Women's Day - Some thoughts.

Women's Day- Random Thoughts.

(When I started writing this post, the first thing that came to my mind was -Why celebrate a special day? I am pretty glad that I am a woman and have never regretted the fact despite many trials and tribulations in my life. Being born as a girl child , we all face discrimination one way or the other in some ways and some forms, some mild and some severe. But that should never take away the flavor of being a women from us. Instead of trying to show the world that we are as good as men
( the thought itself reeks of bias) why can't we find our own niche in life? Is it really the society around us or we ourselves that grow up with many shackled thoughts? There are many facets of being a women....Have we really learned to enjoy those facets?)

: Wish you all a Happy Women’s day!

: Really? Today ? Women’s day?

: Yes, you didn't know?

: Know what? Actually I feel happy every day, so just didn't know what else to feel.

: You are kidding! Today is our special day. We celebrate it!

: We do? Do we? How?

:Well for one, you wish everyone in FB in a single post with a , meaningful deep message and a picture from Google images. Then you message everyone in What’s app ‘Happy Women’s day’. :)

: My God! You worked so hard! I mean individually to everyone! Taking such pain to make every woman feel good on this special day! Vow!

: Wait, wait. It was easier on What’s App. I just forwarded the messages,someone had sent to me and so on. It’s just that. J

: Oh! Ok. And then? I mean any more good news?

: Oh yes. Don’t you listen to news? Our PM has pledged a war on crime against women. There we have done it J

: We have? I mean finally Government will take a good look at women’s  safety issues?

: Yes. He is already doing it, you know . I mean after he convinces PDP that all is well and they can do as they wish at the expense of taxpayers, and strategies how to solve other major problems like 'Swachh Bharat' corruption, political juggling and alignment, controlling all the wings -be it left or right, getting his personalized suit auctioned, and multiple trips to cover all the countries in the world, while he is PM (it is a cramped schedule and a tough job, you know?)  he will surely take this up.

: Hmm.  So anything more? Till now I haven’t heard anything new. Any special offer or any exclusive service for women?

: Yes, yes . After today all women are beautiful and safe. There are special offer on Snapdeal and Amazon and many other e-commerce site only for women on Women’s Day.

: Really? But tell me have we really thought beyond it? Are we really talking of a progressive society here or just fashionably progressive ? You know customized women's empowerment?

: AAAAAA..... Erm, what is that? What is that thinking beyond? Beyond what?

: Women and happiness has always been related to the overall well being of the society. Have we taken a good look at the concepts of our society? Have we changed  our families enough to treat both boys and girls as equal? I mean equal to the extent that no special favors are done to them, on the basis of their gender? Have we educated all women and taught them not be a harbinger of the discrimination themselves while being mothers/sisters/sister-in-laws/mother-in-laws? 

When men ask for dowry, as a mother and a wife  do we protest and not let this crime to continue? Have we convinced all parents to make their daughters strong enough so that she can distinguish between  right and wrong? Have we convinced all the parents not to mollycoddle their daughters and instead make them street smart so that they can take care of themselves and know about the dangers lurking in the dark?

Have we been successful in not taking advantage of the fact that we are women and stop being an inactive person letting others pamper us and take all the decisions ? Have we stopped looking for a neighborhood college for our daughters instead of making them mentally and physically strong so that they can avail best of education wherever they please? 

Have we taught our society that women deserve to be accepted in all colors and forms and not on the basis of their vital statistics? Have we even taught our daughters to sense danger and be away from it? Have we given ourselves and our children(irrespective of gender) enough freedom to chose the suitable path in their lives and maybe learn from their mistakes?

: But....How can we do all these? When?

: No we cannot, because we are busy telling our daughters, what they shouldn't do and not what all they can do, if only they focus. We are busy being scared and protect our daughters more and more, hide them teach them how to hide, teach them how not to dress, instead of telling them that whatever they wear should make them feel confident and add to their self esteem. We are busy designing petite clothes for women and then tell them that they cannot wear it because men’s pheromones may act up. We are busy telling our daughters that, whatever profession they may chose but they must keep marriage in mind. We are too busy telling them with every little action that they are the weaker sex and thus tell them that they are beautiful and not ‘capable, confident and courageous’ .  They day, each mother and each father and each member of the family treat each  member(irrespective of gender) of the family with equal respect, love honor and make them confident and self dependent, with enough space provided for the freedom of choice we will not have a special day kept aside for women to tell them that they are ‘beautiful’, and special laws need to be made to keep them safe.

( I know I was on a roll there, but this needed to be said because the rut is deep down within each one of us, either we are too loud or do not speak at all.

And last but not the least, some rotten mentality does not represent the gender called: Men. By discrimination and special favors we are only giving rise to a resistant mentality where even men feel cornered at times)

Haider : Vishal's Chutzpah

It was a much awaited movie for me as I  had thoroughly enjoyed the experience of  Maqbool and Omkara and thus was quite excited about Vishal Bharadwaj's yet another Shakespeare to Bharadwaj adaptation. Vishal's  adoption of the Shakespearean themes and the amazing amalgamation of the settings in the Indian backdrop has never ceased to amaze me. So I went to watch Haider with an expectation. The story is much known, so my inquisition was about how it was re-sized with Kashmir issue.

Shahid as Hamlet

Sir Lawrence Olivier as Hamlet

Background:
The director actually faced a big challenge and as all Vishal Bharadwaj's followers know, he likes challenges. So he tackled them one by one. First it was the story line and then the politically troubled backdrop. Hamlet was penned by Shakespeare based on the legend of Amleth ,as recounted in XIIth century Danish history with the plot beginning the King being murdered by his younger brother for the elder brother's  wife and the throne, and ends in the new king being killed by the elder brother's son with the help of his mother who had married the younger brother after being widowed . A love-hate-betrayal story against the backdrop of 1160 Denmark. This story was recorded around the end of 12th Century by historian Sarco Grammaticus a clerk to Absalon the fearsome warrior-bishop who had expanded the Danish empire in the Baltic and had founded Copenhagen. Absalon's main political goal was to free Denmark from entanglement with Holy Roman Empire. So we begin with the similarities. But is this a story about Kashmir or a personal tragedy of a leader of a clan? Is Haider really the leader of a clan?

Grave digger's scene in Hamlet

                                              Grave digger's song in Haider

Thematic challenge in direction:
Here we can call it Vishal Bharadwaj's 'chutzpah' as he tries to spin the theme of Kashmir in 1995, as close to the ground reality as possible. He doesn't seek sympathy but just brazenly relates the incidents of human indignity with an honesty that leaves us shaken. The sudden approaches, nightly army searches, missing person's lists and Haider's search for his father ,is all interwoven into  the tragedy of a state, being  integrated with theme of pain and vendetta. With this as the background ,we realize how very easy it is to influence and malign the hearts of the people ,taking full advantage of the personal tragedy that each one suffers. It is a state which is after all utterly affected by turmoil.
 VB portrays that with a vividness that leaves us to wonder what lies behind all the hatred, tortures searches protests plotting killings massacres and the politics. Is it only a political question of belonging or over the years the issue has been diluted with there own people working out of self interest just like Haider's Chacha Khurram and many others.

 The best statement in the movie is maybe uttered by Haider when he acts as a madman and speaks to a small crowd in a crossroad symbolizing his own personal crossroad of "Hum hain ki nahin". To be or not to be that has always been the question in Kashmir even when they have been faced with terrifying choices. Us par ya is par is not really the important question here ,where minds are always mislead by the impression that grass is really greener on the other side. It is the question of what is important - The land or the people. 

Haider speaks to a crowd 'Hum hain ki nahin'

Haider is first and foremost a personal tragedy which is craftily portrayed by the director to bring around the tragedy of a state just as Amleth was to Denmark. The story won hands down and so did the editing and cinematography. 
The major portion of the movie was shot in curious shades of white blue black and grey giving a flip to the dark theme of the story. This movie is not a docu-feature on Kashmir, so if anyone expects the wondrous scenic beauty and the beatific mountains to be there, they would be disappointed. The use of the color red and burgundy is unique. Red shawl worn by Ghazala or Mohji, red muffler woven by Arshia which she gifts to her father, later this same muffler is used by her father to tie Haider's hands, black and red in the song Bismil, dried burgundy mehendi in Mohji's hand which looked like dried blood, all this successfully enhances the theme of love expectation & betrayal in challenging times and how it shapes man's lives.

 

 Trusts are broken for petty personal gains, loyalty is questioned and so is honor and identity. The scars that it leaves behind, spoils human capability of forming trust again and ability to express viewpoints fearlessly to simplfy relations. It enhances a fear psychosis and is compounded by inabilities which shrouds personal lives. The movie is a statement of this personal tragedy.
Another directorial excellence lay in the creation of the character of Rooh Daar - the soul, played by Irfan Khan. The justice rendered to the theme of Hamlet's father's ghost in the  play Hamlet. What a terrific creation. The gravedigger's scene with a seductive invitation to death-' arey aaona so jaona ' too was aptly dealt with in the complicated theme of Haider a.k.a Hamlet in the story. Death is mocked at and is accepted as fate ,thereby challenging Islamic belief and faith as death being ultimate truth and destiny.

Music:
Kudos to the composer and the director Vishal Bharadwaj for the beautifully befitting use of music in the movie. His own voice did justice to the songs which mainly played as background score and was situation based. The song 'Bismi'l has powerful lyrics and is well sung and choreographed well enough to keep the audience glued to the screen. The only regret is that, the beautiful penultimate song sung by Rekha Bharadwaj is used as the background score for the credit roll out ,when almost everyone leaves the hall. I and few others however stayed back to listen and was duly impressed.

                                                     Bismil - The video version.


Disconnections: 
The movie would have worked as well without the director's disclaimer that it was adapted from Hamlet. Then we wouldn't have looked for the similarities and dissimilarities and come up with 'what could have been' as VB did an exceptionally good job in the thematic integration of Hamlet with Haider accept for one vital disconnect.
Hamlet's father was a warrior king who would have abject belief in the word 'revenge' but Haider's father Dr.Hilal Meer was a doctor who helped anyone who was ill even if they were hardcore militants. He was a soul who was shown to be dedicated to the cause of the ailing, so for a person of his psyche the word 'revenge' would have very little meaning and that too for a personal reason like avenging your own brother, seemed unrealistic. The persona did not match with the deliverance. 
A doctor, a singer,a loving father, a benevolent heart and a sympathizer for those who seek freedom, is expected to seek revenge maybe for a national cause but for a personal cause he simply would not have the heart to incite his much loved son to the point of  murdering his own brother. He also mentions that Haider would need to curve out those eyes of his own uncle which had cast evil looks on his wife and Haider's mother.This seemed somewhat unrealistic and disconnected from the character.

Vishal's credit:

He dared where others won't. To speak in such clear terms about Kashmir and with such issues being related to the present day scenario indeed took some guts. He ran the risk of angering both Hindus and Muslims. He actually had the courage to take up the theme of Oedipus complex which haunts Hamlet and is integrated into the character of Haider.

This is indeed an uphill task and a statement against the emotionally illogical religious misinterpretations. He also puts declarative dialogues in Haider's role about Kashmir and the many unanswered questions. He actually dared to show a fragment of the atrocities and also dared to change the end of the story, where he leaves it to the imagination of the audience by not killing Haider or his uncle. That they will die is again left to the question of whether to 'be and not to be' dead.

Shahid as Haider, Tabu as Ghazala Meer, Kay Kay Menon- Khurram Meer, Narendra Jha- Dr.Hilal Meer, Irfan - Rooh Daar, Lalit Parimoo as Pervez Lone -  all excelled in retaining the thread of interest throughout the movie and requires special mention and credit. Shraddha however (least mentioned the better) needs to learn more.

Recommended?
Yes, absolutely a must see. Do not compare with his other creations, do not be critically literature conscious and I am sure you will  be definitely drawn into the dark and thought provoking theme of Haider. A movie worth remembering.

( I tried to keep this article free from many personal interactions with my Kashmiri friends as this is a review and not a ground to exhibit my political opinion. I hope I succeeded in that)








   

Half Girlfriend : To be or not to be.

Aww! Isn't he cute?

It is often said that you should never judge a book by it's cover and in this case never judge a book by its title. 'Half Girlfriend' sounded intriguing enough for me to make me pick up the book and read what's inside. It related to the present scenario in my life where I am in a transition phase of being a 'Half wife' and  a 'Half daughter' and a 'Half Daughter in law' and may be half of everything that I used to be. So I decided to follow the guidance  that Chetan Bhagat might provide to this halved life of mine.I started reading the book. It was absolutely engrossing to the point of no return. Here I might mention, that many of my well read, well informed, well acclaimed blogger friends will probably smirk at my choice of  author, but I like CB and that's it.

Concept of Half:

The concept might have started with a half but the hero of the story did go through a tumultuous span of 5 and 1/2 yrs to make the 'half' a full, so he didn't really have any life saving formula for the 'halves' except to make them full. Although it would have been mighty intriguing if Riya Somani could have not been fully committed at the end of the story in the  fairy tale completion of a love theme.

 I mean who wouldn't love a world without any pressing 'have to do it, in spite of myself' situation in personal relationships? But well, as they say 'Love conquers all' and in this case, even a college sweetheart- who actually loved the Hero- but went ahead and married her childhood friend- to please the family- and thus dropped out of St.Stephen's, Delhi ,English honors/sports quota- to be abused and get  divorced within a year- and get a job which could support a rental bungalow for  Rs.20000/per month- only meant to be rented out to the foreigners -and still lead a lavish lifestyle as much as to hire cars and travel to remote parts of Bihar on a sales marketing job by air conditioned cars , and stay in 5 star accommodations while on official tours and well rest is a long story, but is won over, bowled over completely at the end.

The Story:

I liked what he wrote cause I am a die hard romantic who is an addicted viewer of Romedy Now. I have completely grown up on Mills& Boon and Harlequin and Danielle Steels and often cry while reading syrupy love stories. I cry when they meet, I cry when they separate after an accident/misunderstanding/ family pressure and Oh boy! do I cry when they reunite! 

So I liked what CB wrote and the icing on the cake was when Madhav Jha finds Riya Somani the day before he was about to leave New York. The epilogue was absolutely a heart-winner  when the disgruntled Rani Sahiba is completely engrossed in raising and tackling her grandson , leaving everything she had passionately done for years i.e run a school in a backward maltreated village in Bihar, to her 'beta and bahu' . Perfect!

The Style Bhai...

The flow of the novel was fluid to say the least. From the first page to the last page it is an action packed emotional story which takes us from Patna to Delhi to Dumraon to Delhi to UK to USA to Delhi to Dumraon. The story has everything from college fascination to marital discord with an angle of child abuse thrown in and thoughts spared to social up-gradation tagged to a meeting with Bill Gates  and finally a prince who wins the heart of his princess and they both run a school with a huge grant money from Bill Gates Foundation to live happily ever after (with a 3 months visit in a year to USA, as their perk). Aren't they lucky? I actually forgot to mention both their 'drop dead good looks' (Dipika Padukone and Siddharth Malhotra starer for sure)

I loved the story and would request all my practical friends not to read it if they do not believe in fantasies and Romedy Now and Bollywood. The book is a complete script of a 3 and 1/2 hours blockbuster release of Bollywood production sure to be released in 2015. A sure fire box office cyclone. It has every masala ,so be ready with your handkerchiefs and  'Fanta, popcorn cold drinksh' for a superbly entertaining show. 

Well done CB,you have won my heart. Never shall I question the power of your imagination. It is good, getting better and very soon you will be the best. I do miss my Mills and Boon days, you just gave me back a bit of my teenage.

Disclaimer: People who are addicted to literature and meaningful books which they expect will remain with them for ever and give their life a better meaning and all that blah blah blah, should never consider reading even the first and the last page of this great saga.Humph!

The Woman

She was tired at three in the morning.
Justifying her duties, her earning too.
You see, she got her salary and her bonus
For being good and paying her dues.
You are curious, yes I was too
Till I saw her  servitude.
She served her man and his family
With  completely positive attitude.

She was a wife, had borne him children,
The fourth one had died at childbirth.
She couldn't lament as she was told
 It was will of God ,a short life on earth.
She had served her in-laws, patiently
With tender love and care.
They were old and quite demanding,
She dared where others didn't do their share.

Her children were all well fed
and were achievers of sorts.
She was a proud mother and
An example for all.
She supported her husband all her life
Reveling in all his glories.
She forgot her own dreams somewhat
And took care of all his worries.

He too cared immensely for her
And rewarded her handsomely
With gold and gifts and kind words
Also money for  her needs,
His needs and wants fulfilled her
And passion filled nights ritually.
He came and went as he wanted
And took care of her, cordially.
She waited for him with bated breath
For the goodies he would offer
He was kind, don't get me wrong
And never let her suffer.

Her rewards were with all bonus points
As she performed quite well
And never shouted, argued sometimes
But all in quite good faith.
The only thing that bothered her
Were the terms and conditions
You see, her payments were delayed
If the boss wasn't happy with her

The gifts and love all soured
Leaving her nights empty.
She had to be good and obedient
To get her dues aplenty.
Or she would starve night after night
Confused and undecided.
Suppress her wants and random thoughts
As she wasn't to be excited.

Her wants and needs,you see
Her licence and registered number
All lay with authority,
And they never troubled her.
So her days were spent in suspense
If her salary would be full,
Her bonus points and advance
Would make her life wonderful.

Only, she felt chained sometimes
With performance and duties
Wished she could fly really high
On her dreams and fantasies.
If she could also laugh and cheer
As and when she wanted
Spend a life of wishes and dreams
With a freedom it warranted .

(Dedicated to all the dutiful and dedicated women of Indian Subcontinent)

IT HAPPENED THIS WAY....

IT HAPPENED THIS WAY..

He was always the restless one in the class. He never really paid any attention to me, trying to teach him Creative Writing. It was a batch of about 16 people and this boy was most fidgety and was always staring out of the window or staring and yes I mean staring at me with an engrossed look, wriggling in his seat and playing with whatever was available near his hand.

I would look at him and then try to include the whole batch in my sweeping glance and start speaking. Of course I would be nervous and a bit uneasy. But then I decided to continue with my instructions and concentrate on the rest of the class.

There were ten girls and six boys whose parents had entrusted me with their wards to groom their literary senses in 12 sessions of ‘6 successful ways to Write Creatively’ workshop. Parents wanted to keep them engaged and I wanted to open up a new world of creative ideas to them. Our school thought that as an English teacher and with couple of journals tucked into my belt, I was their best shot at facilitating the summer workshop. 

Needless to say the money was good and our principal Mrs. Sethi had immense faith in me.

‘Ma’am, do we really have to draw a real tree or it can be anything’, Alok was looking at me in askance.

‘Not really a tree Alok, a tree which you can make to look like, say...a tiger’ I gave a beaming smile. Alok had a baffled look on his face. “Think it is a tree but draw it like whatever you want.” That managed to satisfy him, “Oh! Ok ma’am”.  I picked up the worksheets and turned towards the window. There, now he was at my back and I could ignore him successfully.

However, throughout the three hours session I could feel his eyes on me. Tarun. Yes, that was his name. Fair, chiselled features, tall (being a 5ft-err myself, I always liked look up to people) but Tarun was an exception with his black staring eyes and  beady looks, a lanky boy of 17. Everyone in the group was in their XIIth standard, and that included him.

At the end of the session, he would just move quietly out of the room, without saying even a courteous ‘Bye ma’am’ like others did. Every Tuesdays and Thursdays this ordeal continued. I would feel his eyes following me to every corner of the room, but I seldom maintained any eye contact with him. Only fleeting glances and to check  if he was really writing anything. This was the only way to tackle this intrusion. I was quite happy with my problem solving expertise!

What irked me most was the manner in which he sat in the class. Legs outstretched and an arrogant look on his face. He would not talk to anyone and neither would he acknowledge any one greeting him. How arrogant! Obviously his parents were very rich and had pampered him to distractions and hence no courtesy or social skills!

Truth was, his glances made feel gauche like a teenager. I was never in the habit of grooming myself. A nice haircut, a nice and comfortable non-critical pair of jeans and loose shirts and my fancy footwear with sunflowers on them was all the makeup I ever needed. But I had ‘all that I would need for makeup if I was going to a party’, in my tote bag. I had even put in couple of accessories to be on the safe side and of course wanted to fit in couple of shoes but when the right loop of the shoulder strap started giving away, I stopped myself. 

The word ‘hair’ had always spelt trouble for me. First the spelling (hare,here,hiar ..and I had been punished for every one of them till class 2) and the uncontrollable unruly thatch that I have on my head was independent enough to spell a lifetime of trouble. I actually left it to take it's own decision and that was as far as I would go to ‘groom’ them.

But now I really wished, I could make a bun and be like other women of my age and look a tad more beautiful than me. His stare! Uff, it was killing me. It made me feel very self conscious. Something about it gave me an unexplained feeling and I would turn and look at him, time and time again. I turned around in a mode of combat and looked directly at the group, “Today we will borrow ideas from each other and develop them. Please write your ideas in a chit of paper and give it to the one sitting next to you”. I was a genius! This would surely make them talk to each other and brainstorm some new ideas. 

However, I crash landed back to the room with a piercing shout coming from some alien source “Ma’.....am, Tarun pushed me” it was Alia Nazeer. I looked with horror as I found Alia on the floor and Tarun looking at Alia with a murderous look in his eyes.

“Stop it both of you! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself behaving in such manner? Tarun , Alia come here at once” I was shaking with a mixed emotion. Fear anger and something I cannot describe now all rolled into one big ball of reaction. And that stare.

“I said COME HERE” I just hollered at them.

Both stood up and came towards me. I looked at them and quietly said “What’s the matter with you both? Why are you behaving like toddlers?”

“But Ma’am, I am not at fault,it was Tarun who hit me first” Alia let out a squeaky wail. I looked at Tarun hoping to see a brewing protest, but he just looked down and refused to say a word. I was really angry now. How dare he not defend himself! Standing there as if he didn't care! “Speak up Tarun, why did you push her?”

“I didn't. She had snatched my pen.” As if that explained everything! He still would not look up.

“What do you mean? How dare you push her! Don’t you have any manners? What have your parents taught you! Pushing a lady!” I was fuming and onto my ‘sermon others’ mode. “Your parents must think you are smart, but believe me you have rotten attitude. PUSHING A LADY! My God if I want, I can get you arrested. What arrogance! I say look up!”

Tarun refused to even budge an eyelid. The boy, who had stared at me for full three hours during the workshop, would not even look at me!

“I will have to report it to your parents!”

“No, don’t!” He said.

“What don’t? I have to!”

“No they are not there.”

“So what? Who is in charge of you now?

“No one, I am staying with my uncle.”

“So I will meet him, give me his no.”

“No, please don’t.”

I was now quite pleased with my assertive self. “Nonsense, Give me his number.”

He now looked up and gave me a quiet look. He took out his mobile without moving his glance from me. Something in his glance disturbed me, but I was on a roll. I made the call and reported the whole incident to Tarun’s uncle with a word or two about how values in children should be instilled from home etc.

I was still quite disturbed at the manner Tarun had behaved. It was as if he wanted me to make the call. Anyway I was quite satisfied with the steps I had taken and so was Alia. We all went home, quite happy with the outcome of the day.

For next two sessions Tarun didn’t come to the class. I was a bit uneasy but chalked it up to his arrogance and the way I had ticked him off. But something in his glance had a compelling message. I was quite upset by the end of the day. I had a record of the students’ phone nos. and decided to give a call to his uncle. The man sounded quite understanding and promised me that he would make sure that Tarun would be there the next day.

I suddenly remembered that Akash lived near Tarun’s home. On my way home, I stopped at Akash’s place. He was quite surprised to see me. I called him out and asked him, if he knew anything about Tarun and his absence from the class.

“Ma’am I really don’t know."

"Did you meet him?" 

"Ma'am he has been staying with his Uncle, since his parents' death 2 years ago. That is all I know.”

“His parents are dead! But ..” I could barely speak.

“Yes ma’am. They had died in a car accident about two years ago. Tarun used to be a very jolly fellow. He would often play with us in the evening, but after his parents’ death he stopped talking to anybody in the locality. This house is his and his Uncle and his family came over to take care of him. I don’t know anything more than that.”

I was now feeling quite hollow now. I was stunned. I hurriedly thanked Akash and came out of his house. My natural impulsive unruly sense urged me to go forward and visit him. But something stopped me. May be the memory of those stares were they trying to say something to me? I decided to go home. Needless to say I could not sleep that night. Tossing and turning I remembered his look when I was lashing him with my emotive speech. His eyes! Oh God I had to stop this.

Next day, I left a bit early and stopped at Tarun’s home. I was now quite sure that I wanted to get to the bottom of this matter. It was a two storied house with a beautiful garden in the front. As I knocked on the door, I found my hands were trembling. The door opened “Ji Boliye?” I stared at the old man who had opened the door.

“Tarun se milna hai” I croaked.

“Ji, aap kaun?”

“Mein uski Teacher hoon”.

“Ji Baba to ghar pe nahi hain.”

“Aaur koi hain ghar pe?”

“Saablog Dilli gaye hain”.

“Thik hain, Tarun ko boliyega ki main ayee thi”. I turned to leave and walked my cycle to the gate. But something made me turn. I could feel that glance again. I looked up and saw a shadowy form at the window. I tried to make out but I already knew who it was. 

I parked the cycle at the fence and rushed back to the house, impatiently pounding on the door. The door opened and I just pushed the old man aside and tried to locate the stairs. “Aap ander nahi ja saktey” ,the man shouted. I just glanced at him and asked “Sidhi kahan hai?” and then noted the old iron staircase by the French window. Taking two steps at a time I reached the second floor and tried to guess which door would lead to Tarun’s room. I barged in....

“What the hell!” I could barely speak. He was staring at me with muted eyes. I moved towards him and touched his shoulder. He flinched and moved away.

“Who did this?”

“No one”

“WHO DID THIS?”

“It’s none of your business”.

“Good, when did it happen?” Had he not been so badly injured, I could have hit him myself for the silence.

“Tarun, either you speak to me or I call the police.”

“I love you." Holy God! He was trying to act cheesy.

“That’s good, now shall we try again?”

“When and how did this happen”

“I fell down the stairs.”

“Bull, how and when?” His cheek was swollen and so were his eyes. One side of the neck was blue and black. His right hand had numerous scratch marks and was swollen below the wrist. It was not a fall, for sure.

There was a long pause. I stood up went towards the door.

“The day you complained” I whirled around, my heart pounding and hands went clammy.

“And?” I whispered.

“This is ok. I can live with this” He was staring at the carpet.

“Of course you can.”

I looked at him, “How often does this happen?”

He looked up then. His eyes had lost its glare and had a shine to it. He again looked down.

As I slowly mounted down the stairs, I saw the old man standing at the base and wiping his eyes.

“Baba ko bacha lijiye, woh mar jayega.” I looked at him and just nodded unmindful of the words as he kept on with a stream of expressions, now crying profusely. As I walked towards the door, numerous thoughts were racing through my mind.

I took out my cell and dialed  Mrs.Sethi’s number and then made the second call to my brother at the police station.

*****************

Today,Tarun is working in an IT farm in Pune. He is scheduled to leave for Germany this week. I always have a smile on my face as I keep down the phone after talking to him. He still maintains that he loves me. So do Geeta and Ruman,his wife and their six year old son.  

Of Park Street and late nights

Late nights? Not really 11:30 at night will not really be considered ‘late’ by many, but well my story has always been quite different from what always is to ‘many’. 

To come back to ‘late night at Park Street’...I might have looked ‘about to topple over’ the edge for some time, when one of my flamboyant and well known colleagues decided to ruffle my feathers up a bit.

‘Mohua, let’s hit Park Street- Someplace Else, good music good fun’ that was what she said, and yes, it was a ‘she’ and that was a mild crisis. However, I decided that enough was enough and I should let my hair (or whatever is left of it) down and paint the town red (or green, one is rather confused nowadays as to which colour should be picked from our city’s different colour codes).

So there I was, in Kolkata at Park Street at Someplace Else. Yes, you have the right picture. Loud music, low light, few scattered heads in the shadow , 2 LED screens with mismatched views (this is an irritating speciality which comes with CCD type set up) and the glittering bar, with a small side dais for performers to churn out soulful music as the evening gets drunk with an intoxicated  will to ‘enjoy life’.

The place has ambience, yes, it decidedly has an ambience. So in keeping with the image of what you should be when you visit a place with ‘ambience’ , I whisked out my Aparna Sen glasses( unless she has decided to change her ‘I am impressive’ style) and pretended to be someone of importance as everyone around tried to do just the same.

My distinguished colleague looked just as important and impressive, and that set the theme of the evening errr......night, ‘to be distinguished and impressive’. Now it is quite a different story when one is trying ‘to be and not to be’ different and distinguished when almost 80% of the gatherers are trying to be just that and wearing different and almost same versions of the colour black with black heads (Indians),black eyes, black glasses, black stockings/socks, and albeit black shoes. I realised that we indeed had really set a very tough task for ourselves.

I just loved the music as I recognised almost all the pieces that they played. You see, that’s one of my worst fears- not being able to recognise the music at a party....psssst( I do lie at times and pretend that I am a regular ‘Linkin Park, Justin Bieber and Spice Girl’ stuff, and try to look suitably interested when my teenage children are talking to the ‘Yo, Mummy’ image of mine), and here it was, right in midst of Park Street, they played Glen Campbell, Pete Sieger, Eric Clapton and I knew those lyrics) It is an intoxicating feeling without  any true source, when you can sing as you please without being corrected about the lyrics or the notes (who would bother, above all that din!). But I sung my heart out , swayed with the beat as there never is much space to do more, and just let myself go with the flow, incognito.

Well that was just going great and I did great until  my well known colleague was identified by couple of other well known people around, there was nothing really  I could do except smile an enigmatic smile and tried to look suitably impressed by their round of chit chats or bang bangs (over the din dins J). I happened to notice few activities around me and almost banged against a ‘phorener’ standing still as a wall with a tablet written ‘Passion Lemon Drink’. I asked for her forgiveness , as she was really doing her job well standing on  6.5inch stilettos, and in pins and toes about the ‘Passion’   bit.

And then there was this aged man who was quite ‘high’ & mistook me for his ‘girl’ couple of times, and tried to be familiar but again one glance at my ‘holier than thou’ looks and he did an 80 degree turn and took after someone else. Well, that is me, even when I chill out people call me ‘Ma’am’.

Well the night wore on with lots of photographs of my colleague and her old flames and new patients, a well known doc with his latest IPhone and new car (this particular doc I know well is also a ‘Motivational Speaker’, who charges quite high for his ‘motivational Public Performance’). To give him some credit, he did look well motivated and quite willing to motivate others with this other way of life. In front of me, there was one very tall guy blocking my view of Nondon Bagchi performing on dais, three well rounded ladies giggling on top of three not so well rounded lads, a mixture of young and old, fearful and bold, kind souls and all with an unified feeling of ‘let it flow’. Mast !

I did enjoy my time thoroughly, and just flew with the rhythm, with lot of calls and FB updates. My distinguished companies were clicking photos and telling to no one in particular that those pics should never go to FB, how nobody should know, as they were so well known and how people would talk if they knew how ‘well known’ people chill and no journalist should get a whiff of how well they looked as well known people and on and on and on...........

As I was coming out of the hotel, I noticed the completely silent Park Street and my favourite places with their shutters down. The city had always carried an aura with its unique combination of tradition and modernity and wrapped in lamp lights and starlight, it just reminded me of a very old song:

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free 
They did not listen, They did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

As my car crawled into the night, I just relaxed and stared at the road ahead. A bustling city by day ,put to slumber, a few cars here and there, the street dwellers rolled up in bed covers rested in front of the closed shutters, a few dogs keeping a strict vigil over the city streets, and the hoardings with bright lights superimposed over the narrow shops,I whizzed past the roll shops, CCDs, bedding stores,restaurants, malls, cafes,offices,showrooms, houses,flats... and clean and silent street, I just fell in love..........

YATRA: Mumbai Mirror: Part 1

YATRA:

Mumbai Mirror: Part 1

The first thing that hits you about the city is the smell, a damp smell of garbage dump. For a second you start thinking that it is a city full of only garbage and that awful smell. Your sense of smell leads you to notice only shanties and garbage pile ups by the street. Then as you enter the city limits,the rotten smell recedes and you slowly reconcile yourself to the fact that nobody would notice you in the milling crowd, even if you walk stark naked on the street, except for maybe some political moral police with loud protest against your ‘Haute Couture’ sense of dressing. Then you realise it is a city where- ‘sab chalta hai’ and offers a complete sense of independence and that feeling of ‘The invisible man’ being rewritten all over again by Mr.Wells.

People:

Business, business, busyness! That is what you see all over. People walking, running, talking, romancing (oh, yes Mumbaikars are quite exponents as far as public display of hand holding, necking type 'PD' of romance is concerned. Maybe the absence of space in houses and of course bedrooms, push them to streets, parks and malls). Yes, it is a very loving city and it loves being busy. Nobody has time so they understand perfectly about ‘do call and visit’ relatives, appointments and value of reaching on time.

The wonders are the traders. I mean a simple visit to a vegetable market with my ‘Mumbai savy’ spouse, introduced me to the fastest swiftest and loudest breed of humanoids called ‘Bhajiwalah’. They have this astounding capacity of selling ten different varieties of vegetables to ten different customers and bargaining, weighing, packaging in the flimsy looking plastic bags and handing you back the exact amount of changes...and guess what? All within a span of 2 mins 30 secs (I had the audacity to consult a stopwatch). See that is what a busy city is all about. Time is money-the faster you make it the better.

Mumbaikars do not shout inside their houses and flats. The quiet neighbourhood drove me to think that Mumbaikars do not have undisciplined adolescents who refuse to obey the righteous parents and in turn get preached (as in- using the same decibel level in talking to a large mass!), they do not have bothersome neighbours or mother in laws and thus a reign of peace resides all around. But the fact is they have all the above but what they respect in others is the personal space and to let it be. They pretty much keep their opinion restricted only to those who would want to hear.

Mumbaikar teenagers and adolescents- sizes vary from ‘xs’ to ‘xxl’ and to the utmost delight of this author, huge range of designer clothes for the size ‘xl’ ! Svelte fashionable teenagers and designer model youths are splattered all over the city, yet a big mass of middle-aged stylish ladies with matched sense of style make you feel so much at home. Yes it is a city which embraces all in a most disenchanted yet a loose hug.

People understand the value of money, so even in biggest arcades you will find stores with vast range of goods catering to every income group. The business and service community   are very quality conscious and strive to serve better without being irritated. Thus you have 4^th hand colour TV sets being sold for a paltry amount and with ‘after sale service’ (my better half possesses one...although now, after a tortured life, it has breathed its last, and left me wondering, if now it will be treated with ‘Warranty period service after death’! ) 

And it is a place with people and people everywhere, milling in and out of the buildings, rail stations, malls, hotels, restaurants, houses, subways,footbridges, shops,crossing roads, on treetops and drains! (that was a bit far fetched). But yes they are everywhere , a city full of people to keep you company.

( This post will be followed by Part 2 &3)