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.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
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....
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