly-mountainous road on a rainy day, you see a huge tree uprooted and lying flat across the road- a Tata Indica and its driver saved the wrath of the falling tree by a whisker- call it God’s grace, call it fate or rationalize it by saying he was able to apply the brakes at the right time.
A group of villagers take turns to use the only axe they possess to cut the tree into two and maybe, try and push it over the cliff. It rains harder, and the men try harder too- to cut the tree.
Expectedly, the traffic on both sides of the tree comes to a standstill. Expectedly, a large group of onlookers gather around the fallen tree.
One can see traces of sand and stones having rolled down the mountain. One can see a trail about 20 feet up the mountain. The climb up appears treacherous- a broken beer bottle lying on the ground where the climb begins. No proper places to keep your feet either- anywhere on the climb-path.
What better opportunity for a consultant to indulge in some adventure. More so, when the consultant is wearing his slippers- not even his shoes. Thanks to an equally adventurous boss, the consultant, with the help of the shoe-wearing boss try and attempt the climb the height and walk the trail.
On a routine day in a routine place, the climb would be routine. But this is neither a routine day nor a routine place. Believe me, the Himalayas, near the Indo-Tibet/ China border in Himachal can be treacherous when it is raining. (We actually saw a calf literally slipping off the cliff and falling into the deep valley below. Can never forget the sight of the helpless mother-cow running here and there- pleading to nobody in particular to rescue her kid).
We attempted the climb- my boss slipped and almost fell off a few times. I almost emulated his frequency of slipping.
Half way through, we realized, it “wasn’t worth the effort”. Prudence prevailed and we just about managed to come back safely.
The last 4-5 days have been different. We were in the Kinnaur district of Himachal as a part of a project. The village where we stayed lay right in the middle of a beautiful valley- the river Satluj with all its youthful might flowing right through the village. It is an interesting sight. The river is gushing in with all its fury. On its way it encounters rocks, striking them with great speed and forcefully slowing down in its advent towards God-knows-where; changing routes, dancing against the mightier rocks- jumping, twisting and twirling, dancing again and gracefully flowing along. And while it flows, water from different streams join in the river’s quest- some water, milky from the fresh snow that has melted and some, muddied by the rains.
The river absorbs all of this as it flows along.
Standing atop a bridge across the river, I think of the similarity of this river and its path, and the lives we live.
My visits to this bridge happened regularly through the days we stayed there. My regularly companion during these times was the moon, shyly gazing at me from behind the dark clouds.
There is something about the sound of water (river flow/ sound of waves/ rain drops) that has a soothing influence on one’s mind. At least I have felt this often.
I go back now, to “my regular world”- back in Gurgaon. The music of the river, its twists and twirls are still fresh in my mind. As I write this, the moon is still gazing at me. I can see its face now- it no longer is hiding behind the clouds.
To those of you who are making a trip to the mountains anywhere near the river- ensure that your windows are rolled down as you drive, else you may miss out on the music. Also, don’t miss the Dal served in these villages. Doesn’t taste better anywhere else.
Next week I’m likely to Rann off to Kucch. Diametrically opposite to the terrains I’ve just been to.
Watch this space for more.
A group of villagers take turns to use the only axe they possess to cut the tree into two and maybe, try and push it over the cliff. It rains harder, and the men try harder too- to cut the tree.
Expectedly, the traffic on both sides of the tree comes to a standstill. Expectedly, a large group of onlookers gather around the fallen tree.
One can see traces of sand and stones having rolled down the mountain. One can see a trail about 20 feet up the mountain. The climb up appears treacherous- a broken beer bottle lying on the ground where the climb begins. No proper places to keep your feet either- anywhere on the climb-path.
What better opportunity for a consultant to indulge in some adventure. More so, when the consultant is wearing his slippers- not even his shoes. Thanks to an equally adventurous boss, the consultant, with the help of the shoe-wearing boss try and attempt the climb the height and walk the trail.
On a routine day in a routine place, the climb would be routine. But this is neither a routine day nor a routine place. Believe me, the Himalayas, near the Indo-Tibet/ China border in Himachal can be treacherous when it is raining. (We actually saw a calf literally slipping off the cliff and falling into the deep valley below. Can never forget the sight of the helpless mother-cow running here and there- pleading to nobody in particular to rescue her kid).
We attempted the climb- my boss slipped and almost fell off a few times. I almost emulated his frequency of slipping.
Half way through, we realized, it “wasn’t worth the effort”. Prudence prevailed and we just about managed to come back safely.
The last 4-5 days have been different. We were in the Kinnaur district of Himachal as a part of a project. The village where we stayed lay right in the middle of a beautiful valley- the river Satluj with all its youthful might flowing right through the village. It is an interesting sight. The river is gushing in with all its fury. On its way it encounters rocks, striking them with great speed and forcefully slowing down in its advent towards God-knows-where; changing routes, dancing against the mightier rocks- jumping, twisting and twirling, dancing again and gracefully flowing along. And while it flows, water from different streams join in the river’s quest- some water, milky from the fresh snow that has melted and some, muddied by the rains.
The river absorbs all of this as it flows along.
Standing atop a bridge across the river, I think of the similarity of this river and its path, and the lives we live.
My visits to this bridge happened regularly through the days we stayed there. My regularly companion during these times was the moon, shyly gazing at me from behind the dark clouds.
There is something about the sound of water (river flow/ sound of waves/ rain drops) that has a soothing influence on one’s mind. At least I have felt this often.
I go back now, to “my regular world”- back in Gurgaon. The music of the river, its twists and twirls are still fresh in my mind. As I write this, the moon is still gazing at me. I can see its face now- it no longer is hiding behind the clouds.
To those of you who are making a trip to the mountains anywhere near the river- ensure that your windows are rolled down as you drive, else you may miss out on the music. Also, don’t miss the Dal served in these villages. Doesn’t taste better anywhere else.
Next week I’m likely to Rann off to Kucch. Diametrically opposite to the terrains I’ve just been to.
Watch this space for more.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Bahut nikle mere armaan...
You say that the day USSR collapsed, communism died its inevitable death. I ask, hypothetically, if the Taj Mahal were to collapse tomorrow, would you say that Love has died its death? The answer would be an obvious resounding "NO". Why? Coz Taj Mahal is not Love itself, only a symbol of Love.
Similarly, communism is a feeling- like Love.
I've taken out this by paraphrasing a scene from Kamal Hassan's Anbe Sivam, arguably amongst his best ever.
Let me also quote Che here- "Let me say, with the risk of appearing ridiculous,that the true revolutionary is guided by the spirit of Love. It is impossible to think of an authentic revolutionary without this quality."
Why do I write this today?
A few days back, I was at the launch of the Habitat Film Fest, which is showcasing this time, a retro of Sudhir Mishra's films. It began with Hazaron Khwaishein Aisi, the only cult film that I can think of- in my college days, besides Rang De Basanti. Those of us who saw this film loved it- for different reasons.
Siddharth Tyabji (Kaykay) is one of the protagonists in the film. A young man from a well-to-do family, driven by the leftist ideology, seeking to a create a difference in the society. Geeta Rao (Chitrangada Singh), a young lady driven by Love for her man and his ideology she adopts and eventually lives. Vikram Malhotra (Shiney Ahuja), the son of a middle class Gandhian, who is driven by thoughts of power, and the lady he loves (who loves another man).
A story through a decade from 1969, which sees these three go through different surprises in life- which sees them doing what they want to do and also living the collaterals they would never have imagined. It is also a story about Love. Love is a theme that plays in the background of the movie through its reels.
There are those times when I do watch movies purely for timepass. I guess most of us (the serious cinema lovers) relate to a movie/ story when we either relate to the characters or when we see the protagonists do what we wish we could do.
This film takes me back to a few years back. The Afghan war had just begun. In my own li'l way I was involved with a group of people who staged street plays urging people to wake up against American imperialism. We urged people to stop drinking Pepsi-Coke, stop wearing Nike/ Reebok... and disassociate themselves from anything American. Each time a new mind was indoctrinated, my mind rejoiced. And frustration set in each time I saw someone not convinced. We all believed things will change. We all believed that doing what we were doing would "awaken" a dormant society.
Days passed on, weeks flew by and winters gave way to summer that gave way to the rains... to autumn and to the winters.
My very close friend of those days used to call me Ajithations (the etymology of the name had nothing to do with the Afghan war. It came from the legendary BitBis dharna).
The idealism associated with anti-imperialism gave way to a realization that if I needed to do anything that was socially accepted as "worthwhile", I would have to rid myself of these ideas. This eventually made me slowly give up on certain views of mine. Was it a realization that the ideas would never reach their logical conclusion? Was it an awakening that the hopes would never be realized? I do not think so.
Pure selfishness :-)
I remember sitting in the last bench of route no. 816, boarding the bus after downing a bottle of coke- after long months of renunciation. It was my moment of truth at that time. This must have been 2003.
I have seen the film Hazaaron khwahishein aisi.. about 5-10 times now. Each time, I have seen new meanings in the film. Each time my mind takes a new route altogether.
I have nothing against films like "Partner", "Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna" and the likes. But, it is sad that such films as Hazaron don't have a large audience.
Lemme end this one by quoting Ghalib...
Hazaaron Khwahishein aisi, ki har khwahish pe dum nikle.
Bahut nikle mere armaan...lekin...fir bhi kam nikle....
Similarly, communism is a feeling- like Love.
I've taken out this by paraphrasing a scene from Kamal Hassan's Anbe Sivam, arguably amongst his best ever.
Let me also quote Che here- "Let me say, with the risk of appearing ridiculous,that the true revolutionary is guided by the spirit of Love. It is impossible to think of an authentic revolutionary without this quality."
Why do I write this today?
A few days back, I was at the launch of the Habitat Film Fest, which is showcasing this time, a retro of Sudhir Mishra's films. It began with Hazaron Khwaishein Aisi, the only cult film that I can think of- in my college days, besides Rang De Basanti. Those of us who saw this film loved it- for different reasons.
Siddharth Tyabji (Kaykay) is one of the protagonists in the film. A young man from a well-to-do family, driven by the leftist ideology, seeking to a create a difference in the society. Geeta Rao (Chitrangada Singh), a young lady driven by Love for her man and his ideology she adopts and eventually lives. Vikram Malhotra (Shiney Ahuja), the son of a middle class Gandhian, who is driven by thoughts of power, and the lady he loves (who loves another man).
A story through a decade from 1969, which sees these three go through different surprises in life- which sees them doing what they want to do and also living the collaterals they would never have imagined. It is also a story about Love. Love is a theme that plays in the background of the movie through its reels.
There are those times when I do watch movies purely for timepass. I guess most of us (the serious cinema lovers) relate to a movie/ story when we either relate to the characters or when we see the protagonists do what we wish we could do.
This film takes me back to a few years back. The Afghan war had just begun. In my own li'l way I was involved with a group of people who staged street plays urging people to wake up against American imperialism. We urged people to stop drinking Pepsi-Coke, stop wearing Nike/ Reebok... and disassociate themselves from anything American. Each time a new mind was indoctrinated, my mind rejoiced. And frustration set in each time I saw someone not convinced. We all believed things will change. We all believed that doing what we were doing would "awaken" a dormant society.
Days passed on, weeks flew by and winters gave way to summer that gave way to the rains... to autumn and to the winters.
My very close friend of those days used to call me Ajithations (the etymology of the name had nothing to do with the Afghan war. It came from the legendary BitBis dharna).
The idealism associated with anti-imperialism gave way to a realization that if I needed to do anything that was socially accepted as "worthwhile", I would have to rid myself of these ideas. This eventually made me slowly give up on certain views of mine. Was it a realization that the ideas would never reach their logical conclusion? Was it an awakening that the hopes would never be realized? I do not think so.
Pure selfishness :-)
I remember sitting in the last bench of route no. 816, boarding the bus after downing a bottle of coke- after long months of renunciation. It was my moment of truth at that time. This must have been 2003.
I have seen the film Hazaaron khwahishein aisi.. about 5-10 times now. Each time, I have seen new meanings in the film. Each time my mind takes a new route altogether.
I have nothing against films like "Partner", "Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna" and the likes. But, it is sad that such films as Hazaron don't have a large audience.
Lemme end this one by quoting Ghalib...
Hazaaron Khwahishein aisi, ki har khwahish pe dum nikle.
Bahut nikle mere armaan...lekin...fir bhi kam nikle....
Friday, April 11, 2008
Khuda ke liye...
Ajeetbhaai, aap toh samajhdaar ho. Agli baar jab mulaaqaat hogi, toh ummeed hai ki Inshallah aapne islam ko kabool kar liya hoga. Quran-e-kareem padhiye, aur sochiye. Allah Hafeez"
These were the parting words of my driver in Dubai- Abdul Qadir, from Peshawar in Pakistan.
After coming back from Dubai, I've watched two movies. Race was good. The other one I saw was this film called "Khuda Ke Liye"- a Pakistani production.
The film shows the two sides of current day Islam beautifully. One, the more tolerant and liberal face, and the other, the conservative and even medieval face.
The film tracks the story of two brothers- one drawn to radical Islam (he even gives up music, his greatest passion, in the name of Islam) and the other who goes on to study music in Chicago.
The film highlights beautifully the impact of misinterpretation and misunderstanding of the religion both by the followers of the faith and others. The one side, which highlights the radical practice by the followers shows how much of a problem it can create. One has to see the film to understand what I'm saying here. My friend who came with me to watch the film asked me if such implications could be true. I had and have no doubt in mind that this is absolutely true.
The other side highlights the impact of ignorance by the others, viz, the west. The typical American who is both stupid and ignorant, and high on arrogance, combined with a low IQ has been shown beautifully- as also the price the rest of us have to pay for American stupidity.
Go watch the film- it is a must see.
American studpidity and the compulsive American behaviour that dictates every decision they make to be linked to monetary benefits can be linked to what they are are saying, rather, not saying in Tibet. Heavy stakes in the olympics mean that their usual tomtomming of democracy and human rights does not apply to Tibet.
Why America, even India acts with impotency when it comes to Tibet. As a culture, we have always stood up for what is correct- the path of Dharma. There is a school of thought that if we openly advocate Tibetan freedom, it will adversely impact our case on Kashmir.
Incorrect...
The contexts are entirely different.
The elaborations are reserved for some other time.
Don't know why, but this song is playing in my mind as I write this... "Vidai kodu engal naade".
These were the parting words of my driver in Dubai- Abdul Qadir, from Peshawar in Pakistan.
After coming back from Dubai, I've watched two movies. Race was good. The other one I saw was this film called "Khuda Ke Liye"- a Pakistani production.
The film shows the two sides of current day Islam beautifully. One, the more tolerant and liberal face, and the other, the conservative and even medieval face.
The film tracks the story of two brothers- one drawn to radical Islam (he even gives up music, his greatest passion, in the name of Islam) and the other who goes on to study music in Chicago.
The film highlights beautifully the impact of misinterpretation and misunderstanding of the religion both by the followers of the faith and others. The one side, which highlights the radical practice by the followers shows how much of a problem it can create. One has to see the film to understand what I'm saying here. My friend who came with me to watch the film asked me if such implications could be true. I had and have no doubt in mind that this is absolutely true.
The other side highlights the impact of ignorance by the others, viz, the west. The typical American who is both stupid and ignorant, and high on arrogance, combined with a low IQ has been shown beautifully- as also the price the rest of us have to pay for American stupidity.
Go watch the film- it is a must see.
American studpidity and the compulsive American behaviour that dictates every decision they make to be linked to monetary benefits can be linked to what they are are saying, rather, not saying in Tibet. Heavy stakes in the olympics mean that their usual tomtomming of democracy and human rights does not apply to Tibet.
Why America, even India acts with impotency when it comes to Tibet. As a culture, we have always stood up for what is correct- the path of Dharma. There is a school of thought that if we openly advocate Tibetan freedom, it will adversely impact our case on Kashmir.
Incorrect...
The contexts are entirely different.
The elaborations are reserved for some other time.
Don't know why, but this song is playing in my mind as I write this... "Vidai kodu engal naade".
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
gElf diaries- 5- Khallaasss
If you are reading this, please read the following before reading this-
1) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-part-1.html
2) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-2-arabian-night.html
3) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-3-zimble-myoozings.html
4) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-4-yet-not-yet.html
(This was written on 6-April at the airport. This is being Published from Delhi on 9-April.)
Finally, here I am- sitting in the airport waiting to board the aircraft.
Some of you have been asking me what the professional experience here has been like. I will probably take that up in some other context. Maybe, it is out of scope for this blog.
Visited Jumeirah beach yesterday and man!!! I simply love the Indian beaches.
Not a single hawker in the beach. Woh feel nahi aayi…
Met a couple of old friends and acquaintances- some by design and some coincidentally.
Dubai seemed more like a neater and more crowded version of Bombay inhabited by Malayalees.
Feeling sleepy… very sleepy…
Excitedly looking forward to Delhi.
This series of gElf diaries is dedicated to the ECS team in Dubai- in particular 2 Abu Sheikh (erstwhile Abhishek), my flatmate in Dubai and now friend.
I shall write one more blog on my interactions here with the blue collared Expats- especially those from the subcontinent.
That’s it from me in the gElf. Khallas!!!
Inshallah, there shall be another such series!!!
1) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-part-1.html
2) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-2-arabian-night.html
3) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-3-zimble-myoozings.html
4) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-4-yet-not-yet.html
(This was written on 6-April at the airport. This is being Published from Delhi on 9-April.)
Finally, here I am- sitting in the airport waiting to board the aircraft.
Some of you have been asking me what the professional experience here has been like. I will probably take that up in some other context. Maybe, it is out of scope for this blog.
Visited Jumeirah beach yesterday and man!!! I simply love the Indian beaches.
Not a single hawker in the beach. Woh feel nahi aayi…
Met a couple of old friends and acquaintances- some by design and some coincidentally.
Dubai seemed more like a neater and more crowded version of Bombay inhabited by Malayalees.
Feeling sleepy… very sleepy…
Excitedly looking forward to Delhi.
This series of gElf diaries is dedicated to the ECS team in Dubai- in particular 2 Abu Sheikh (erstwhile Abhishek), my flatmate in Dubai and now friend.
I shall write one more blog on my interactions here with the blue collared Expats- especially those from the subcontinent.
That’s it from me in the gElf. Khallas!!!
Inshallah, there shall be another such series!!!
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
gElf Diaries 4- Yet, Not yet!!!
If you are reading this, please read the following before reading this-
1) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-part-1.html
2) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-2-arabian-night.html
3) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-3-zimble-myoozings.html
Exceedingly pretty eyes she had,
Piercing, misty and green.
They reflected something sad,
But beautiful they were,
As beautiful as can be.
I was sitting sipping my latte in Starbucks when I noticed this beautiful girl. I’ve just described to you the eyes. My cuzin sis who was sitting with me mentioned that her cheeks resembled a “thakkaali” (tomato in tamil). I could not stop staring at the girl.
Usually, when I see a beautiful girl, I try not to make the ogling obvious. This has been more prominent in the Middle East. Yahaan toh dar lagta hai kisi bandi se aankh milaane mein.
But in this case, I cared not for (my self imposed) Middle Eastern norms. She was pretty and there to be seen. She knew it too, through a sixth sense that only womenfolk have, that there was a pair of Indian eyes looking into hers. For a few seconds, or probably a fraction, our eyes met.
Most of the Middle Eastern girls have amazingly good-looking features. Only that they seem to be using layers and layers of make-up. Also this entire city smells of perfumes- inside the lifts, inside the malls, inside the office, just about everywhere.
Something intriguing about the girls though is that most of them are shrouded in a black gown.
The best thing about Dubai is that women can roam around freely here- without an iota of fear of eve teasing.
I’m now counting my days in Dubai. I’m likely to be back in India anytime now. Acquaintances do not seem to understand- there is a unique relief that pervades me when I think of coming back to India.. Friends will know.
I’d mentioned in my previous blogs about me going where destiny takes me. Looks like I’m going back to Gurgaon for now. Par Kal ka kya hai, kisne dekha….
I got a hang of the city’s enormity yesterday. A night drive on Sheikh Zayed road, skyscrapers on the left and the right, a massive highway and the badi badi gaadiyaan… tez tez chalti hui… from one traffic jam to another.
The Mall of Emirates would be a treat for a shopping freak. I guess I am not one.
My eyes long for roads lined with trees,
This place is filled with luxuries,
I see cranes, I see buildings,
I see cars and I see roads wide.
Yet I know not when I shall find my peace,
But, I do know when I shall see those roads,
Potholed and narrow, yet lined with trees,
This longing shall cease.
1) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-part-1.html
2) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-2-arabian-night.html
3) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-3-zimble-myoozings.html
Exceedingly pretty eyes she had,
Piercing, misty and green.
They reflected something sad,
But beautiful they were,
As beautiful as can be.
I was sitting sipping my latte in Starbucks when I noticed this beautiful girl. I’ve just described to you the eyes. My cuzin sis who was sitting with me mentioned that her cheeks resembled a “thakkaali” (tomato in tamil). I could not stop staring at the girl.
Usually, when I see a beautiful girl, I try not to make the ogling obvious. This has been more prominent in the Middle East. Yahaan toh dar lagta hai kisi bandi se aankh milaane mein.
But in this case, I cared not for (my self imposed) Middle Eastern norms. She was pretty and there to be seen. She knew it too, through a sixth sense that only womenfolk have, that there was a pair of Indian eyes looking into hers. For a few seconds, or probably a fraction, our eyes met.
Most of the Middle Eastern girls have amazingly good-looking features. Only that they seem to be using layers and layers of make-up. Also this entire city smells of perfumes- inside the lifts, inside the malls, inside the office, just about everywhere.
Something intriguing about the girls though is that most of them are shrouded in a black gown.
The best thing about Dubai is that women can roam around freely here- without an iota of fear of eve teasing.
I’m now counting my days in Dubai. I’m likely to be back in India anytime now. Acquaintances do not seem to understand- there is a unique relief that pervades me when I think of coming back to India.. Friends will know.
I’d mentioned in my previous blogs about me going where destiny takes me. Looks like I’m going back to Gurgaon for now. Par Kal ka kya hai, kisne dekha….
I got a hang of the city’s enormity yesterday. A night drive on Sheikh Zayed road, skyscrapers on the left and the right, a massive highway and the badi badi gaadiyaan… tez tez chalti hui… from one traffic jam to another.
The Mall of Emirates would be a treat for a shopping freak. I guess I am not one.
My eyes long for roads lined with trees,
This place is filled with luxuries,
I see cranes, I see buildings,
I see cars and I see roads wide.
Yet I know not when I shall find my peace,
But, I do know when I shall see those roads,
Potholed and narrow, yet lined with trees,
This longing shall cease.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
gElf diaries 3- zimble Myoozings
If you are reading this, please read the following before reading this-
1) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-part-1.html
2) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-2-arabian-night.html
My second weekend is just about to get over. I was chatting with my good friend VP Singh on gtalk; his status quoted a line-
“It is 12.10 and it is now..Tomorrow at 3:00, it will be now. On my deathbed it will still be now...Since it will always be now, learning to respond to 'now' is the only thing there is to learn !!!”
This is so relevant in my life today… now.
I still do not know if my stay in Dubai will continue for a few more days, months or weeks. I’m dealing now with ‘now’.
Last few days have made me quite senti. My good friend and sis Shilpi says I’m a guy who lives in the past. She is right- even literally. I’m 90 minutes behind IST.
The ECS team here has been extremely friendly and supportive- much more than I would ever have thought. It is amazing to have good friends in colleagues. Touch wood!!
Social networking is very difficult here. Orkut is banned. I guess it will take time before you get to befriend people outside one’s official circle. I wonder if I’m gonna be in Dubai that long!!!
We stay in luxury. The hotel apartment is damn decent!! The first day we met, my flatmate Abhishek and I were discussing that even if we spent our time working for the next few years, we would not able to own a 2 BHK half as luxurious as this. Nobody has a small car here. A Camry seems to be the base car and that too, used as a taxi. The roads are big and perennially in a state of jam…or so it seems. Badi badi gaadiyaan… badi badi imaaratein…
There are as many taxis here as there are buses in gurgaon… ppl say, jannat naseeb ho jaati hai, par taxi nahi… there are as many buses here as there are helicopters in delhi…there are as many plants and trees here as there are buildings taller than 20 floors in delhi…
Still wonder if there is a motivator besides money for a man to come here voluntarily.
Its amazing though how these guys have created a city out of nothing…
Let us see what d future has in store…watch this space for more…
PS- My closest of friends have been telling me that this experience will do some good to make me stronger and wiser…
Even as I write this… an evergreen Dev Anand number plays in my mind…
Jo mil gaya usee ko muqaddar samajh liya… jo kho gaya main usko bhulaata chala gaya…
gham aur khushi mein farq na mahsoos ho jahaan… main dil ko us maqaam pe laata chala gaya….
I wish I could!!!
PPS- This one is dedicated 2 VP and Shilpi…
1) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-part-1.html
2) http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-2-arabian-night.html
My second weekend is just about to get over. I was chatting with my good friend VP Singh on gtalk; his status quoted a line-
“It is 12.10 and it is now..Tomorrow at 3:00, it will be now. On my deathbed it will still be now...Since it will always be now, learning to respond to 'now' is the only thing there is to learn !!!”
This is so relevant in my life today… now.
I still do not know if my stay in Dubai will continue for a few more days, months or weeks. I’m dealing now with ‘now’.
Last few days have made me quite senti. My good friend and sis Shilpi says I’m a guy who lives in the past. She is right- even literally. I’m 90 minutes behind IST.
The ECS team here has been extremely friendly and supportive- much more than I would ever have thought. It is amazing to have good friends in colleagues. Touch wood!!
Social networking is very difficult here. Orkut is banned. I guess it will take time before you get to befriend people outside one’s official circle. I wonder if I’m gonna be in Dubai that long!!!
We stay in luxury. The hotel apartment is damn decent!! The first day we met, my flatmate Abhishek and I were discussing that even if we spent our time working for the next few years, we would not able to own a 2 BHK half as luxurious as this. Nobody has a small car here. A Camry seems to be the base car and that too, used as a taxi. The roads are big and perennially in a state of jam…or so it seems. Badi badi gaadiyaan… badi badi imaaratein…
There are as many taxis here as there are buses in gurgaon… ppl say, jannat naseeb ho jaati hai, par taxi nahi… there are as many buses here as there are helicopters in delhi…there are as many plants and trees here as there are buildings taller than 20 floors in delhi…
Still wonder if there is a motivator besides money for a man to come here voluntarily.
Its amazing though how these guys have created a city out of nothing…
Let us see what d future has in store…watch this space for more…
PS- My closest of friends have been telling me that this experience will do some good to make me stronger and wiser…
Even as I write this… an evergreen Dev Anand number plays in my mind…
Jo mil gaya usee ko muqaddar samajh liya… jo kho gaya main usko bhulaata chala gaya…
gham aur khushi mein farq na mahsoos ho jahaan… main dil ko us maqaam pe laata chala gaya….
I wish I could!!!
PPS- This one is dedicated 2 VP and Shilpi…
Friday, March 21, 2008
gElf diaries 2- Arabian night
If you are reading this, please read http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/03/gelf-diaries-part-1.html before reading this-
Its been a week now. Don’t’ know how long more it is going to be here- days/ weeks or months.
Started on a hectic note with work beginning from day-one. A long weekend made life easier for me.
I’m not yet able to digest the fact that Friday and Saturday would be weekend for me. I still find it difficult to cross roads- the thought that vehicles are coming in from my right has not yet registered in my mind. So I’m extra careful while crossing. The last days, I’ve had pulao for lunch. Nothing else is veg. One day I had to eat steamed rice and lettuce leaf.
I went on an overnight desert safari this weekend. Was amazing fun!! The safari began around 5 in the evening.
Started with a stunt ride on a land cruiser over the desert sands and the dunes. This lasted an hour. Was good fun, but a li’l over hyped.
The fun started after that. A model mehfil has been made in the desert, something like our own chokhi dhaani. You get to do some modern stuff like sand biking (which is exciting, yet, could be dangerous, as my friend and flatmate Abhishek learnt the hard way- his skin from his left thigh to the heel got burnt under the tyre). You also get to do some camel riding.
The loser that I’ve often been branded by friends often- I did neither. Took a walk around the desert- went to a no man’s land. I wondered what life would have been like- here in the desert a thousand years back. For some time, I felt like the protagonist in The Alchemist- wandering through the desert. As evening gave way to dusk and dusk to the night, I came back to the mehfil.
If you enjoy a few pegs- you get some stuff at a steep price. For the rest of us teetotalers, dates, Soft Drinks, food and tea were on the house. There were close to 150 tourists like me, under the open sky, a bright moonlit night and some catchy Arabic music.
The best part of the evening was reserved for the belly dance. The initial moments of the belly dance brought within me a sense of deep disgust at myself- here was a girl dancing in front of so many people- the sole aim seemed to be titillating the libido of spectators like me. A few minutes of self disdain (at watching the dance) later, I realized I was actually enjoying it. Before you take me otherwise, I think belly dance is an amazing art form. The costume may look scanty when you compare it with… say a Bharatnatyam. Besides the flexibility of the danseuse’ body, the grace of her movements and her ability to keep the audience engaged was beautiful.
Post the dance and the dinner (surprisingly, there is enough vegetarian fare for people like me), the crowd dispersed, ready to be taken back to their places of residence. 8 of us stayed put for the overnight experience. Four of us from ECS, a Norwegian couple and a Brit couple. The Arab music played on. The Norwegian couple joined us for a chat. It was fun.
The night was cold. The desert was lonely. The sky was beautiful. A faint sound of music from a distant camp added to the mysticism of the night. An interesting attendant by the name of Allah Bachaaya only added to the medieval feel.
Thanks to the two sleeping bags these guys had provided, my night in the tent was quite comfortable.
Sometime, I’ll visit the desert again- I may not go for the landcruiser ride though.
The night I spent there was one of contemplation for me. I was with friends and yet I was alone. I was alone and yet I could connect with so many near and dear ones I have known. It is an awesome experience walking in the desert a few minutes before sunrise.
One song that plays in my mind when I think of that night… Jagjit Singhing… Kal chaudhvi ki raat thi…. Na… I’ll not say more!!!
Its been a week now. Don’t’ know how long more it is going to be here- days/ weeks or months.
Started on a hectic note with work beginning from day-one. A long weekend made life easier for me.
I’m not yet able to digest the fact that Friday and Saturday would be weekend for me. I still find it difficult to cross roads- the thought that vehicles are coming in from my right has not yet registered in my mind. So I’m extra careful while crossing. The last days, I’ve had pulao for lunch. Nothing else is veg. One day I had to eat steamed rice and lettuce leaf.
I went on an overnight desert safari this weekend. Was amazing fun!! The safari began around 5 in the evening.
Started with a stunt ride on a land cruiser over the desert sands and the dunes. This lasted an hour. Was good fun, but a li’l over hyped.
The fun started after that. A model mehfil has been made in the desert, something like our own chokhi dhaani. You get to do some modern stuff like sand biking (which is exciting, yet, could be dangerous, as my friend and flatmate Abhishek learnt the hard way- his skin from his left thigh to the heel got burnt under the tyre). You also get to do some camel riding.
The loser that I’ve often been branded by friends often- I did neither. Took a walk around the desert- went to a no man’s land. I wondered what life would have been like- here in the desert a thousand years back. For some time, I felt like the protagonist in The Alchemist- wandering through the desert. As evening gave way to dusk and dusk to the night, I came back to the mehfil.
If you enjoy a few pegs- you get some stuff at a steep price. For the rest of us teetotalers, dates, Soft Drinks, food and tea were on the house. There were close to 150 tourists like me, under the open sky, a bright moonlit night and some catchy Arabic music.
The best part of the evening was reserved for the belly dance. The initial moments of the belly dance brought within me a sense of deep disgust at myself- here was a girl dancing in front of so many people- the sole aim seemed to be titillating the libido of spectators like me. A few minutes of self disdain (at watching the dance) later, I realized I was actually enjoying it. Before you take me otherwise, I think belly dance is an amazing art form. The costume may look scanty when you compare it with… say a Bharatnatyam. Besides the flexibility of the danseuse’ body, the grace of her movements and her ability to keep the audience engaged was beautiful.
Post the dance and the dinner (surprisingly, there is enough vegetarian fare for people like me), the crowd dispersed, ready to be taken back to their places of residence. 8 of us stayed put for the overnight experience. Four of us from ECS, a Norwegian couple and a Brit couple. The Arab music played on. The Norwegian couple joined us for a chat. It was fun.
The night was cold. The desert was lonely. The sky was beautiful. A faint sound of music from a distant camp added to the mysticism of the night. An interesting attendant by the name of Allah Bachaaya only added to the medieval feel.
Thanks to the two sleeping bags these guys had provided, my night in the tent was quite comfortable.
Sometime, I’ll visit the desert again- I may not go for the landcruiser ride though.
The night I spent there was one of contemplation for me. I was with friends and yet I was alone. I was alone and yet I could connect with so many near and dear ones I have known. It is an awesome experience walking in the desert a few minutes before sunrise.
One song that plays in my mind when I think of that night… Jagjit Singhing… Kal chaudhvi ki raat thi…. Na… I’ll not say more!!!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
gElf diaries 1- ahlan Dubai
My first day away from the country…
Often I’ve asked myself if a man is driven by his destiny or if he creates his own destiny. In the more emotional and religious moods, I’ve gone by the former and in the more rhetoric times, I’ve gone with the latter.
The events in the last week again raised this question in my mind. This time, the answer seems clear.
I had great plans for this weekend- a rafting trip in Rishikesh, a visit to Siliserh in Rajasthan and was all set to travel to Hissar in Haryana next week.
I’m writing this sitting in a room in Dubai. I landed last night. The trip was not too very exciting. After the busy last 4 days trying to vacate my room, I was tired- and my body acting in mechanic motions. My mind has been rather blank and it has been as if I’m playing somebody else’s character in a play. Also, to anyone who is flying into Dubai, I strongly strongly recommend that you avoid Indian Airlines. Pathetic is an understatement.
Most of the significant happenings in my life- the good, bad and ugly , have happened without my asking for it. After a heartbreak, I was sitting with a mentor cum good friend and he quoted Ghalib and said, “Ishq par zor nahi, hai ye wo aatish Ghalib… jo jalaaye na jale, jo bujhaaye na bujhe”. I remember him also mentioning that that this is true not just of ishq, but of life in general. The more I think about it, the more I agree… and the more I think.
Since morning, the song, “ye jo des hai tera” has been playing in my mind and I know that I’m obviously not here to settle down; I am here only for a few months- and am not indulging in brain drain that I have been critical of through these 25 years. Nevertheless it is a strange feeling. I don’t know if my friends and readers will agree with me or understand me as I write this. But, “strange” is exactly how I feel.
I was just beginning to get used to Gurgaon. I was beginning to get used to the thought of having my dinner in a new outlet in a different mall every night. I was now getting used to sitting on the terrace every night, sipping a hot cuppa milk… looking into the night sky… singing a few songs… listening to some… chatting on the phone…
Gurgaon aint as bad a place to stay as I’ve been portraying to some of you. It has its spots which are worth living.
I’m more contemplative than usual today- the excitement of an overseas project indulging n a game of see-saw with the emotion of leaving India- more specifically, my beloved Delhi/ NCR.
In the days to come, I may write more of these musings from the Gulf. When I landed in dubai, I remembered the title music in a 70’s Sukumaran movie- it shows him landing in Dubai. It has amazing Arabic beats in the background.
This blog is dedicated to a friend I was having conversation with- till a few seconds before I boarded the aircraft. She once again told me, as she had in the past, that jo ek baar gaya videsh, wo fir waapas aane ka naam nahi leta.
This is also dedicated to the guy standing next to me in the loo at the Dubai airport, who asked me something, after which I lost all the anxiety of landing in a foreign land.
He asked, “saare, samayam ethra aayi?”
Cheers to the gElf Malayalee!!!
Often I’ve asked myself if a man is driven by his destiny or if he creates his own destiny. In the more emotional and religious moods, I’ve gone by the former and in the more rhetoric times, I’ve gone with the latter.
The events in the last week again raised this question in my mind. This time, the answer seems clear.
I had great plans for this weekend- a rafting trip in Rishikesh, a visit to Siliserh in Rajasthan and was all set to travel to Hissar in Haryana next week.
I’m writing this sitting in a room in Dubai. I landed last night. The trip was not too very exciting. After the busy last 4 days trying to vacate my room, I was tired- and my body acting in mechanic motions. My mind has been rather blank and it has been as if I’m playing somebody else’s character in a play. Also, to anyone who is flying into Dubai, I strongly strongly recommend that you avoid Indian Airlines. Pathetic is an understatement.
Most of the significant happenings in my life- the good, bad and ugly , have happened without my asking for it. After a heartbreak, I was sitting with a mentor cum good friend and he quoted Ghalib and said, “Ishq par zor nahi, hai ye wo aatish Ghalib… jo jalaaye na jale, jo bujhaaye na bujhe”. I remember him also mentioning that that this is true not just of ishq, but of life in general. The more I think about it, the more I agree… and the more I think.
Since morning, the song, “ye jo des hai tera” has been playing in my mind and I know that I’m obviously not here to settle down; I am here only for a few months- and am not indulging in brain drain that I have been critical of through these 25 years. Nevertheless it is a strange feeling. I don’t know if my friends and readers will agree with me or understand me as I write this. But, “strange” is exactly how I feel.
I was just beginning to get used to Gurgaon. I was beginning to get used to the thought of having my dinner in a new outlet in a different mall every night. I was now getting used to sitting on the terrace every night, sipping a hot cuppa milk… looking into the night sky… singing a few songs… listening to some… chatting on the phone…
Gurgaon aint as bad a place to stay as I’ve been portraying to some of you. It has its spots which are worth living.
I’m more contemplative than usual today- the excitement of an overseas project indulging n a game of see-saw with the emotion of leaving India- more specifically, my beloved Delhi/ NCR.
In the days to come, I may write more of these musings from the Gulf. When I landed in dubai, I remembered the title music in a 70’s Sukumaran movie- it shows him landing in Dubai. It has amazing Arabic beats in the background.
This blog is dedicated to a friend I was having conversation with- till a few seconds before I boarded the aircraft. She once again told me, as she had in the past, that jo ek baar gaya videsh, wo fir waapas aane ka naam nahi leta.
This is also dedicated to the guy standing next to me in the loo at the Dubai airport, who asked me something, after which I lost all the anxiety of landing in a foreign land.
He asked, “saare, samayam ethra aayi?”
Cheers to the gElf Malayalee!!!
Monday, March 3, 2008
Sach is life...
...Jab tu bada hoga na, tab bhi tere saath khel raha hoga woh...." And he laughed.
Y'day evening, after watching Sachin do what he did to the Aussies, I was taking a walk in the neighbourhood park. A kid was playing cricket with his brother and his Dad. I was in a mesmerized state y'day. I stood by to watch the family play. Once the game was over, the kid asked his Dad, "papa, tendu-laker world ka best batsman hai na...". This is when the Dad said, "Jab tu bada hoga na, tab bhi tere saath khel raha hoga woh...." And he laughed.
Circa late 80's and early 90's.
There was a boy who played cricket in a small non-descript village in Kerala. His dad often told him that when he grew up to be a cricketer, Sachin would be his captain. The boy could never fulfill his dream of being a cricketer; he went on to get into HR. But, Sachin was a name that spelt magic for him. And still spells magic for him.
What is it that makes Sachin Tendulkar the phenomenon that he is? What is it about that makes his nations, other cricket loving nations and even opponents drool over him? What makes Sachin... Sachin...
I'm sure, for those of us who grew up in the late 80's and 90's, Indian cricket has been synonymous with Sachin. Interestingly, for even the kids of this century, Sachin is still Indian cricket.
People say that cricket is their religion and Sachin their God. Each time he walks on to the field and each time he walks off it, look at the hysteria that is generated across the cricket loving public. Look at the way commentators struggle to find words of appreciation that justify his talent. I remember Ian Chappell was a person who was a fierce critic of his- not so long back, even suggesting that he should retire. Y'day he said, "A lot of us say a lot of things about him- the journalists, the experts and commentators. He doesn't bother about all that. He has his targets set and he has his standards. He would be his worst critic if he doesn't meet these standards."
There are many things that separate him from the rest of us mortals. In spite of all his achievements, his feet seem firmly on the ground. The ability to say, "I learn a lot of things from these juniors" speaks a lot about his persona. The way he let Rohit sharma bloom while batting with him exemplifies that that these are not merely high thoughts, but, he manifests these in his behaviours. The ability to adapt and change with changing times speaks so highly of him. He has been able to discern opportunities while the rest of the world perceived obstacles. There is Sachin, and there are the rest.
Look at the way he handled the aftermath of Lee's beamer y'day. Beautiful!!!
Not just a great sportsman, but a great human being and an ideal role model.
They say, commit your crimes when Sachin is batting. For when he bats, even the Lords would do nothing but watch him play...
Some time, like Kapil Dev, like Gavaskar and Lara, he too will retire. There will be a time, when for the kids growing up, Indian cricket may not be synonymous with Sachin. There will be a time when our future generations will ask us if we saw Sachin playing.
But, there shall never be a generation now when kids shall ask, "Sachin- who?". In the generations to come, the best batsman shall always be faced with the ominous possibility of being compared with HIM.
To the noblest cricketer that ever walked the earth, to the guy who made me feel even greater to be Indian... to the guy who repeatedly makes me realise that the greater you grow, the humbler you become... to the guy who's given me and a billion others, so many reasons to smile.... to the guy who has been the role model to so many many kids like me... Long Live Sachin... Long Live your Legend!!!
Y'day evening, after watching Sachin do what he did to the Aussies, I was taking a walk in the neighbourhood park. A kid was playing cricket with his brother and his Dad. I was in a mesmerized state y'day. I stood by to watch the family play. Once the game was over, the kid asked his Dad, "papa, tendu-laker world ka best batsman hai na...". This is when the Dad said, "Jab tu bada hoga na, tab bhi tere saath khel raha hoga woh...." And he laughed.
Circa late 80's and early 90's.
There was a boy who played cricket in a small non-descript village in Kerala. His dad often told him that when he grew up to be a cricketer, Sachin would be his captain. The boy could never fulfill his dream of being a cricketer; he went on to get into HR. But, Sachin was a name that spelt magic for him. And still spells magic for him.
What is it that makes Sachin Tendulkar the phenomenon that he is? What is it about that makes his nations, other cricket loving nations and even opponents drool over him? What makes Sachin... Sachin...
I'm sure, for those of us who grew up in the late 80's and 90's, Indian cricket has been synonymous with Sachin. Interestingly, for even the kids of this century, Sachin is still Indian cricket.
People say that cricket is their religion and Sachin their God. Each time he walks on to the field and each time he walks off it, look at the hysteria that is generated across the cricket loving public. Look at the way commentators struggle to find words of appreciation that justify his talent. I remember Ian Chappell was a person who was a fierce critic of his- not so long back, even suggesting that he should retire. Y'day he said, "A lot of us say a lot of things about him- the journalists, the experts and commentators. He doesn't bother about all that. He has his targets set and he has his standards. He would be his worst critic if he doesn't meet these standards."
There are many things that separate him from the rest of us mortals. In spite of all his achievements, his feet seem firmly on the ground. The ability to say, "I learn a lot of things from these juniors" speaks a lot about his persona. The way he let Rohit sharma bloom while batting with him exemplifies that that these are not merely high thoughts, but, he manifests these in his behaviours. The ability to adapt and change with changing times speaks so highly of him. He has been able to discern opportunities while the rest of the world perceived obstacles. There is Sachin, and there are the rest.
Look at the way he handled the aftermath of Lee's beamer y'day. Beautiful!!!
Not just a great sportsman, but a great human being and an ideal role model.
They say, commit your crimes when Sachin is batting. For when he bats, even the Lords would do nothing but watch him play...
Some time, like Kapil Dev, like Gavaskar and Lara, he too will retire. There will be a time, when for the kids growing up, Indian cricket may not be synonymous with Sachin. There will be a time when our future generations will ask us if we saw Sachin playing.
But, there shall never be a generation now when kids shall ask, "Sachin- who?". In the generations to come, the best batsman shall always be faced with the ominous possibility of being compared with HIM.
To the noblest cricketer that ever walked the earth, to the guy who made me feel even greater to be Indian... to the guy who repeatedly makes me realise that the greater you grow, the humbler you become... to the guy who's given me and a billion others, so many reasons to smile.... to the guy who has been the role model to so many many kids like me... Long Live Sachin... Long Live your Legend!!!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Katha parayumbol...
"Balandemakkal" (Balan's children), says AshokRaj(Mammootty's character) as he hugs the children of Balan (Srinivasan). And then, with misty eyes, looks up at Balan.
This is one of the last scenes in this awesome movie called Katha Parayumbol which I chanced to see in a hall@Bangalore. This film was just one more of those things which makes me take even greater pride in being a Keralite.
I can bet that the same scene in any other language would have stretched much much longer with some flowery dialogues and melodramatic moments.
Hmm, what did I like about the movie? Plenty.
To start with, I was watching the movie with a cousin who I have begun to discover as an individual, only over the last 2-3 years in spite of knowing each other since the last 25 years. Second, watching a Malayalam movie in Bangalore was something I had not hoped for in this trip. Third, it came at a time when I was wondering if Malayalam films are taking the same familiar masala route taken by movies in other languages.
The movie is set in rural Kerala- the scenic beauty of Kerala has been beautifully captured- you know why it is God's own country. The settings are so natural- the local chaayakkada (tea shop) serving as the centre for village gossip and general banter (one amazing scene is when the local communist politician says why the prices for hair cuts have gone up coz of globalization). One has to have some experience of Kerala to appreciate these scenes. The different characters presented in the movie look like they've been plucked out of a story book.
The relationship between the father (played by Srinivasan) and his children (and with his wife) are beautifully depicted. In particular, 2 scenes come to my mind- one, when the father asks the daughter what she wants to become...and she says that she wants to be the daughter of a father who can pay her school fees. And second, when her dad does not fulfil her wish of getting her to meet the superstar, the royal ignore she gives him.
I liked the way in which some nice nigs have been taken on the politicians of Kerala- especially the union leaders. (have u heard this- 1 mallu is an innovator, 2 mallus= 2 political parties, 3= 1 trade union, 4= 2 trade unions). Something unique about the movies of Sreenivasan (and Sathyan Anthikkadu) is that the protagonist will make you smile and laugh- however, he is himself going through very troubled times. The protagonist, like the proverbial clown, can see the brighter side of things.
The film also highlights another aspect of human relationships- one of the beautiful aspects of friendship is that in spite of not having met a good friend in years, the relationship still can remain as beautiful, or even more beautiful; as strong or even stronger.
The blog will be incomplete without a mention of Mammootty- one of the greatest actors the country has ever seen, in an extended guest appearance. This will go down as one of his best roles ever.
This undoubtedly is amongst Srinivasan's best yet- I would place it almost on par with Sandesham. The experience of watching this movie reaffirmed my pride in being a Keralite- we Keralites still can laugh at ourselves better than anybody else; we still are much more "aware" than anybody else. Also, my respect for Malayalam films as opposed to films in other languages, stands, as strong as ever. I love sounding like a regional fanatic/ chauvnist.
This one is dedicated to my cousin, who I've begun to know and understand only recently. This process of trying to know him would remain extremely special to me.
This one is also a tribute to my dear friend- "neela bukkett", who stays across the office; someone who I see as the best Mallu in the making.
The one song whose lines have been playing in mind as I write all this is... Ende Keralam, Ethra Sundaram....
This is one of the last scenes in this awesome movie called Katha Parayumbol which I chanced to see in a hall@Bangalore. This film was just one more of those things which makes me take even greater pride in being a Keralite.
I can bet that the same scene in any other language would have stretched much much longer with some flowery dialogues and melodramatic moments.
Hmm, what did I like about the movie? Plenty.
To start with, I was watching the movie with a cousin who I have begun to discover as an individual, only over the last 2-3 years in spite of knowing each other since the last 25 years. Second, watching a Malayalam movie in Bangalore was something I had not hoped for in this trip. Third, it came at a time when I was wondering if Malayalam films are taking the same familiar masala route taken by movies in other languages.
The movie is set in rural Kerala- the scenic beauty of Kerala has been beautifully captured- you know why it is God's own country. The settings are so natural- the local chaayakkada (tea shop) serving as the centre for village gossip and general banter (one amazing scene is when the local communist politician says why the prices for hair cuts have gone up coz of globalization). One has to have some experience of Kerala to appreciate these scenes. The different characters presented in the movie look like they've been plucked out of a story book.
The relationship between the father (played by Srinivasan) and his children (and with his wife) are beautifully depicted. In particular, 2 scenes come to my mind- one, when the father asks the daughter what she wants to become...and she says that she wants to be the daughter of a father who can pay her school fees. And second, when her dad does not fulfil her wish of getting her to meet the superstar, the royal ignore she gives him.
I liked the way in which some nice nigs have been taken on the politicians of Kerala- especially the union leaders. (have u heard this- 1 mallu is an innovator, 2 mallus= 2 political parties, 3= 1 trade union, 4= 2 trade unions). Something unique about the movies of Sreenivasan (and Sathyan Anthikkadu) is that the protagonist will make you smile and laugh- however, he is himself going through very troubled times. The protagonist, like the proverbial clown, can see the brighter side of things.
The film also highlights another aspect of human relationships- one of the beautiful aspects of friendship is that in spite of not having met a good friend in years, the relationship still can remain as beautiful, or even more beautiful; as strong or even stronger.
The blog will be incomplete without a mention of Mammootty- one of the greatest actors the country has ever seen, in an extended guest appearance. This will go down as one of his best roles ever.
This undoubtedly is amongst Srinivasan's best yet- I would place it almost on par with Sandesham. The experience of watching this movie reaffirmed my pride in being a Keralite- we Keralites still can laugh at ourselves better than anybody else; we still are much more "aware" than anybody else. Also, my respect for Malayalam films as opposed to films in other languages, stands, as strong as ever. I love sounding like a regional fanatic/ chauvnist.
This one is dedicated to my cousin, who I've begun to know and understand only recently. This process of trying to know him would remain extremely special to me.
This one is also a tribute to my dear friend- "neela bukkett", who stays across the office; someone who I see as the best Mallu in the making.
The one song whose lines have been playing in mind as I write all this is... Ende Keralam, Ethra Sundaram....
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
a year and 200 times later...
I remember doing it for the first time in February last year. I was nervous. It was my first time, so there was no experience I could rely on. I did not know what were her expectations of me. I did not know if I was capable of satisfying her expectations.
Everybody had a view on it; people who had done it for years now and those who had started doing it just a few months, weeks or days back. I was still in a mood to learn. I was open to most inputs- even if they sounded contrary.
Some said that the act of context setting and foreplay was the most important part during the entire session. Some said, to hell with context, the act of getting her to talk is most important. Some felt that it was a divine opportunity to touch another life.
Some said that time does not matter. Some felt 45 minutes was too much. Some claimed to finish it in under 20 minutes. Some actually said that it depended on the money the "client" was willing to pay.
Everybody said that a session would leave you exhausted. Six is the upper limit you could do in a day. People had claimed to have done it 8 and even 12 times in a day. But they felt it was a little too much for a human being- specially when you have it back to back.
Most of them felt that I should prepare for it, if not a day in advance, atleast a few hours in advance. I actually tried practising it front of the mirror. (Even after a year of doing it the first time, over 200 times later, I still try to practise before the actual act begins).
I wondered if it would be a humiliating experience for the other person. The experienced ones said that it all depends on me and how comfortable I let the other person feel. Some were even generous enough to let me sit through in sessions when they were doing it- of course without letting the other person know about it.
And when it started, she was nervous. So was I. Only that she did not know why I was nervous. I tried to set a context, but I guess, messed it up. Nevertheless, the show went on for the next 60 minutes. She smiled at times. I thought those were the moments her expectations were satisfied. (over 200 times later, I now know and realise that a smile does not indicate satisfaction and a frown/ sounds and words of disapproval does not indicate a lack of satisfaction).
That was the first developmental dialogue with a person where I had to deliver a feedback. It was tough then. I still feel uncomfortable delivering the feedback at times. I've just come back after a session that I felt very difficult to complete.
Thought I'll pen down these thoughts...
PS-- dedicated to all the experienced friends who've helped me through these days in the act of delivering feedback
Everybody had a view on it; people who had done it for years now and those who had started doing it just a few months, weeks or days back. I was still in a mood to learn. I was open to most inputs- even if they sounded contrary.
Some said that the act of context setting and foreplay was the most important part during the entire session. Some said, to hell with context, the act of getting her to talk is most important. Some felt that it was a divine opportunity to touch another life.
Some said that time does not matter. Some felt 45 minutes was too much. Some claimed to finish it in under 20 minutes. Some actually said that it depended on the money the "client" was willing to pay.
Everybody said that a session would leave you exhausted. Six is the upper limit you could do in a day. People had claimed to have done it 8 and even 12 times in a day. But they felt it was a little too much for a human being- specially when you have it back to back.
Most of them felt that I should prepare for it, if not a day in advance, atleast a few hours in advance. I actually tried practising it front of the mirror. (Even after a year of doing it the first time, over 200 times later, I still try to practise before the actual act begins).
I wondered if it would be a humiliating experience for the other person. The experienced ones said that it all depends on me and how comfortable I let the other person feel. Some were even generous enough to let me sit through in sessions when they were doing it- of course without letting the other person know about it.
And when it started, she was nervous. So was I. Only that she did not know why I was nervous. I tried to set a context, but I guess, messed it up. Nevertheless, the show went on for the next 60 minutes. She smiled at times. I thought those were the moments her expectations were satisfied. (over 200 times later, I now know and realise that a smile does not indicate satisfaction and a frown/ sounds and words of disapproval does not indicate a lack of satisfaction).
That was the first developmental dialogue with a person where I had to deliver a feedback. It was tough then. I still feel uncomfortable delivering the feedback at times. I've just come back after a session that I felt very difficult to complete.
Thought I'll pen down these thoughts...
PS-- dedicated to all the experienced friends who've helped me through these days in the act of delivering feedback
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
nostalgia...
Yaaron, dosti- badi hee haseen hai,
Ye na ho toh kya fir...... bolo yeh zindagi hai”
Am sure all of us have heard this immortal number by KK.
Has it ever happened to you that you receive a message, mail/ SMS or just anything at all from a friend that leaves you so touched that your eyes get moist- even in the midst of 10 others? Has it happened to you that in the most unusual of circumstances, from the most unexpected quarter, you come to know something very good about a friend long lost?
Well, both happened to me- in a span of 2 days, between yesterday and today;
And that has triggered this blog.
Very many friends have shown me the beauty of friendship- at different times, in varied ways.
I may or not have expressed my feelings back. I do not know.
The earliest memories I have are of friends I used to play cricket and football with. My friends were friends as long as I was not out while batting. The moment I got out, I would say that the bat is mine and go home. The guy who owned the ball would also do something similar.
The next set of friends were those who sat next to me in class- the ones with whom the pencil sharpener and the ever elusive eraser were shared with.
Then came those with whom I chose to have my lunch at school- when I first started having my own groups. The key word here is “chose”.
I do not remember if there was an interim stage between the two preceding stages.
Then came the set of friends with whom I would prefer to hang around- after school hours. As my school was in the close vicinity of where we all lived, the people I would hang around with were those that I chose to spend my lunch hours at school with.
After 10th, when the friends group was split into the different streams- arts, science and commerce, there were new friends. Some of the old friends were still there, the rest got pushed into oblivion- some immediately, some slowly and steadily.
Then there were those that I shared my interests with- and my aspirations as well. So there were friends just because they enjoyed my kinda movies and books; some because they too wanted to get into the armed forces.
When the school gates closed and the college gates opened, there were again a whole lot of new friends. Some of the old friends remained close and eventually became closer; some of them became acquaintances. The key word here is “close”.
Graduation brought with it some rosy days- eating bhelpuri outside Arts Fac, Chhole bhathure at Malka Ganj, Momos in Kamla nagar and having Banta outside KMC; watching movies in the front row at Priyas,and of course at Batra, Alpana and Amba. (Anybody who ever studied in North Campus can understand all this). Some of the adventures also included sitting on a dharna together- day and night for a good two weeks over issues close to the heart; jumping out of a running bus together and even together going on a “well-planned” trip outside Delhi. Then there were those dark hours. The same set of friends still were there then.
Graduation gave way to Post graduation. I was now right across the road. (for the uninitiated, D’school is on one side of the road; on the other is KMC where I graduated from). There were again a new set of friends. Some of the old ones still remained.
Kipling wrote,
"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;"
The context was different when he wrote this. However, college taught me (especially post grad) that in difficult situations, with friends, the element of doubt never existed. Probably they trusted you more that you believed in yourself. The key word here is "Trust".
Then there always other friends- at tuition, in the neighbourhood, at work, in the lift and so on... or the teetotaler, who like me, visits pubs alone only to enjoy the live music and the lemonade or the odd mocktail... and those beautiful moments of solitude.
I guess the recipe that built up these relationships over the years have been the tripod of Affinity, Respect and Trust. Outside of the immediate family, it is friends who have had maximum impact on my life.
Then there were those odd broken friendships; reminding me that the death of a relationship is often as painful as the death of the relation himself/ herself. One such friend (its been long since we last spoke) is getting married within a couple of months. I got to know this in the most unusual of circumstances- from a person I was meeting for the first time, and pehaps, would never again meet.
This blog is a tribute to this little lady who once was my closest friend.
This blog is also a tribute to the Big Boy, who, yesterday, sent me one of the most touching messages I’ve ever received.
Even as I conclude this, I can remember the old song from Anand- a couple of lines from the song-
“…kaheen toh ye dil kabhi mil nahi paate,
kaheen se nikal aaye, janmon ke naate…
Ye na ho toh kya fir...... bolo yeh zindagi hai”
Am sure all of us have heard this immortal number by KK.
Has it ever happened to you that you receive a message, mail/ SMS or just anything at all from a friend that leaves you so touched that your eyes get moist- even in the midst of 10 others? Has it happened to you that in the most unusual of circumstances, from the most unexpected quarter, you come to know something very good about a friend long lost?
Well, both happened to me- in a span of 2 days, between yesterday and today;
And that has triggered this blog.
Very many friends have shown me the beauty of friendship- at different times, in varied ways.
I may or not have expressed my feelings back. I do not know.
The earliest memories I have are of friends I used to play cricket and football with. My friends were friends as long as I was not out while batting. The moment I got out, I would say that the bat is mine and go home. The guy who owned the ball would also do something similar.
The next set of friends were those who sat next to me in class- the ones with whom the pencil sharpener and the ever elusive eraser were shared with.
Then came those with whom I chose to have my lunch at school- when I first started having my own groups. The key word here is “chose”.
I do not remember if there was an interim stage between the two preceding stages.
Then came the set of friends with whom I would prefer to hang around- after school hours. As my school was in the close vicinity of where we all lived, the people I would hang around with were those that I chose to spend my lunch hours at school with.
After 10th, when the friends group was split into the different streams- arts, science and commerce, there were new friends. Some of the old friends were still there, the rest got pushed into oblivion- some immediately, some slowly and steadily.
Then there were those that I shared my interests with- and my aspirations as well. So there were friends just because they enjoyed my kinda movies and books; some because they too wanted to get into the armed forces.
When the school gates closed and the college gates opened, there were again a whole lot of new friends. Some of the old friends remained close and eventually became closer; some of them became acquaintances. The key word here is “close”.
Graduation brought with it some rosy days- eating bhelpuri outside Arts Fac, Chhole bhathure at Malka Ganj, Momos in Kamla nagar and having Banta outside KMC; watching movies in the front row at Priyas,and of course at Batra, Alpana and Amba. (Anybody who ever studied in North Campus can understand all this). Some of the adventures also included sitting on a dharna together- day and night for a good two weeks over issues close to the heart; jumping out of a running bus together and even together going on a “well-planned” trip outside Delhi. Then there were those dark hours. The same set of friends still were there then.
Graduation gave way to Post graduation. I was now right across the road. (for the uninitiated, D’school is on one side of the road; on the other is KMC where I graduated from). There were again a new set of friends. Some of the old ones still remained.
Kipling wrote,
"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;"
The context was different when he wrote this. However, college taught me (especially post grad) that in difficult situations, with friends, the element of doubt never existed. Probably they trusted you more that you believed in yourself. The key word here is "Trust".
Then there always other friends- at tuition, in the neighbourhood, at work, in the lift and so on... or the teetotaler, who like me, visits pubs alone only to enjoy the live music and the lemonade or the odd mocktail... and those beautiful moments of solitude.
I guess the recipe that built up these relationships over the years have been the tripod of Affinity, Respect and Trust. Outside of the immediate family, it is friends who have had maximum impact on my life.
Then there were those odd broken friendships; reminding me that the death of a relationship is often as painful as the death of the relation himself/ herself. One such friend (its been long since we last spoke) is getting married within a couple of months. I got to know this in the most unusual of circumstances- from a person I was meeting for the first time, and pehaps, would never again meet.
This blog is a tribute to this little lady who once was my closest friend.
This blog is also a tribute to the Big Boy, who, yesterday, sent me one of the most touching messages I’ve ever received.
Even as I conclude this, I can remember the old song from Anand- a couple of lines from the song-
“…kaheen toh ye dil kabhi mil nahi paate,
kaheen se nikal aaye, janmon ke naate…
Sunday, January 6, 2008
dekho inhe- ye hain oas ki boondein
It was a warm noon when the four of us- Ajesh, Kunal, Vaibhav and me stopped over at a non-descript village called Bhabhroo near Alwar. The mission was simple- we saw a temple up in the hill; we just wanted to trek there.
The walk from the highway to the foot of the hill was interesting. Toddling through the narrow alleys in the village, avoiding a stream of sewage water here and animal dung there, we scrambled through the village. We were quite a sight for the villagers. Four young men, wearing clothes that were urban, wearing shades and speaking in English; this would be a rare sight in their village- I’m sure.
One moment that remains frozen in my memory was when we passed by a school. Yes, a school where, children- about 9-10 years old, were sitting on the floor and, in a chorus were repeating what their teacher was saying.
Now, my friend Vaibhav has an interesting personality. He is much more urbane than any sophistication you could have ever seen. You could mistake him for a resident NRI ;-)
Naturally, the children were excited upon seeing such a rare guest. Their excitement was palpable- some of them cheering him and peeping through the grills of the window that separated them from us. Vaibhav acknowledged this attention and eventually had to wave back (just like the Dreamy girl in Om Shanti Om).
The other three of us, like the valets of a celebrity smiled and walked behind :-)
This was one of the few instances that I could recollect from my past as I made my way through the exit after seeing Taare Zameen Par.
The end titles of Taare Zameen Par are special for more than a single reason. Each person associated with the movie has been acknowledged- the titles don’t seem to rush past. While reading each name, you also get to see a documentary footage of children of different races, regions and in different moods. It is certainly rare that you are watching a movie for the third time and you still remain glued to your seat till that last film of the climatic titles. When you get out of the hall, you are moved- your heart filled with emotion- of joy and sorrow; when you are numb reflecting upon the experience you have been through in the hall; when you thank God for the wonderful life you have been blessed with.
Rarely do you see movies that entertain and enlighten. Hats off to the team of Taare Zameen Par for making such a movie.
The movie is like a beautiful poem you are reading on celluloid; it is like a beautiful painting you want to savour…
How’s this for the lyrics of a song in the background- “akela nahi main, khuli aankhon se neend mein chalta, girta zyada kam sambhalta, phir bhi na koi shaq na shubha, niklega phir se- sooraj jo dooba, hairat ho sabko aisa, ajooba hai mera jahaan”. This one is written by Amole Gupte and is perhaps, Adnan Sami’s best song yet.
There are facets of our life that we take- as a way of life; like the Chhotus who clean our dining tables in restaurants and dhabas; like Kakes who make the thela wala chaai… like the unclad, dirty-nosed infant-kids wandering near your homes that make you sigh in disgust, like the teenager who still can’t eat himself or do those basic things that you and I do easily as a part of our routines. How’s this for the lyrics of a song- “Duniya sajee, tere liye, khud ko zara pechchaan tu. Tu dhoop hai, jham se bikhar, tu hai nadi, oh bekhabar. Beh chal kahin, ud chal kahin, dil khush jahaan, teri toh manzil hai wahi”
I wonder how many of us actually get to “jham se bikhar”.
I do not know the long term impact this film will have. But I’m sure, anybody who liked the movie would pause for at least that fraction of a second the next time he/she sees these scenes of a childhood lost.
The characters in the film are well etched out. Simple scenes like Aamir getting out of the front seat of the taxi convey a lot about the character. In the animated sequence (3*9=3), the child shows an awareness of Jupiter being much larger than earth or the ring around Saturn clearly showing that he is not dumb.
The interactions between the Aamir’s character and the child’s father are beautifully made. Look at the body language of the father when he tells Aamir that he and wife know all about dyslexia and care for the child; and eventually when he leaves the campus. Look at the scene when the parents hear the words of appreciation for the child; unable to take it, just as a man coming out of a dark room into the sunny day would stand with eyes tightly closed for some time.
The most appealing scene was towards the end when the child realizes that it is him that Aamir has painted. The way the protagonists look at each other is truly amazing.
I have seen this film with my parents, then alone and then again with a childhood friend who remains very special. In all probability I shall see it again. The tagline of the film says, “Every child is special”. So is the film.
This blog is dedicated to a friend who I have known for 8 years. All these years, dear and close that he has been, I’ve always considered him one of those guys who lives in an I-Me-Myself mould. I’ve often told him that he is incapable of human emotions ;-)
This New Year’s eve, I accidentally discovered that he has been inspired by Steve Waugh and is involved in his own way with Udayan, an institution in Kolkata. I was touched.
This one is for you Dr. Harsh Jagnani.
The walk from the highway to the foot of the hill was interesting. Toddling through the narrow alleys in the village, avoiding a stream of sewage water here and animal dung there, we scrambled through the village. We were quite a sight for the villagers. Four young men, wearing clothes that were urban, wearing shades and speaking in English; this would be a rare sight in their village- I’m sure.
One moment that remains frozen in my memory was when we passed by a school. Yes, a school where, children- about 9-10 years old, were sitting on the floor and, in a chorus were repeating what their teacher was saying.
Now, my friend Vaibhav has an interesting personality. He is much more urbane than any sophistication you could have ever seen. You could mistake him for a resident NRI ;-)
Naturally, the children were excited upon seeing such a rare guest. Their excitement was palpable- some of them cheering him and peeping through the grills of the window that separated them from us. Vaibhav acknowledged this attention and eventually had to wave back (just like the Dreamy girl in Om Shanti Om).
The other three of us, like the valets of a celebrity smiled and walked behind :-)
This was one of the few instances that I could recollect from my past as I made my way through the exit after seeing Taare Zameen Par.
The end titles of Taare Zameen Par are special for more than a single reason. Each person associated with the movie has been acknowledged- the titles don’t seem to rush past. While reading each name, you also get to see a documentary footage of children of different races, regions and in different moods. It is certainly rare that you are watching a movie for the third time and you still remain glued to your seat till that last film of the climatic titles. When you get out of the hall, you are moved- your heart filled with emotion- of joy and sorrow; when you are numb reflecting upon the experience you have been through in the hall; when you thank God for the wonderful life you have been blessed with.
Rarely do you see movies that entertain and enlighten. Hats off to the team of Taare Zameen Par for making such a movie.
The movie is like a beautiful poem you are reading on celluloid; it is like a beautiful painting you want to savour…
How’s this for the lyrics of a song in the background- “akela nahi main, khuli aankhon se neend mein chalta, girta zyada kam sambhalta, phir bhi na koi shaq na shubha, niklega phir se- sooraj jo dooba, hairat ho sabko aisa, ajooba hai mera jahaan”. This one is written by Amole Gupte and is perhaps, Adnan Sami’s best song yet.
There are facets of our life that we take- as a way of life; like the Chhotus who clean our dining tables in restaurants and dhabas; like Kakes who make the thela wala chaai… like the unclad, dirty-nosed infant-kids wandering near your homes that make you sigh in disgust, like the teenager who still can’t eat himself or do those basic things that you and I do easily as a part of our routines. How’s this for the lyrics of a song- “Duniya sajee, tere liye, khud ko zara pechchaan tu. Tu dhoop hai, jham se bikhar, tu hai nadi, oh bekhabar. Beh chal kahin, ud chal kahin, dil khush jahaan, teri toh manzil hai wahi”
I wonder how many of us actually get to “jham se bikhar”.
I do not know the long term impact this film will have. But I’m sure, anybody who liked the movie would pause for at least that fraction of a second the next time he/she sees these scenes of a childhood lost.
The characters in the film are well etched out. Simple scenes like Aamir getting out of the front seat of the taxi convey a lot about the character. In the animated sequence (3*9=3), the child shows an awareness of Jupiter being much larger than earth or the ring around Saturn clearly showing that he is not dumb.
The interactions between the Aamir’s character and the child’s father are beautifully made. Look at the body language of the father when he tells Aamir that he and wife know all about dyslexia and care for the child; and eventually when he leaves the campus. Look at the scene when the parents hear the words of appreciation for the child; unable to take it, just as a man coming out of a dark room into the sunny day would stand with eyes tightly closed for some time.
The most appealing scene was towards the end when the child realizes that it is him that Aamir has painted. The way the protagonists look at each other is truly amazing.
I have seen this film with my parents, then alone and then again with a childhood friend who remains very special. In all probability I shall see it again. The tagline of the film says, “Every child is special”. So is the film.
This blog is dedicated to a friend who I have known for 8 years. All these years, dear and close that he has been, I’ve always considered him one of those guys who lives in an I-Me-Myself mould. I’ve often told him that he is incapable of human emotions ;-)
This New Year’s eve, I accidentally discovered that he has been inspired by Steve Waugh and is involved in his own way with Udayan, an institution in Kolkata. I was touched.
This one is for you Dr. Harsh Jagnani.
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