This small incident that I'm sharing here is one of many such stories that have been a part of my growing up. They have been, quite unknown to me, instrumental in shaping my thought process, because the kind of thinking and mind set that I seem to have developed is certainly thanks to the ideals that my elders held dear to their heart. As I saw them conduct their day-to-day life, they left their mark on my impressionable mind too.
And this rather obscure incident tucked away in time has... specially in recent times, shown me the way forward...guided me...taken me a step closer to being human.
This happened around the time when Partition of India had become inevitable. The air in the country was filled with the venom of distrust, confusion and rumours. One day my grandfather had just come home after a hectic day in court, and was going to freshen himself when his personal assistant came and informed that a group of men had come to meet him. My grandfather was a prominent personality in the town. It was not unusual for people, strangers and all, coming to meet him. But this was not the time he met outsiders.
His assistant informed that the visitors had come from a nearby village. And they look scared and worried, hence the matter might be serious.
So grandfather came out and asked them the purpose of their visit. One among them spoke in a hushed tone. He said they had heard that the "other party" had decided to desecrate a Masjid on the outskirts of the town in the darkness of the night.
My grandfather was quiet. He was not just a well-known lawyer in town, his knowledge of the scriptures and religious books was highly acclaimed too.
The visitors looked at him expectantly.
His forehead creased a bit as he frowned.
To their surprise he asked them :
"What do you want from me...?"
"Khan Bahadar Saheb! Don't you think it is our sacred duty to make an effort to save that Masjid?" one of them asked, showing obvious displeasure at my grandfather's rather blunt stance.
Khan Bahadar Saheb again went into a thoughtful pause, before speaking.
When he spoke, he said:
"You will agree that as a natural instinct we all have this habit of protecting our possessions. We often ask God's help in this endeavour. Be it our house, our children, our property, assets...etc etc."
He used to speak very softly and there always seemed a pleasant smile not very far away from his face. I can imagine he must have spoken slowly and patiently as he went on to say,
"Now...I understand that any Masjid is a house of God...do you think God Almighty needs you and me to ptotect His house ...is He not capable of protecting His own dwelling... ??? The Lord of This World, This Universe... The Lord of the known and the unknown...all knowlegeable, all powerful...depends on us for protecting His house...?!!!!! To me this sounds ridiculous..."
His visitors were far from satisfied.
So he explained to them:
"Let us all do our duty to Him...obey His message, try to be good human beings...and please I request you not to disgarce Him so much."
There was silence for a while.
Then one of the visitors said rather caustically, "And Sir! don't you think it is our duty to defend our faith, and the mosque which represents our faith?"
Khan Bahadar Saheb looked at him and replied politely,
"No! I don't think its our duty...at best it is your wishful thinking...Get rid of it..."
Saying this he excused himself and went in to offer his namaz.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
The Games Leaders Of The People Play
The two most talked-about things these days are Common Wealth Games and the Ramjanmabhoomi issue, which is also called the Babri Masjid dispute. CWG is perhaps taking the top TRPs if one is to talk in the television nework parlance. Kalmadi is the main villain. He is being profusely abused and disgraced by all and sundry for what he has done. And I agree that the people are absolutely right in hating Kalmadi. I am no different in my views on him.
But as for the Ayodhya issue the perpetrators of the crime of first destroying a heritage structure (which was our national wealth) and then being responsible for so many riots ,loss of property and life, are all people of high repute, enjoying the privileges of the highest offices in the country.
We all unite in demonstrating an impeccable proof of our patriotism when the target is safe (and soft) as in everyone knows there is not going to be any controversial fall out of condemning Kalmadi. But we develop cold feet and take refuge in religious values when the actual murderers and the real traitors are to be brought to book. Most of us are relieved to see serious filth (of injustice and corruption) being broomed under the carpet and blaming some weak link for it when it becomes huge and comes back disturbing us with its incessant and unbearable stink.
Of course the mismanagement of Common Wealth Games and the shameless corruption involved therein is unforgivable. But is Kalmadi alone to be blamed ? Is he the only one who has swallowed immeasurable public funds ?
And while we answer these and such other many more questions related to our national pride, it will be worthwhile to do an honest introspection of the other problem which is more long-standing and has done much more incaculable damage. Also it is still a dormant volcano that can errupt any time.
The High Court verdict on this dispute which was to come on 24th of this month and is now expected possibly later in the month is certainly not going to solve the issue. For the simple reason that one of the parties in the dispute is not ready to obey the court order if it goes against them, and secondly the other party has another higher court, the Supreme Court of the country to look up to if the verdict goes against them. So either way the dispute continues.
Not to mention that no action has been taken against anyone of those terror-mongers who openly say they will not obey the law of the land. They have shown a complete disregard for the Constitution of the country, but the law does not punish them.
Partition of India was also resorted to saying it was a solution to the Hindu-Muslim problem simmering at the time of our Independence struggle. What has it solved is for all to see.
And as for the Ayodhya issue (I will repeat myself here that) the only real solution is that the court must surprise the nation with a neutral judgement, if the parties to the dispute are not able to come to an amicable mature solution on their own.
Neither side should be allowed the possession of the site. The ownership should be given to the government of India with specific directions that within a stipulated time frame of say a year or two there would be a structure of public utility, specially benefitting the poor and underprivileged be built there.
I don't think this will be a difficult job if the court orders thus. Both the warring parties must then be strictly made to give in to this order in the interest of the nation and in keeping with teachings of the faiths or God/Prophet that they so ardently follow.
No religion in its pure and true form has ever endorsed violence and killing.
The courts have a duty to not just decide a case this way or that, they have a responsibility to guide the people too, setting examples in justice and ensuring peaceful working of a system.
The Courts must be courageous enough to set exemplary trends in such cases, as this is no ordinary case of a mere title to some property in a remote place. Taking into account the extraordinary nature of this case, our judges can for a change be innovative and intelligent , sending out a message that any religious place over which there comes a debate or conflict would be taken over by the State.
Do we always have to follow a precedent or are we indeed that super-power-in -the-making who can fearlessly set examples for the world to emulate...?
And as for the date of the announcement of court verdict and the beginning of Common Wealth Games being so close on heels, one can hope that the government would not allow any untoward incident as an aftermath of the Ayodhya judgement in view of CWG preparations and Kalmadi having tarnished the Indian Pride enough.
But as for the Ayodhya issue the perpetrators of the crime of first destroying a heritage structure (which was our national wealth) and then being responsible for so many riots ,loss of property and life, are all people of high repute, enjoying the privileges of the highest offices in the country.
We all unite in demonstrating an impeccable proof of our patriotism when the target is safe (and soft) as in everyone knows there is not going to be any controversial fall out of condemning Kalmadi. But we develop cold feet and take refuge in religious values when the actual murderers and the real traitors are to be brought to book. Most of us are relieved to see serious filth (of injustice and corruption) being broomed under the carpet and blaming some weak link for it when it becomes huge and comes back disturbing us with its incessant and unbearable stink.
Of course the mismanagement of Common Wealth Games and the shameless corruption involved therein is unforgivable. But is Kalmadi alone to be blamed ? Is he the only one who has swallowed immeasurable public funds ?
And while we answer these and such other many more questions related to our national pride, it will be worthwhile to do an honest introspection of the other problem which is more long-standing and has done much more incaculable damage. Also it is still a dormant volcano that can errupt any time.
The High Court verdict on this dispute which was to come on 24th of this month and is now expected possibly later in the month is certainly not going to solve the issue. For the simple reason that one of the parties in the dispute is not ready to obey the court order if it goes against them, and secondly the other party has another higher court, the Supreme Court of the country to look up to if the verdict goes against them. So either way the dispute continues.
Not to mention that no action has been taken against anyone of those terror-mongers who openly say they will not obey the law of the land. They have shown a complete disregard for the Constitution of the country, but the law does not punish them.
Partition of India was also resorted to saying it was a solution to the Hindu-Muslim problem simmering at the time of our Independence struggle. What has it solved is for all to see.
And as for the Ayodhya issue (I will repeat myself here that) the only real solution is that the court must surprise the nation with a neutral judgement, if the parties to the dispute are not able to come to an amicable mature solution on their own.
Neither side should be allowed the possession of the site. The ownership should be given to the government of India with specific directions that within a stipulated time frame of say a year or two there would be a structure of public utility, specially benefitting the poor and underprivileged be built there.
I don't think this will be a difficult job if the court orders thus. Both the warring parties must then be strictly made to give in to this order in the interest of the nation and in keeping with teachings of the faiths or God/Prophet that they so ardently follow.
No religion in its pure and true form has ever endorsed violence and killing.
The courts have a duty to not just decide a case this way or that, they have a responsibility to guide the people too, setting examples in justice and ensuring peaceful working of a system.
The Courts must be courageous enough to set exemplary trends in such cases, as this is no ordinary case of a mere title to some property in a remote place. Taking into account the extraordinary nature of this case, our judges can for a change be innovative and intelligent , sending out a message that any religious place over which there comes a debate or conflict would be taken over by the State.
Do we always have to follow a precedent or are we indeed that super-power-in -the-making who can fearlessly set examples for the world to emulate...?
And as for the date of the announcement of court verdict and the beginning of Common Wealth Games being so close on heels, one can hope that the government would not allow any untoward incident as an aftermath of the Ayodhya judgement in view of CWG preparations and Kalmadi having tarnished the Indian Pride enough.
Monday, September 13, 2010
This Independence Day, I thought of what Independence really means...
"Eat to please thyself, but dress to please others.", said Benjamin Franklin
"Elegance does not consist in putting on a new dress.", these words of depth come from none other than Coco Chanel
"Be careless in your dress if you will, but keep a tidy soul." disclosed Mark Twain
"A woman should be less concerned about Paris and more concerned about whether the dress she's about to buy relates to the way she lives." advised Geoffrey Beene.
All of this is fine. And coming from some great people there has to be some soul into these above-mentioned words of wisdom. Hence I conclude that while dressing well is important, it must not be just something expensive. It must be something decent as well. Also apparently it goes without saying that it is not only the clothes you wear that reflect your personality. It is the way you carry yourself, the accessories that you choose, the way you keep your hair...and many such other things that count in building up your image as others see it.
In places where a uniform or a dress code is to be followed it is easier to conform and that does not necessarily reflect the personlity of the individual, but rather the descipline and the character of the instution or the organisation, which in the long does shape the character of the individual too.
So when a child enters school, he learns for the first time in life that there are certain rules to be followed. There is a time to play, to eat (and even drink). There are basic etiqutte that must be strictly adhered to. Completing Home Work and Class Work is not optional. Being present in the school, and not being in your class is severly punishable.
Fast forward to one's college days, where the hither-to-child suddenly (and quite unknowing to himself) finds himself in a transitional stage. Adolecense can be very confusing for the child as well as the parents. For the parents the child has still not grown up enough to be mature. But the child feels the breath of freshness that freedom brings. He feels mature enough to take charge of his life.
It is a crucial period and if differences between the parents and the child are more than superficial in this phase, it may ruin their future.
Often children dress up in a manner that would look weird to the adult eyes of caring parents who want nothing but the best for their children. There are various concerns in the turbulent mind of parents as to who their child is meeting. Oh! God they only hope the child is not into smoking, drinking or love affairs already. Why the concern, if history is repeating itself?!!
Or even if the parents have not done all that the child is doing, what is wrong? Can he not create history for his children???
Keeping cool is perhaps not easy for the parents. And I wonder how I did it when my elder son came home in the holidays with a ponytail and a thick beard. As I hugged him I admit to feeling rather proud. In fact I felt a strange sense of security. May be my happiness in seeing him after so many days was spilling over, and nothing at all could make me angry at that point in time.
Some years later was the turn of my younger son. He also grew a beard and let his hair follow the law of nature and grow in abundance as he entered junior college. Once again neither his crumpled shirt nor his cotton shoulder bag could make me loose my temper. In fact his hair bands and the care with which chose his shampoo and conditioner made me laugh.
One day he came home, and concealing his excitement as best as he could, smiling naughtily he told me that the college principal had given him the compliment of his life, saying his flowing tresses and the beard were so much "like that of the Lord Himself"!!!
And so seeing them trimmed or cut was out of the question for a long time. I enjoyed oiling my children's long hair on weekends. It was so much fun. Now that they keep their haircuts neat and tidy, I miss those lovely long ringlets of hair!!!
I love to see them enjoy their youth and do things that would help them grow with confidence in their persona and love in their hearts. The point is we all let ourselves loose at some point in life and live for the present, doing stupid things and deriving pleasure out of them. So never scoff at a youngsters for spending hours glued to mobile phones talking to the "opposite sex" (Isn't that normal considering the latest trends?). Also never judge a boy for his long tresses nor a girl for her boy-cut. The length of their hair, the excitement of wearing bizzare T-shirts, naughty mini skirts or a silly cargo is not going to affect their inner self as long as they know their responsibilities. The important thing is to let them grow into responsible young people with humanitarian values.
Homes must be places where the generation gap should melt into nothingness, and yet the care and concern the elders have for the young ones in the family as also the admiration and respect that the young must show for their elders must not be compromised.
And so while all the above mentioned wise thoughts of those great people must be respected, allowing a person the freedom to choose should be paramount as it complements freedom of ex-pression, and therefore is so much an integral part of the growth and all-round development of anyone.
I think as we celebrate yet another Independence Day, we must understand the meaning of freedom in this wider sense too.
Mr.Harsh Mander's views on this article :
-----------------------------------------------
Dear Zohra,
I just wanted to say what a lovely piece this is - not just about clothes, but about parenting, which is best if it gives children space to experiment, even on occasion be what one regards as 'foolish', and still make them feel accepted and safe.
There are many such insights I capture in your messages. Thanks for these.
Eid Mubarak and regards,
Harsh
"Elegance does not consist in putting on a new dress.", these words of depth come from none other than Coco Chanel
"Be careless in your dress if you will, but keep a tidy soul." disclosed Mark Twain
"A woman should be less concerned about Paris and more concerned about whether the dress she's about to buy relates to the way she lives." advised Geoffrey Beene.
All of this is fine. And coming from some great people there has to be some soul into these above-mentioned words of wisdom. Hence I conclude that while dressing well is important, it must not be just something expensive. It must be something decent as well. Also apparently it goes without saying that it is not only the clothes you wear that reflect your personality. It is the way you carry yourself, the accessories that you choose, the way you keep your hair...and many such other things that count in building up your image as others see it.
In places where a uniform or a dress code is to be followed it is easier to conform and that does not necessarily reflect the personlity of the individual, but rather the descipline and the character of the instution or the organisation, which in the long does shape the character of the individual too.
So when a child enters school, he learns for the first time in life that there are certain rules to be followed. There is a time to play, to eat (and even drink). There are basic etiqutte that must be strictly adhered to. Completing Home Work and Class Work is not optional. Being present in the school, and not being in your class is severly punishable.
Fast forward to one's college days, where the hither-to-child suddenly (and quite unknowing to himself) finds himself in a transitional stage. Adolecense can be very confusing for the child as well as the parents. For the parents the child has still not grown up enough to be mature. But the child feels the breath of freshness that freedom brings. He feels mature enough to take charge of his life.
It is a crucial period and if differences between the parents and the child are more than superficial in this phase, it may ruin their future.
Often children dress up in a manner that would look weird to the adult eyes of caring parents who want nothing but the best for their children. There are various concerns in the turbulent mind of parents as to who their child is meeting. Oh! God they only hope the child is not into smoking, drinking or love affairs already. Why the concern, if history is repeating itself?!!
Or even if the parents have not done all that the child is doing, what is wrong? Can he not create history for his children???
Keeping cool is perhaps not easy for the parents. And I wonder how I did it when my elder son came home in the holidays with a ponytail and a thick beard. As I hugged him I admit to feeling rather proud. In fact I felt a strange sense of security. May be my happiness in seeing him after so many days was spilling over, and nothing at all could make me angry at that point in time.
Some years later was the turn of my younger son. He also grew a beard and let his hair follow the law of nature and grow in abundance as he entered junior college. Once again neither his crumpled shirt nor his cotton shoulder bag could make me loose my temper. In fact his hair bands and the care with which chose his shampoo and conditioner made me laugh.
One day he came home, and concealing his excitement as best as he could, smiling naughtily he told me that the college principal had given him the compliment of his life, saying his flowing tresses and the beard were so much "like that of the Lord Himself"!!!
And so seeing them trimmed or cut was out of the question for a long time. I enjoyed oiling my children's long hair on weekends. It was so much fun. Now that they keep their haircuts neat and tidy, I miss those lovely long ringlets of hair!!!
I love to see them enjoy their youth and do things that would help them grow with confidence in their persona and love in their hearts. The point is we all let ourselves loose at some point in life and live for the present, doing stupid things and deriving pleasure out of them. So never scoff at a youngsters for spending hours glued to mobile phones talking to the "opposite sex" (Isn't that normal considering the latest trends?). Also never judge a boy for his long tresses nor a girl for her boy-cut. The length of their hair, the excitement of wearing bizzare T-shirts, naughty mini skirts or a silly cargo is not going to affect their inner self as long as they know their responsibilities. The important thing is to let them grow into responsible young people with humanitarian values.
Homes must be places where the generation gap should melt into nothingness, and yet the care and concern the elders have for the young ones in the family as also the admiration and respect that the young must show for their elders must not be compromised.
And so while all the above mentioned wise thoughts of those great people must be respected, allowing a person the freedom to choose should be paramount as it complements freedom of ex-pression, and therefore is so much an integral part of the growth and all-round development of anyone.
I think as we celebrate yet another Independence Day, we must understand the meaning of freedom in this wider sense too.
Mr.Harsh Mander's views on this article :
-----------------------------------------------
Dear Zohra,
I just wanted to say what a lovely piece this is - not just about clothes, but about parenting, which is best if it gives children space to experiment, even on occasion be what one regards as 'foolish', and still make them feel accepted and safe.
There are many such insights I capture in your messages. Thanks for these.
Eid Mubarak and regards,
Harsh
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
My thoughts on hearing of Benazir Bhutto's assasination
My evenings are usually spent in the pleasantness of my spacious kitchen, which I turn into quite a mess by the time I'm through with the cooking chores. I usually begin with brewing the evening tea that I like with a dash of ginger and tulsi. For me a cup of tea in the evening is more of a luxury and a time to relax when amidst sips of the rejuvenating beverage I also decide on the menu for the dinner.
On the evening of December 27, I was waiting for the fish curry masala to turn golden brown and leave the sides of the vessel in the glow of the hot shimmering cooking medium. I felt satisfied, and with some amount of self-pride I imagined the accolades I'd get for my hard work at the dinner table when the family sat to eat that evening meals.
The time was some minutes past seven-thirty. And as is a usual practice, before I begin with my daily dose of soaps on the idiot box, I like to get updated on all the news and current affairs of the day. So the television was switched on...and my ears heard the unbelieveable even before my eyes could adjust themselves well to interpret the images of people running helter-skelter, screaming and searching for cover.
Benazir Bhutto was shot dead.
All the news channels were reporting the gory act of extreme cowardice with whatever information and footage they could get. And soon reports of rioting in major Pak cities began to pour in. I was reminded of Mrs. Indira Gandhi's assasination almost two decades ago, though apparently there seemed no similarities between the two, in fact they seemed more than poles apart.
Yes, they were both women and had been Prime Ministers of their countries. But other than that, could the two be compared. No, I thought with the firmness of steel as I reminded myself of Mrs.Indira Gandhi's stature as a politician and leader of the people. However on a personal level, as far as family tragedies and losses were concerned, they had both gone through immense pain and distress.
But while Mrs.Indira Gandhi was fortunate to have lived in a democracy, Benazir Bhutto had to bear the misfortune of going through life in exile while her country slogged under unscruplous military leaders. Benazir Bhutto could have lived in Dubai or London peacefully with her children and husband. Was she so innocent as not to have read the writing on the wall and the risks involved in throwing herself in the rising fires of Pak politics? Did she care for her countrymen more than her own children? Was she the true daughter of Pakistan?
Honestly, I wouldn't know.
But strange are the ways of this world. The dead are never bad...all their sins are forgiven, if not forgotten. So we Indians also shower petals of love and may be even shed some tears for the departed leader (of an enemy nation), who, if she had won the coming elections, would have brought democracy in Pakistan. But would the relation between India and Pakistan see much change?
I don't know what will be the fate of elections in Pakistan. There's already speculation whether they'll take place at all. But I surely know that the most hurt and the most scarred for life are Benazir Bhutto's children...how much time they got to spend with her and how close they were as a family is a debatable point, but the fact is their mother is gone forever...
A woman may be good or bad, but as a mother she is goodness personified. Benazir Bhutto's children, Bilawal, Bakhtawar and Aseefa are truly bereaved. They have lost the protective shade of their mother's care and love. This is the price they have paid for being the children of a politically ambitious woman, who perhaps in an emotionally imbalanced moment chose to sacrifice the contentment of motherhood over a dangerously insecure political future.
I wonder if her children realise that their mother could have opted to provide them with a better and much more secure normal family life. I wonder if they realise that she had no right to hurt her family to realise her political ambition.
On the evening of December 27, I was waiting for the fish curry masala to turn golden brown and leave the sides of the vessel in the glow of the hot shimmering cooking medium. I felt satisfied, and with some amount of self-pride I imagined the accolades I'd get for my hard work at the dinner table when the family sat to eat that evening meals.
The time was some minutes past seven-thirty. And as is a usual practice, before I begin with my daily dose of soaps on the idiot box, I like to get updated on all the news and current affairs of the day. So the television was switched on...and my ears heard the unbelieveable even before my eyes could adjust themselves well to interpret the images of people running helter-skelter, screaming and searching for cover.
Benazir Bhutto was shot dead.
All the news channels were reporting the gory act of extreme cowardice with whatever information and footage they could get. And soon reports of rioting in major Pak cities began to pour in. I was reminded of Mrs. Indira Gandhi's assasination almost two decades ago, though apparently there seemed no similarities between the two, in fact they seemed more than poles apart.
Yes, they were both women and had been Prime Ministers of their countries. But other than that, could the two be compared. No, I thought with the firmness of steel as I reminded myself of Mrs.Indira Gandhi's stature as a politician and leader of the people. However on a personal level, as far as family tragedies and losses were concerned, they had both gone through immense pain and distress.
But while Mrs.Indira Gandhi was fortunate to have lived in a democracy, Benazir Bhutto had to bear the misfortune of going through life in exile while her country slogged under unscruplous military leaders. Benazir Bhutto could have lived in Dubai or London peacefully with her children and husband. Was she so innocent as not to have read the writing on the wall and the risks involved in throwing herself in the rising fires of Pak politics? Did she care for her countrymen more than her own children? Was she the true daughter of Pakistan?
Honestly, I wouldn't know.
But strange are the ways of this world. The dead are never bad...all their sins are forgiven, if not forgotten. So we Indians also shower petals of love and may be even shed some tears for the departed leader (of an enemy nation), who, if she had won the coming elections, would have brought democracy in Pakistan. But would the relation between India and Pakistan see much change?
I don't know what will be the fate of elections in Pakistan. There's already speculation whether they'll take place at all. But I surely know that the most hurt and the most scarred for life are Benazir Bhutto's children...how much time they got to spend with her and how close they were as a family is a debatable point, but the fact is their mother is gone forever...
A woman may be good or bad, but as a mother she is goodness personified. Benazir Bhutto's children, Bilawal, Bakhtawar and Aseefa are truly bereaved. They have lost the protective shade of their mother's care and love. This is the price they have paid for being the children of a politically ambitious woman, who perhaps in an emotionally imbalanced moment chose to sacrifice the contentment of motherhood over a dangerously insecure political future.
I wonder if her children realise that their mother could have opted to provide them with a better and much more secure normal family life. I wonder if they realise that she had no right to hurt her family to realise her political ambition.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
"Mughal e Azam" touches gold...
"Kya Mughal e Azam bana rahey ho...pagal ho???"
This is often heard when someone is seen indulging in a crazy extravagant affair. The reason indeed is that a film like Mughal e Azam is perhaps impossible to make. As yet nothing like it has been repeated in the history of Bollywood.
Recently, on August 5 to be precise, "Mughal e Azam" completed fifty years of its release. It is no wonder that memories of the making and the glory of its success came rushing back to those who were associated with this magnum opus, which took the master maker late K. Asif about fifteen years to complete.
When a film as huge as "Mughal e Azam" is made it is indeed history. From the intricacy that went into making it an unparalelled genius feat to the arrangement that went into its premier show, all of it can be listed as lessons in making and executing a masterpiece. The invitations that went out were like the "Ruquanama" wrote in the Mughal Era. The war scenes involved 8000 extras including real Indian Army soldiers, 4000 horses and 2000 camels.
Tailors were especially brought from Delhi to stitch the costumes and specialists from Surat-Khambayat were employed for the embroidery. Goldsmiths from Hyderabad designed the period jewellery. Kolhapuri craftsmen designed the crowns adorned by the actors while Rajasthani ironsmiths crafted the weapons and the elaborate footwear was ordered from Agra.
A Lord Krishna idol in one scene was actually made out of real gold. Also, the jewellery that Rani Jodhabhai (played by the aristocratic Durga Khote) wore, was designed in the authentic Rajasthani style of that era. Such was the magnitude of the film fifty years ago.
Naushad made Lata Mangeshkar sing the immortal "Jab pyar kiya to darna kya..." in a bathroom to create the required reverberating effect...and the master-of-romantic poetry Shakeel Badayuni wrote about 105 drafts of this song before it was okayed by Naushad...no wonder it has been a timeless clssic ever since!
A beautiful piece sung by Badey Ghulam Ali Khan in the background of Salim romancing Anarkali cost Rs.25000/-, while the set of Sheesh Mahal is supposed to have cost fifteen lakh. The film at that time was worth a whopping.1.5 crore.
It is said that three days before its release people had lined up for tickets and tickets costing less than Rs.3/- were sold for upto Rs.100/-!!! Dilip Kumar himself could not see the entire film for the first three-four days...and then he bought a ticket for Rs.100/- to watch the film!!!!
Shammi Kapoor describes the film as "mind blowing" while Alka Yagnik is memsmerised by "Mohabbat ki jhooti kahani pe..."
It is supposed to be the craziest of love stories ever told. Four writers, among them late Kamal Amrohi and Zeenat Aman's late father, who worked on the dialogues and screenplay, and what a remarakable work they all did. As a friend recollects,
"My father was in Lucknow that time and he visited Delhi to watch the movie with friends. Prithviraj Kapoor essayed the role in a way that people started thinking of Akbar like Mughal e Azam's Akbar. What a movie ..what a role and what a wonderous urdu pronunciation..."
Subhash Ghai's words sum up the sentiment. He says: "Classics just happen, they are not designed".
But of course one has to work tirelessly and very hard to create one, that stands the test of time for so many years, and indeed stands so much class apart that it cannot be touched for at least another fifty years to come..."Ae Muhabbat tu zindabaad"!!!
This is often heard when someone is seen indulging in a crazy extravagant affair. The reason indeed is that a film like Mughal e Azam is perhaps impossible to make. As yet nothing like it has been repeated in the history of Bollywood.
Recently, on August 5 to be precise, "Mughal e Azam" completed fifty years of its release. It is no wonder that memories of the making and the glory of its success came rushing back to those who were associated with this magnum opus, which took the master maker late K. Asif about fifteen years to complete.
When a film as huge as "Mughal e Azam" is made it is indeed history. From the intricacy that went into making it an unparalelled genius feat to the arrangement that went into its premier show, all of it can be listed as lessons in making and executing a masterpiece. The invitations that went out were like the "Ruquanama" wrote in the Mughal Era. The war scenes involved 8000 extras including real Indian Army soldiers, 4000 horses and 2000 camels.
Tailors were especially brought from Delhi to stitch the costumes and specialists from Surat-Khambayat were employed for the embroidery. Goldsmiths from Hyderabad designed the period jewellery. Kolhapuri craftsmen designed the crowns adorned by the actors while Rajasthani ironsmiths crafted the weapons and the elaborate footwear was ordered from Agra.
A Lord Krishna idol in one scene was actually made out of real gold. Also, the jewellery that Rani Jodhabhai (played by the aristocratic Durga Khote) wore, was designed in the authentic Rajasthani style of that era. Such was the magnitude of the film fifty years ago.
Naushad made Lata Mangeshkar sing the immortal "Jab pyar kiya to darna kya..." in a bathroom to create the required reverberating effect...and the master-of-romantic poetry Shakeel Badayuni wrote about 105 drafts of this song before it was okayed by Naushad...no wonder it has been a timeless clssic ever since!
A beautiful piece sung by Badey Ghulam Ali Khan in the background of Salim romancing Anarkali cost Rs.25000/-, while the set of Sheesh Mahal is supposed to have cost fifteen lakh. The film at that time was worth a whopping.1.5 crore.
It is said that three days before its release people had lined up for tickets and tickets costing less than Rs.3/- were sold for upto Rs.100/-!!! Dilip Kumar himself could not see the entire film for the first three-four days...and then he bought a ticket for Rs.100/- to watch the film!!!!
Shammi Kapoor describes the film as "mind blowing" while Alka Yagnik is memsmerised by "Mohabbat ki jhooti kahani pe..."
It is supposed to be the craziest of love stories ever told. Four writers, among them late Kamal Amrohi and Zeenat Aman's late father, who worked on the dialogues and screenplay, and what a remarakable work they all did. As a friend recollects,
"My father was in Lucknow that time and he visited Delhi to watch the movie with friends. Prithviraj Kapoor essayed the role in a way that people started thinking of Akbar like Mughal e Azam's Akbar. What a movie ..what a role and what a wonderous urdu pronunciation..."
Subhash Ghai's words sum up the sentiment. He says: "Classics just happen, they are not designed".
But of course one has to work tirelessly and very hard to create one, that stands the test of time for so many years, and indeed stands so much class apart that it cannot be touched for at least another fifty years to come..."Ae Muhabbat tu zindabaad"!!!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Law-makers, Law-enforcers and the Common Man
I am a very ordinary citizen, a home maker, who hardly tries to meddle with the law of the land, and have not really asked for many rights from anyone leave alone the government. Have always tried to be as good a citizen as can possibly be while trying to mind my own business, paying my taxes and bills on time.
And surely I'm not the exception. In this vast democracy of usually law-abiding citizens, people as a rule do not actually dare to meddle with anyone's affairs anyway. We are conditioned very early in life to rest assured that no harm can come to us because we are lucky to be born in a democratic country, where the Constitution has promised us some basic fundamental rights.
Those who do not have the first hand knowledge and experience with the working of the system, believe in this sacred sermon, but are surely and sadly indeed, in for a shock at their first brush with the law and judiciary.
There have been numerous instances where law and order has shown itself to be in a state of decay. Here I am not talking of how inefficiently both NDA and UPA governments have been tackling the terrorist menace. With absolute power at their disposal, they let themselves appear as sitting ducks, saying shamelessly that there cannot be a foolproof system to check terrorism. I put on record that I am not satisfied with this lame excuse. But for the moment let that be.
Just days back the nation saw a wailing mother who had lost her son because the child could not get medical aid on time. This was beacuse the road and traffic was blocked for the Prime Minister and his entourage to pass.
I could not bear to see this piece of news on television, but in the evening Sardesai and Vikram, on their respective channels, sat dissecting the unfortunate event, the guests even putting "ifs" n "buts" to the story, saying "...if this is true..." etc etc...
Can there be more cruel heartless rogues than in the bureaucracy and the corporate world?
What happened to IndiraJi or RajivJi inspite of all the security?!!
And Madhavrao Scindia, Rajesh Pilot and some others like them? Are we to believe that they were killed in accidents?
I don't think anyone from among the common people going about their daily routine, has the time or the inclination to see which VIP or V VIP is going in which car. The best security measure for our endangered political class would be to travel silently in an ordinary Maruti 800 without fanfare. And also dress up like normal people.
Let the PM, CM and such other VIPs who call themselves the peoples' representatives also experience traffic snarls and potholes. At least the wait at a signal would perhaps introduce them to the people they represent.
Also let me be a little blunt and ask a question that nags each one of us:
Has a PM, CM or other VIPs come to live eternally on this planet?
And if one day they also have to die why are they so scared? Why do they make others die instead of them?
Rules should be for the smooth running of the system, and to ease the peoples' distress. But usually, under the pretext of following rules and abiding by the law, the common man is thoughtlessly harassed, be it at traffic signals or various government offices, making him distraught and disillusioned.
My younger son's name has been entered wrong in his class XII marksheet. To just get one word corrected my son and I have been running from pillar to post for the last one year, and the officers admit that it is a genuine case, but they cannot help, "rules have tied our hands", says the senior most officer who now has to sign the papers. So I am back to square one and do not know what to do.
It is time we become more practical and instead of asking for new rules and laws, let us ask for the existing ones to become more friendly to the common man. And then let these better laws be implemented too in the right spirit. The basic question that needs an urgent answer is:
Are the laws there to kill and trouble the people or to save their life, property and honour and to help them live in peace?
And surely I'm not the exception. In this vast democracy of usually law-abiding citizens, people as a rule do not actually dare to meddle with anyone's affairs anyway. We are conditioned very early in life to rest assured that no harm can come to us because we are lucky to be born in a democratic country, where the Constitution has promised us some basic fundamental rights.
Those who do not have the first hand knowledge and experience with the working of the system, believe in this sacred sermon, but are surely and sadly indeed, in for a shock at their first brush with the law and judiciary.
There have been numerous instances where law and order has shown itself to be in a state of decay. Here I am not talking of how inefficiently both NDA and UPA governments have been tackling the terrorist menace. With absolute power at their disposal, they let themselves appear as sitting ducks, saying shamelessly that there cannot be a foolproof system to check terrorism. I put on record that I am not satisfied with this lame excuse. But for the moment let that be.
Just days back the nation saw a wailing mother who had lost her son because the child could not get medical aid on time. This was beacuse the road and traffic was blocked for the Prime Minister and his entourage to pass.
I could not bear to see this piece of news on television, but in the evening Sardesai and Vikram, on their respective channels, sat dissecting the unfortunate event, the guests even putting "ifs" n "buts" to the story, saying "...if this is true..." etc etc...
Can there be more cruel heartless rogues than in the bureaucracy and the corporate world?
What happened to IndiraJi or RajivJi inspite of all the security?!!
And Madhavrao Scindia, Rajesh Pilot and some others like them? Are we to believe that they were killed in accidents?
I don't think anyone from among the common people going about their daily routine, has the time or the inclination to see which VIP or V VIP is going in which car. The best security measure for our endangered political class would be to travel silently in an ordinary Maruti 800 without fanfare. And also dress up like normal people.
Let the PM, CM and such other VIPs who call themselves the peoples' representatives also experience traffic snarls and potholes. At least the wait at a signal would perhaps introduce them to the people they represent.
Also let me be a little blunt and ask a question that nags each one of us:
Has a PM, CM or other VIPs come to live eternally on this planet?
And if one day they also have to die why are they so scared? Why do they make others die instead of them?
Rules should be for the smooth running of the system, and to ease the peoples' distress. But usually, under the pretext of following rules and abiding by the law, the common man is thoughtlessly harassed, be it at traffic signals or various government offices, making him distraught and disillusioned.
My younger son's name has been entered wrong in his class XII marksheet. To just get one word corrected my son and I have been running from pillar to post for the last one year, and the officers admit that it is a genuine case, but they cannot help, "rules have tied our hands", says the senior most officer who now has to sign the papers. So I am back to square one and do not know what to do.
It is time we become more practical and instead of asking for new rules and laws, let us ask for the existing ones to become more friendly to the common man. And then let these better laws be implemented too in the right spirit. The basic question that needs an urgent answer is:
Are the laws there to kill and trouble the people or to save their life, property and honour and to help them live in peace?
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Hate Love Stories...???
I have joined what they call a mobile library. It works this way: you fill in a form, pay an annual fee in lump sum, and their man comes (at irregualr !!!)intervals to your home with a bagful of novels and magazines, from which you can choose and
keep the books for about a fortnight...or of course till the man shows up again. Suits a slow and relaxed reader like me very well. I was told that I can give my choice in advance also so that on his next round the librarian could cater to my request.
This was a delight. Ever since the children have grown up and my household responsibilities have reinvented themselves, I've started a wonderful journey of rediscovering myself. It is a joyous experience. And a rather unheard-of one in today's fast-paced life, where taking things easy and living each minute of the day as per one's own liking is either considered to be a criminal waste of time or the refuge of the lazy. But I know it is a luxury of which people are regrettably unaware of.
Or simply cannot afford to have due to a demanding lifestyle, that includes work pressure.
As I am on this expedition of rediscovering myself, I often sit back and think what I have missed or had to give up in life because I had more pressing duties. I realised that spending time with myself is wonderful. Sitting in my home or going out all by myself, tending to the plants in my balcony, rearranging the furniture in my house, buying colourful cushion and table covers...listening to old Hindi songs and reading.
Reading reminded me of my collection of Mills and Boon novels, which I had so graciously given away (one by one to anyone who asked for it) years ago when I had found my real-life "tall-dark-and-handsome" life partner. So now I asked this mobile
librarian to get me Mills and Boon books. He looked at me as if I was from Mars (or more appropriately Venus?!!!).
After his long pause and my expectant gaze, he said very slowly,
"Ma'am! You will actually read them?!!"
I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, but don't have much to spare so keeping my cool I said: "Yes"
He looked at me sheepishly and still not sure, he told me that people actually never asked for M&B...even the young girls preferred more "realistic" stories, often based on the writer's own experiences as they were closer to life. The youth today were no day-dreamers.
I should have known. My children had laughed out loudly when I had asked them to present me with Mills and Boons on my birthdays.
I had to think seriously about this.
Was I being ridiculous and out of sync?
Was it some other fantastic world that I was living in ?
Was I trying to run away from realities?
Oh! My God! It was not so serious after all I hoped.
But it kept nagging me and I kept exploring the issue.
And then one evening the picture clicked.
We wanted to go for a family outing. Usually it would mean a film and dining-out or dining-out and film in that order. But it seemed really difficult to decide on the film. Men of the house preferred Hollywood...but I am a complete desi in every sense
of the word. Nothing but "Bollywood and associates" works for me. Disappointingly Bollywood had not come up with even one good film in quite sometime. Violence and sex were the only subjects they were churning out in the name of "realism" and "being different" (which was indeed far from "being different" as they all would turn out to be remakes of this-or-that).
Then "Jab We Met" happened. Some years back "Hum aap ke hain kaun", "Dilwaley Dulhaiya Le jaaengey", "Kuchh Kuchh hota hai", "Dil Chahta Hai" had also worked wonders with the audiance. But somewhere down the line, somehow, tender love and sweetness seemed to be goning out-of-date. We are convinced that films are a reflection of the transition the society is going through. They mirror current situations, and we must face facts.
So I seriously wondered if love had become obsolete. Had it gone out of fashion? Worrisome thought it was.
But thankfully not so worrisome when I thought of the success of "Jab We Met" in most recent times. I am thoroughly convinced now that love and honesty can stand every test. These are the only two things that work for Bollywood... and fortunately for everyone and everthing else too. Time can never fade the magic of love. And the integrity that honesty brings cannot be traded.
It is a huge comfort to know that love is always in fashion. Let it be coupled with honesty. It can then reach new horizons.
Whoever said "I hate love stories" must think it over again...
keep the books for about a fortnight...or of course till the man shows up again. Suits a slow and relaxed reader like me very well. I was told that I can give my choice in advance also so that on his next round the librarian could cater to my request.
This was a delight. Ever since the children have grown up and my household responsibilities have reinvented themselves, I've started a wonderful journey of rediscovering myself. It is a joyous experience. And a rather unheard-of one in today's fast-paced life, where taking things easy and living each minute of the day as per one's own liking is either considered to be a criminal waste of time or the refuge of the lazy. But I know it is a luxury of which people are regrettably unaware of.
Or simply cannot afford to have due to a demanding lifestyle, that includes work pressure.
As I am on this expedition of rediscovering myself, I often sit back and think what I have missed or had to give up in life because I had more pressing duties. I realised that spending time with myself is wonderful. Sitting in my home or going out all by myself, tending to the plants in my balcony, rearranging the furniture in my house, buying colourful cushion and table covers...listening to old Hindi songs and reading.
Reading reminded me of my collection of Mills and Boon novels, which I had so graciously given away (one by one to anyone who asked for it) years ago when I had found my real-life "tall-dark-and-handsome" life partner. So now I asked this mobile
librarian to get me Mills and Boon books. He looked at me as if I was from Mars (or more appropriately Venus?!!!).
After his long pause and my expectant gaze, he said very slowly,
"Ma'am! You will actually read them?!!"
I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, but don't have much to spare so keeping my cool I said: "Yes"
He looked at me sheepishly and still not sure, he told me that people actually never asked for M&B...even the young girls preferred more "realistic" stories, often based on the writer's own experiences as they were closer to life. The youth today were no day-dreamers.
I should have known. My children had laughed out loudly when I had asked them to present me with Mills and Boons on my birthdays.
I had to think seriously about this.
Was I being ridiculous and out of sync?
Was it some other fantastic world that I was living in ?
Was I trying to run away from realities?
Oh! My God! It was not so serious after all I hoped.
But it kept nagging me and I kept exploring the issue.
And then one evening the picture clicked.
We wanted to go for a family outing. Usually it would mean a film and dining-out or dining-out and film in that order. But it seemed really difficult to decide on the film. Men of the house preferred Hollywood...but I am a complete desi in every sense
of the word. Nothing but "Bollywood and associates" works for me. Disappointingly Bollywood had not come up with even one good film in quite sometime. Violence and sex were the only subjects they were churning out in the name of "realism" and "being different" (which was indeed far from "being different" as they all would turn out to be remakes of this-or-that).
Then "Jab We Met" happened. Some years back "Hum aap ke hain kaun", "Dilwaley Dulhaiya Le jaaengey", "Kuchh Kuchh hota hai", "Dil Chahta Hai" had also worked wonders with the audiance. But somewhere down the line, somehow, tender love and sweetness seemed to be goning out-of-date. We are convinced that films are a reflection of the transition the society is going through. They mirror current situations, and we must face facts.
So I seriously wondered if love had become obsolete. Had it gone out of fashion? Worrisome thought it was.
But thankfully not so worrisome when I thought of the success of "Jab We Met" in most recent times. I am thoroughly convinced now that love and honesty can stand every test. These are the only two things that work for Bollywood... and fortunately for everyone and everthing else too. Time can never fade the magic of love. And the integrity that honesty brings cannot be traded.
It is a huge comfort to know that love is always in fashion. Let it be coupled with honesty. It can then reach new horizons.
Whoever said "I hate love stories" must think it over again...
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Mere Chehre Mein Chhupa Hai...
I was quite at my wits' end, trying to control my temper to avoid creating a scene at the office of the mobile phone company that had been working like a goddamn government office. This was my third visit there for as petty a work as getting one of my two connections cancelled. But now at last they seemed to have decided to listen to my requests and give up their untiring efforts to convince me to carry on with both the numbers.
Sitting with a deadpan expression, not looking at the boy processing my request, and in fact not even caring what he was doing, I remembered how irritated my father used to get at the manner in which these "trained" boys and girls worked, pressing various keys on a machine called computer, they hardly ever exerted their own brain for a bit of intelligence or innovation.
My father had always kept pace with time, but this present work culture used to often annoy him because he thought it was just too robotic and killed all of one's own thinking power
Taking a turn from the memory lane and coming on to the road I was treading at present, I realized to my great relief that my work had been done. So I got up taking a deep breath and exhaling out hard, more a tokenism, to throw out the negative vibes from my system.
And then I heard someone say,
"Excuse me Madam!"
I looked at the man. He was a sober-looking well dressed man sporting a neat beard. For a second I thought he's going to give me some more "advice" on the mobile service and how keeping at least two connections is beneficial.
So I braced myself up for a counter-offensive!!!
But his was a simple question:
"Are you Mr. Rahman's daughter?"
His voice full of earnestness and devotion, and his eyes looking at me respectfully .
As I tried to smile a little, still puzzled at the situation, he told me it was way back , more than about twenty five years, when he was working in the same division of the company where my father was the Superintendent.
And now, after about a quarter century later, looking at me, he was sure I had to be Mr. Rahman's daughter!
I was not surprised at the respect for my father in his voice.
Almost anyone ... family, friends, colleagues ... there would be hardly anyone who would speak of my father otherwise.
But I was surprised that he recognized me as my "father's daughter".
Out of the air conditioned office, under the open cloudy sky, with the gentle breeze kissing me on the cheeks, I forgot all about my displeasure with the mobile phone company. There was not much traffic on the black smooth coal tar road. As I crossed the road my dupatta flying with the breeze seemed to envelope in its expanse some pictures, some faces, some events from the past ... and so I let it fly... and I let loose the flight of nostalgia too ...
It was a long flight at the end of which I understood why that man could instantly connect me with my father. And I was very happy that while for me my father is always around, in the memories that he has left behind, for others too he has not faded away.
He lives on not just through his memories and good deeds, but in images too ...
My father lives on in this world through me ... what a wonderful thought that was!!!
But it was not all.
What happened next was an unexpected awakening.
A realization.
I felt an intense sense of responsibility to live up to his values and principles. The qualities which endeared him and immortalized him in the memories of so many people should not die with him.
He had gone away.
But his goodness that had touched so many hearts was thriving and alive.
I must live up to those values.
That is the only real tribute and homage I can pay to a man who, who was my father, but not only for me, for a lot many others, he can never be a "dead-and-gone" case.
Sitting with a deadpan expression, not looking at the boy processing my request, and in fact not even caring what he was doing, I remembered how irritated my father used to get at the manner in which these "trained" boys and girls worked, pressing various keys on a machine called computer, they hardly ever exerted their own brain for a bit of intelligence or innovation.
My father had always kept pace with time, but this present work culture used to often annoy him because he thought it was just too robotic and killed all of one's own thinking power
Taking a turn from the memory lane and coming on to the road I was treading at present, I realized to my great relief that my work had been done. So I got up taking a deep breath and exhaling out hard, more a tokenism, to throw out the negative vibes from my system.
And then I heard someone say,
"Excuse me Madam!"
I looked at the man. He was a sober-looking well dressed man sporting a neat beard. For a second I thought he's going to give me some more "advice" on the mobile service and how keeping at least two connections is beneficial.
So I braced myself up for a counter-offensive!!!
But his was a simple question:
"Are you Mr. Rahman's daughter?"
His voice full of earnestness and devotion, and his eyes looking at me respectfully .
As I tried to smile a little, still puzzled at the situation, he told me it was way back , more than about twenty five years, when he was working in the same division of the company where my father was the Superintendent.
And now, after about a quarter century later, looking at me, he was sure I had to be Mr. Rahman's daughter!
I was not surprised at the respect for my father in his voice.
Almost anyone ... family, friends, colleagues ... there would be hardly anyone who would speak of my father otherwise.
But I was surprised that he recognized me as my "father's daughter".
Out of the air conditioned office, under the open cloudy sky, with the gentle breeze kissing me on the cheeks, I forgot all about my displeasure with the mobile phone company. There was not much traffic on the black smooth coal tar road. As I crossed the road my dupatta flying with the breeze seemed to envelope in its expanse some pictures, some faces, some events from the past ... and so I let it fly... and I let loose the flight of nostalgia too ...
It was a long flight at the end of which I understood why that man could instantly connect me with my father. And I was very happy that while for me my father is always around, in the memories that he has left behind, for others too he has not faded away.
He lives on not just through his memories and good deeds, but in images too ...
My father lives on in this world through me ... what a wonderful thought that was!!!
But it was not all.
What happened next was an unexpected awakening.
A realization.
I felt an intense sense of responsibility to live up to his values and principles. The qualities which endeared him and immortalized him in the memories of so many people should not die with him.
He had gone away.
But his goodness that had touched so many hearts was thriving and alive.
I must live up to those values.
That is the only real tribute and homage I can pay to a man who, who was my father, but not only for me, for a lot many others, he can never be a "dead-and-gone" case.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Timeless Ties
In an old black and white picture in the family album there was this girl, some years older to us running after my brother as he was seen chasing a flock of hens in the vast courtyard of our ancient family home in my native town. I was told that she
was the daughter of a doctor who was posted on government duty for some years in my native place and had stayed in a residential block in the sprawling campus of my grandfather's kothi.
This was many years ago.
But the memories had remained as happens at times, when in this voyage of life you meet people who instantly seem to be one of your own. Doctor saheb and his family had carved out an irreplaceable place for themselves in the hearts of my family. Those ties remained firm and strong although they never came back to my native place after their transfer.
Initially letters were exchanged with intense enthusiasm. Then the pace slowed and then as life moved from one phase to another, though memories lingered, the keeping-in-touch became more of a ritual on Raksha bandhans, Holi, Diwali and Idd.
That also withered with time, but strangely the bond remained.
I was to realise later that this relation was too deep, too unswerving to just sink in the sand of time.
In a providential coincidence doctor saheb's wife met my mother's cousin, Baaji Aapa on a train journey.
The two women hugged each other affectionately, taking their time to settle down. Then began the exercise of exchanging notes and measuring the water that had flown down the bridge while they had been going about their ways. She informed Baaji Aapa that after doctor saheb's retirement they had settled down in Allahabad. Their daughter happily married and the son now an officer in the Indian Army.
And then by another unbelievable coincidence some years later I went to Allahabad. Unbelievable I say because there had been not even a remote chance of me ever landing up in Allahabad.
But there I was most unexpectedly and very happily married to an Allahabadi ...!!!
My mother and her younger sister told me to search for doctor saheb's family.
We had an address to go by. I searched in the telephone directory.
Made a few calls to the people who I thought matched the description. But that got me no where.
So once when my mother was visiting, we decided to go and find out who was living at the address given by doctor saheb's wife.
The house looked deserted and even before I opened the iron gate with some hesitation, a voice inside warned me of some misadventure, but I brushed aside the thought. I did not want to spoil mummy's child-like excitement.
The lawn was unkempt, but someone had been watering it because the greenery was
thankfully there; the flower beds were full of weeds, the front door was locked, but in the open space on the left that took you to the backyard, there was a clothesline with some clothes hung out to dry. On an old worn out wooden chair and an ordinary cot woven with rough coir were spread some colourful woollens...shawls, caps, sweaters, socks...
The winter was setting in.
Mummy and I looked at each other. A little unsure we walked towards a door that was ajar. A fair woman of medium height, neatly draped in a cotton sari, a deep red round bindi perched proudly on her forehead , was perhaps about to go into the next phase of her daily routine. Her payals stopped their sweet jingle as she stopped in her steps looking up questioningly at the sound of our tiptoeing.
Oh! Yes she knew doctor bhaiyya and his family. But they did not live in Allahabad any more. Their daughter was doing well, her children had grown up, they were doing very well too.
And their son was a "big officer" in the Indian Army. Happily married, two sons and a lovely wife.
Great! I could see mummy's eyes light up with joy.
The woman went on with her loud and incesssant chatter for some more time, smiling and laughing, which apparently seemed unnecessary. I was watching my mother closely as she was taking in each word that the woman uttered. Very attentive not to miss anything at all in the details that the woman was giving about doctor saheb and his family. But I could also sense mummy's impatience at the time this talkative woman was taking to give out details about Doctor Bhaiyya and Bhabi's present location and address.
My mother could have burst out and perhaps admonished the woman in an unusual bout of anxiety, but something kept her patience going and she listened quietly as the details about doctor saheb's family and his stay in Allahabad poured out.
And then the woman paused, as if exhausted from her own chatter.
After what seemed eternity she, almost inaudibly said something. Most certaily she did had not wanted to utter those words. Now we knew why she was talking of everything else.
But had we heard her right ???
Mummy's eyes suddenly widened with disbelief before numbness took over.
And what should I have done? I should in all probablity have been indifferent. It hardly should have been of any concern to me. After all how much did I know or associate with a doctor and his family who at some point in time, had been close to my mother's family. And who I do not remember as having seen, leave alone met in my life...
But how do you really remain indifferent when you hear of death?!!!
We were informed that both Doctor Saheb and his wife were no more.
The search for them was complete. It was sadly a "dead end".
When Mummy spoke despair and helplessness was evident as she remarked with a sigh, "We should not have insisted on looking for them. At least there was this hope of running into each other sometime... at some turn in life... out of the blue..."
Her voice trailed off as tears filled her eyes and emotions choked her throat yet again.
I wonder why do people not allow their past to rest in peace? You meet so many people in various phases of life. Some stay with you longer than the others, some just fade away while some others stay forever. So let that beauty be. Let us stop chasing the past. I would like to believe that if one has to meet someone it will just happen.
But no. Even if one wants very earnestly to let the past be, it keeps coming back. Our past is already a part of us. We know everything about it. And the best part is it has gone, never to return. Therefore we love it so much.
I could not help smiling cynically when in an intersting coincidence I am entrusted once again with a similar task. This time the search is for a Parsi lady in Mumbai. My first effort to locate her has drawn a blank. But I have my fingers crossed as I go about it not giving up.
was the daughter of a doctor who was posted on government duty for some years in my native place and had stayed in a residential block in the sprawling campus of my grandfather's kothi.
This was many years ago.
But the memories had remained as happens at times, when in this voyage of life you meet people who instantly seem to be one of your own. Doctor saheb and his family had carved out an irreplaceable place for themselves in the hearts of my family. Those ties remained firm and strong although they never came back to my native place after their transfer.
Initially letters were exchanged with intense enthusiasm. Then the pace slowed and then as life moved from one phase to another, though memories lingered, the keeping-in-touch became more of a ritual on Raksha bandhans, Holi, Diwali and Idd.
That also withered with time, but strangely the bond remained.
I was to realise later that this relation was too deep, too unswerving to just sink in the sand of time.
In a providential coincidence doctor saheb's wife met my mother's cousin, Baaji Aapa on a train journey.
The two women hugged each other affectionately, taking their time to settle down. Then began the exercise of exchanging notes and measuring the water that had flown down the bridge while they had been going about their ways. She informed Baaji Aapa that after doctor saheb's retirement they had settled down in Allahabad. Their daughter happily married and the son now an officer in the Indian Army.
And then by another unbelievable coincidence some years later I went to Allahabad. Unbelievable I say because there had been not even a remote chance of me ever landing up in Allahabad.
But there I was most unexpectedly and very happily married to an Allahabadi ...!!!
My mother and her younger sister told me to search for doctor saheb's family.
We had an address to go by. I searched in the telephone directory.
Made a few calls to the people who I thought matched the description. But that got me no where.
So once when my mother was visiting, we decided to go and find out who was living at the address given by doctor saheb's wife.
The house looked deserted and even before I opened the iron gate with some hesitation, a voice inside warned me of some misadventure, but I brushed aside the thought. I did not want to spoil mummy's child-like excitement.
The lawn was unkempt, but someone had been watering it because the greenery was
thankfully there; the flower beds were full of weeds, the front door was locked, but in the open space on the left that took you to the backyard, there was a clothesline with some clothes hung out to dry. On an old worn out wooden chair and an ordinary cot woven with rough coir were spread some colourful woollens...shawls, caps, sweaters, socks...
The winter was setting in.
Mummy and I looked at each other. A little unsure we walked towards a door that was ajar. A fair woman of medium height, neatly draped in a cotton sari, a deep red round bindi perched proudly on her forehead , was perhaps about to go into the next phase of her daily routine. Her payals stopped their sweet jingle as she stopped in her steps looking up questioningly at the sound of our tiptoeing.
Oh! Yes she knew doctor bhaiyya and his family. But they did not live in Allahabad any more. Their daughter was doing well, her children had grown up, they were doing very well too.
And their son was a "big officer" in the Indian Army. Happily married, two sons and a lovely wife.
Great! I could see mummy's eyes light up with joy.
The woman went on with her loud and incesssant chatter for some more time, smiling and laughing, which apparently seemed unnecessary. I was watching my mother closely as she was taking in each word that the woman uttered. Very attentive not to miss anything at all in the details that the woman was giving about doctor saheb and his family. But I could also sense mummy's impatience at the time this talkative woman was taking to give out details about Doctor Bhaiyya and Bhabi's present location and address.
My mother could have burst out and perhaps admonished the woman in an unusual bout of anxiety, but something kept her patience going and she listened quietly as the details about doctor saheb's family and his stay in Allahabad poured out.
And then the woman paused, as if exhausted from her own chatter.
After what seemed eternity she, almost inaudibly said something. Most certaily she did had not wanted to utter those words. Now we knew why she was talking of everything else.
But had we heard her right ???
Mummy's eyes suddenly widened with disbelief before numbness took over.
And what should I have done? I should in all probablity have been indifferent. It hardly should have been of any concern to me. After all how much did I know or associate with a doctor and his family who at some point in time, had been close to my mother's family. And who I do not remember as having seen, leave alone met in my life...
But how do you really remain indifferent when you hear of death?!!!
We were informed that both Doctor Saheb and his wife were no more.
The search for them was complete. It was sadly a "dead end".
When Mummy spoke despair and helplessness was evident as she remarked with a sigh, "We should not have insisted on looking for them. At least there was this hope of running into each other sometime... at some turn in life... out of the blue..."
Her voice trailed off as tears filled her eyes and emotions choked her throat yet again.
I wonder why do people not allow their past to rest in peace? You meet so many people in various phases of life. Some stay with you longer than the others, some just fade away while some others stay forever. So let that beauty be. Let us stop chasing the past. I would like to believe that if one has to meet someone it will just happen.
But no. Even if one wants very earnestly to let the past be, it keeps coming back. Our past is already a part of us. We know everything about it. And the best part is it has gone, never to return. Therefore we love it so much.
I could not help smiling cynically when in an intersting coincidence I am entrusted once again with a similar task. This time the search is for a Parsi lady in Mumbai. My first effort to locate her has drawn a blank. But I have my fingers crossed as I go about it not giving up.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Blossoming And Blooming After Forty!
Human beings have tried since times immemorial to win over death and erase the advancing years from the face of time. To remain forever young has been singularly the strongest desire of the living...and among women it is perhaps the only aim in life! It is therefore not surprising to note that very few of my gender have learned the art of ageing gracefully. How shocked most women are when a twenty-plus shopkeeper calls them aunty, although we do keep a good track of our looks and stare into the mirror for as long and as often as possible.
I don't know how many women before me have done this, but surely I made an interesting discovery. And as is true of all other discoveries, this one also just fell in my lap while I was trying to figure out something else. I found out, quite contrary to my perception, that for a woman life actually begins to bloom after forty!
At about forty a woman enters the best phase of her life. She has by this time sorted out many of the difficult matters in life requiring attention and tactful solutions. She is through some of the toughest decision making moments and has come out triumphant, she has by this time worked honestly to put her marriage on a solid base, making adjustments and asserting herself as per the demands of the circumstances.
Almost two decades into a marriage, she is now a much contented person, as a serene sense of accomplishment dawns when she sees her hard work bringing in rewards. All through her earlier years she was living for someone...trying to be an obedient daughter, a dutiful wife, a caring mother, a submissive daughter-in-law...but now she can let her hair down and live for herself...she deserves it after all...and now she also has the time to spare for her own self.
So at her fortieth birthday every woman must ideally sit back and relax. Then chalk out a plan for the future to enjoy this beautiful phase to its fullest. A hobby that had to shelved can be revived, or a socially relevant cause can be taken up. Anything that would make her happy.
The sheer enthusiasm it brings is amazing. Now is the time when a woman can really pamper herself going to the movies, plays, concerts, visiting friends...or just window-shopping!
She can work to please herself doing things she always wanted to.
But of course this is not the end of her responsibilities. In fact she is now a friend, philosopher and guide to her children, and so her role, although a little different now, is still very pertinent. She has to help her children take sensible decisions in life giving them enough space to grow on their own.
She has to prepare herself to let go of her offsprings when they are ready to take on the responsibilities of life on their own.
After forty although many of her problems may seem ironed out, it is important that a woman pays attention to her specific needs. She must take good care of herself, excercise regularly and eat well keeping in mind the special requirements of her body at this transitional phase.
She must also once in a while go and see her doctor to keep fit and healthy. She must essentially prepare herself for grey hair and wrinkles of maturity, while being independent and happy and forever remaining an important member in the family and also an asset to the society.
So, calling all the fortunate forty plus females to take on the world with a renewed vigour as the best is yet to come...the glorious period in life has just begun...
Zohra Javed
I don't know how many women before me have done this, but surely I made an interesting discovery. And as is true of all other discoveries, this one also just fell in my lap while I was trying to figure out something else. I found out, quite contrary to my perception, that for a woman life actually begins to bloom after forty!
At about forty a woman enters the best phase of her life. She has by this time sorted out many of the difficult matters in life requiring attention and tactful solutions. She is through some of the toughest decision making moments and has come out triumphant, she has by this time worked honestly to put her marriage on a solid base, making adjustments and asserting herself as per the demands of the circumstances.
Almost two decades into a marriage, she is now a much contented person, as a serene sense of accomplishment dawns when she sees her hard work bringing in rewards. All through her earlier years she was living for someone...trying to be an obedient daughter, a dutiful wife, a caring mother, a submissive daughter-in-law...but now she can let her hair down and live for herself...she deserves it after all...and now she also has the time to spare for her own self.
So at her fortieth birthday every woman must ideally sit back and relax. Then chalk out a plan for the future to enjoy this beautiful phase to its fullest. A hobby that had to shelved can be revived, or a socially relevant cause can be taken up. Anything that would make her happy.
The sheer enthusiasm it brings is amazing. Now is the time when a woman can really pamper herself going to the movies, plays, concerts, visiting friends...or just window-shopping!
She can work to please herself doing things she always wanted to.
But of course this is not the end of her responsibilities. In fact she is now a friend, philosopher and guide to her children, and so her role, although a little different now, is still very pertinent. She has to help her children take sensible decisions in life giving them enough space to grow on their own.
She has to prepare herself to let go of her offsprings when they are ready to take on the responsibilities of life on their own.
After forty although many of her problems may seem ironed out, it is important that a woman pays attention to her specific needs. She must take good care of herself, excercise regularly and eat well keeping in mind the special requirements of her body at this transitional phase.
She must also once in a while go and see her doctor to keep fit and healthy. She must essentially prepare herself for grey hair and wrinkles of maturity, while being independent and happy and forever remaining an important member in the family and also an asset to the society.
So, calling all the fortunate forty plus females to take on the world with a renewed vigour as the best is yet to come...the glorious period in life has just begun...
Zohra Javed
The Helping Hand And A Reassuring Smile
One may have a lot of courage and fortitude, but human beings need to share their joys and worries to keep their system normal. Man is, as they say a social animal and needs to be looked after and cared for. This is more than evident in times of a crisis.
I have realised with experience that in difficult times, everything seems to stand still around you. The clock ticks, but the time does not pass. The world moves around with its usual fervour, but nothing means much in those dark hours. The feeling of being in a vaccum is suffocating. The mind is blank and the eyes don't see much. Therefore there have to be real human beings around who can make that dark, difficult phase a wee bit more tolerable and less painful.
It also helps to look around and its not difficult to find hundreds and thousands of people in much worse conditions, people who have nothing but courage to fall back on.
Like one of those unfortunate women living in the Dharavi slums of Mumbai whose son fell down fromthe terrace of a four storey building. The trauma that she went through as a mother and the bigger trauma that her misery brought was untold.
Her dry lips and horrified eyes did convey her shock as she moved like a programmed robot in the hospital corridor.
But she bravely held herself together.
She did not loose hope in one of the worst times of her life.
There is another woman selling saris going door-to-door trying to raise enough money so that she can meet the expenses for the treatment of her only son who is suffering from thalassemia. Under tremendous pressure and mental agony she deals with customers haggling for a better bargain and many times may not strike a deal even after much sincere effort. But with each passing day she seems to grow stronger in her fight with Fate, and every sunrise is a new beginning for this courageous woman, who in a weak moment did admit that she may not ultimately win against Fate.
And there is Dr.Shah Faesal from Kashmir who has topped the IAS list this year. He breaks down often when he remembers how his father was butchered like so many other innocents, and sacrificed at the altar of the conflict in the Kashmir Valley.
He has endured so much that has scarred his life forever. However he did not cow down to the extreme distress in his life. It actually went on to make him stronger enabling him to face the challenges in life with greater fortitude.
But I was not thinking about these brave persons the day my mother suffered a heart attack. Looking at her helplessly as she went through the discomfort and pain, it was only her agony that mattered. And as she lay in the hospital with some tubes attached to her organs, a small screen displaying some numbers that showed her condition to be stable, in my own insipid state of mind I could not even infer that life is all about some joys here, some pain there, and the magic act of sharing where joys shared are doubled and pain shared is halved.
So as I sat in the waiting area of the hospital with my siblings, there were others too whose relatives were in the Critical Care Unit and who were as anxious as we were, or perhaps even more than us. I did not look at their listless faces and sleepless eyes. A queer definiteness deep inside me said that it would not help ease my nerves.
But there had to be something that would.
Prayer?
Yes! Prayer always helps.
So prayer it was. The distracted mind was hardly at peace.
Concentration was difficult.
But just a couple of words with God were soothing.
And as hours passed giving way to a new dawn, those listless faces and sleepless eyes, which had hitherto scared me began to denote ex-pressions of support and an unknown connection began to develop. Although the smiles were mirthless, the eyes still frightened, the mind not yet at peace, there still seemed to be a reassurance in the air as we exchanged feeble smiles.
I realised the power of a smile then. Even if that was just a frail curve of the lips, the exercise had tremendous potential to relieve the nerves of tension and pressure.
Also supportive were friends and family whom I can never thank enough.
And among them all, stands out the one who reminded me to come out of my condition, look around and discover that I am not alone, and neither am I nor my mother helpless...
all I need to do is gather my guts and realise my potential to sail through.
Hence I say that while one may have a lot of courage and fortitude, yet one may tend to forget, due to baffling situations in a crisis, certain basics of keeping their feet firmly on the ground. At such emotionally stressful times human beings do need people who can remind them to share their worries and come out of their troubles fearlessly.
At one time or another, in life we all need a helping hand.
I have realised with experience that in difficult times, everything seems to stand still around you. The clock ticks, but the time does not pass. The world moves around with its usual fervour, but nothing means much in those dark hours. The feeling of being in a vaccum is suffocating. The mind is blank and the eyes don't see much. Therefore there have to be real human beings around who can make that dark, difficult phase a wee bit more tolerable and less painful.
It also helps to look around and its not difficult to find hundreds and thousands of people in much worse conditions, people who have nothing but courage to fall back on.
Like one of those unfortunate women living in the Dharavi slums of Mumbai whose son fell down fromthe terrace of a four storey building. The trauma that she went through as a mother and the bigger trauma that her misery brought was untold.
Her dry lips and horrified eyes did convey her shock as she moved like a programmed robot in the hospital corridor.
But she bravely held herself together.
She did not loose hope in one of the worst times of her life.
There is another woman selling saris going door-to-door trying to raise enough money so that she can meet the expenses for the treatment of her only son who is suffering from thalassemia. Under tremendous pressure and mental agony she deals with customers haggling for a better bargain and many times may not strike a deal even after much sincere effort. But with each passing day she seems to grow stronger in her fight with Fate, and every sunrise is a new beginning for this courageous woman, who in a weak moment did admit that she may not ultimately win against Fate.
And there is Dr.Shah Faesal from Kashmir who has topped the IAS list this year. He breaks down often when he remembers how his father was butchered like so many other innocents, and sacrificed at the altar of the conflict in the Kashmir Valley.
He has endured so much that has scarred his life forever. However he did not cow down to the extreme distress in his life. It actually went on to make him stronger enabling him to face the challenges in life with greater fortitude.
But I was not thinking about these brave persons the day my mother suffered a heart attack. Looking at her helplessly as she went through the discomfort and pain, it was only her agony that mattered. And as she lay in the hospital with some tubes attached to her organs, a small screen displaying some numbers that showed her condition to be stable, in my own insipid state of mind I could not even infer that life is all about some joys here, some pain there, and the magic act of sharing where joys shared are doubled and pain shared is halved.
So as I sat in the waiting area of the hospital with my siblings, there were others too whose relatives were in the Critical Care Unit and who were as anxious as we were, or perhaps even more than us. I did not look at their listless faces and sleepless eyes. A queer definiteness deep inside me said that it would not help ease my nerves.
But there had to be something that would.
Prayer?
Yes! Prayer always helps.
So prayer it was. The distracted mind was hardly at peace.
Concentration was difficult.
But just a couple of words with God were soothing.
And as hours passed giving way to a new dawn, those listless faces and sleepless eyes, which had hitherto scared me began to denote ex-pressions of support and an unknown connection began to develop. Although the smiles were mirthless, the eyes still frightened, the mind not yet at peace, there still seemed to be a reassurance in the air as we exchanged feeble smiles.
I realised the power of a smile then. Even if that was just a frail curve of the lips, the exercise had tremendous potential to relieve the nerves of tension and pressure.
Also supportive were friends and family whom I can never thank enough.
And among them all, stands out the one who reminded me to come out of my condition, look around and discover that I am not alone, and neither am I nor my mother helpless...
all I need to do is gather my guts and realise my potential to sail through.
Hence I say that while one may have a lot of courage and fortitude, yet one may tend to forget, due to baffling situations in a crisis, certain basics of keeping their feet firmly on the ground. At such emotionally stressful times human beings do need people who can remind them to share their worries and come out of their troubles fearlessly.
At one time or another, in life we all need a helping hand.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Bonds of love...in times of pain
Uncle Vishi was tall, fair and aristocratically towering.
His wife was short, fair and always draped in exquisite silk and rich cotton saris, with tasteful jewelery that complimented her saris with a deep feminine sophistication that was near absolute.
His shoes were always well polished and in tune with his aloof and snobbish personality. His oval fair face shone with self-confidence that was a shade arrogant.
The wife seemed more humane, soft-spoken and friendly. Someone with whom the children could easily take liberties. But not with him. He was a frightful disciplinarian. As near a perfectionist as God would allow in this imperfect world!
My siblings and me and Uncle Vishi's children were the best of friends, spending summer afternoons reading stories, and evenings playing badminton. And so were our mothers, going out shopping and visiting friends together.
Can't say the same about our fathers. Uncle Vishi was my father's boss.
Years passed and by a leap of fortune my father got promoted to match Uncle Vishi's position. But that apparently brought the end of our togetherness. Our families went to different division of the company and we hardly met except in some inter-divisional function etc.
But years later by some twist of Fate we were destined to meet in much different circumstances and more than a thousand miles away from Mumbai.
It was a pleasantly cold evening in Allahabad. I was hurriedly getting the famous "special" Allahabadi guavas packed properly into a neat basket. ("Special" because as they ripe they become reddish from outside and look like apples from far!)
Uncle Vishi had called up a day or two back from Banaras that he and aunty would pass through Allahabad by the evening train en route to Mumbai.
I can't explain my feelings at the thought of meeting Uncle Vishi and his adorable wife after so many years. So much had changed for us in the time that had passed. I didn't know what they would say...but more painful for me was to decide what I would say to them...and how would I bring myself to say all that?
In a confused moment of emotionally charged dilemma, nostalgia gripped me tight. Suddenly I felt my vision becoming hazy and realised that my eyes were brimming with tears.
When I reached the platform, the train had already reached and I saw uncle Vishi pacing up and down restlessly near his compartment, aunty standing near by looking up anxiously as if not sure if I would really make it to the station in time to have a small chat with them.
It was not just age that had matured and mellowed Uncle Vishi. He and aunty looked like a ghost of their past glowing selves. They had lost their lovely daughter to a venomous brain tumor a couple of years back and with her had gone the light of their lives.
Even then Aunty had taken the tragedy bravely and looked more in control of her emotions. But for all I could make out, Uncle Vishi was a broken man. His daughter had taken away with her his pride, his confidence, his snobishness...whoever thought daughters were a burden should meet Uncle Vishi at least once.
I realised that some friendships bloom even in the absence of face to face meetings and actually blossom into becoming the strongest bonds of love to be shared in times of pain. I hugged uncle spontaneously and he held me lovingly placing his hand over my head in a gesture of blessing me from the depth of his heart.
My fear of The Perfectionist had gone. He was no more the dreaded disciplinarian whose sight made children run for cover!
A few more years went by. And then I lost my father. Uncle Vishi and aunty came to meet me and my family. We went inadvertently to our past. Uncle remembered the evening at Allahabad station. He said,
"It must have looked strange to the onlookers and passersby...a Hindu man hugging a Muslim woman so affectionately!"
And after a pause, which I'm sure he took to control the emotions choking his speech, he added:
"But that was the most affectionate hug that I got in a long time...in fact the only one that made me feel the presence of my daughter...!"
And saying so his hand impulsively reached to bless me like he had done at Allahabad station, placing his hand lovingly over my head...
And I felt the presence of my father all around...
His wife was short, fair and always draped in exquisite silk and rich cotton saris, with tasteful jewelery that complimented her saris with a deep feminine sophistication that was near absolute.
His shoes were always well polished and in tune with his aloof and snobbish personality. His oval fair face shone with self-confidence that was a shade arrogant.
The wife seemed more humane, soft-spoken and friendly. Someone with whom the children could easily take liberties. But not with him. He was a frightful disciplinarian. As near a perfectionist as God would allow in this imperfect world!
My siblings and me and Uncle Vishi's children were the best of friends, spending summer afternoons reading stories, and evenings playing badminton. And so were our mothers, going out shopping and visiting friends together.
Can't say the same about our fathers. Uncle Vishi was my father's boss.
Years passed and by a leap of fortune my father got promoted to match Uncle Vishi's position. But that apparently brought the end of our togetherness. Our families went to different division of the company and we hardly met except in some inter-divisional function etc.
But years later by some twist of Fate we were destined to meet in much different circumstances and more than a thousand miles away from Mumbai.
It was a pleasantly cold evening in Allahabad. I was hurriedly getting the famous "special" Allahabadi guavas packed properly into a neat basket. ("Special" because as they ripe they become reddish from outside and look like apples from far!)
Uncle Vishi had called up a day or two back from Banaras that he and aunty would pass through Allahabad by the evening train en route to Mumbai.
I can't explain my feelings at the thought of meeting Uncle Vishi and his adorable wife after so many years. So much had changed for us in the time that had passed. I didn't know what they would say...but more painful for me was to decide what I would say to them...and how would I bring myself to say all that?
In a confused moment of emotionally charged dilemma, nostalgia gripped me tight. Suddenly I felt my vision becoming hazy and realised that my eyes were brimming with tears.
When I reached the platform, the train had already reached and I saw uncle Vishi pacing up and down restlessly near his compartment, aunty standing near by looking up anxiously as if not sure if I would really make it to the station in time to have a small chat with them.
It was not just age that had matured and mellowed Uncle Vishi. He and aunty looked like a ghost of their past glowing selves. They had lost their lovely daughter to a venomous brain tumor a couple of years back and with her had gone the light of their lives.
Even then Aunty had taken the tragedy bravely and looked more in control of her emotions. But for all I could make out, Uncle Vishi was a broken man. His daughter had taken away with her his pride, his confidence, his snobishness...whoever thought daughters were a burden should meet Uncle Vishi at least once.
I realised that some friendships bloom even in the absence of face to face meetings and actually blossom into becoming the strongest bonds of love to be shared in times of pain. I hugged uncle spontaneously and he held me lovingly placing his hand over my head in a gesture of blessing me from the depth of his heart.
My fear of The Perfectionist had gone. He was no more the dreaded disciplinarian whose sight made children run for cover!
A few more years went by. And then I lost my father. Uncle Vishi and aunty came to meet me and my family. We went inadvertently to our past. Uncle remembered the evening at Allahabad station. He said,
"It must have looked strange to the onlookers and passersby...a Hindu man hugging a Muslim woman so affectionately!"
And after a pause, which I'm sure he took to control the emotions choking his speech, he added:
"But that was the most affectionate hug that I got in a long time...in fact the only one that made me feel the presence of my daughter...!"
And saying so his hand impulsively reached to bless me like he had done at Allahabad station, placing his hand lovingly over my head...
And I felt the presence of my father all around...
Friday, March 12, 2010
Parsis, my sweethearts!
There are reports often in the press about the dwindling number of Parsis in our country. It is very sad to see the number of such an exemplary community going down, as indeed we need more of their kind, and I'll explain why I think so. I have some adorable Parsi friends some of who have been inseparable family friends even before I was born, and so the family ties are unshakably strong. I cannot imagine a world without these lovable human beings, whose way of life can teach many a lesson in peaceful co-existence to all of us.
There are many reasons for the Parsis to be so drastically reducing in number causing serious concern. And that is being debated and written about off and on. Going through some of the reports it suddenly occurred to me if the numbers are really so important. I mean look at all the over populated races in the world.
What is happening to them?
Are they not ferociously killing one another under various pretexts in the hope of becoming the owners of this Earth?
In fact, the "satisfactorily-populated", the "enviously-populated", the "reasonably-well-populated" and such other groups should put on their thinking caps and explore this a bit :
The Parsis are never seen begging on the streets.
They have an almost cent-per-cent literacy rate, they are hardly ever found fighting in the streets. Always well-dressed and well-mannered, they are a delight to be with.
It is not that they are always rolling in money. But the fact is that they thank the Lord for His blessings by making the best of what they have been blessed with.
They have a happy sense of humour and the ability to laugh at themselves, which is one of the most beautiful attributes of a person or a people who are content and at ease with themselves.
There is no need to invest money in "Art of Living" courses if one has a Parsi neighbour.
But we are made to believe that numbers are important.
Everywhere.
Perhaps because the bigger the number, the greater the opportunities to bargain.
To fight.
To kill.
And to get killed too.
We are the biggest democracy in the world. But in an honest analysis of our system can one conclude that our democracy is also functioning?
Lamentably there are sections of human beings among us, in this very democracy, who have not even heard of the word democracy.
Let us look at the most populated races across the globe. And what does one see?
They are all wretchedly plagued with numerous worries.
They are all churning out numbers and statistics, and information about their "increasing" numbers. But let us realise also that increasing among them is poverty, misery, disparity.
Human-rights-rule-book is dumped in a heap of garbage.
Lack of education, employment, resources etc leaves them all insecure and frightened. Selfishness that is often a result of insecurity and distrust robs them of their peace of mind.
Coming back to the Parsi population issue, I think by now I have made my point.
I think quality is more important than the quantity.
But that is my opinion, and many may not agree, so a question arises :
Are the Parsis burning out like a candle ?
I think so.
Like the candle that burns without the blinding-dazzles, preading light, driving away the darkness, so pretty much similarly, the Parsis, though small in number are leading by example.
There are many reasons for the Parsis to be so drastically reducing in number causing serious concern. And that is being debated and written about off and on. Going through some of the reports it suddenly occurred to me if the numbers are really so important. I mean look at all the over populated races in the world.
What is happening to them?
Are they not ferociously killing one another under various pretexts in the hope of becoming the owners of this Earth?
In fact, the "satisfactorily-populated", the "enviously-populated", the "reasonably-well-populated" and such other groups should put on their thinking caps and explore this a bit :
The Parsis are never seen begging on the streets.
They have an almost cent-per-cent literacy rate, they are hardly ever found fighting in the streets. Always well-dressed and well-mannered, they are a delight to be with.
It is not that they are always rolling in money. But the fact is that they thank the Lord for His blessings by making the best of what they have been blessed with.
They have a happy sense of humour and the ability to laugh at themselves, which is one of the most beautiful attributes of a person or a people who are content and at ease with themselves.
There is no need to invest money in "Art of Living" courses if one has a Parsi neighbour.
But we are made to believe that numbers are important.
Everywhere.
Perhaps because the bigger the number, the greater the opportunities to bargain.
To fight.
To kill.
And to get killed too.
We are the biggest democracy in the world. But in an honest analysis of our system can one conclude that our democracy is also functioning?
Lamentably there are sections of human beings among us, in this very democracy, who have not even heard of the word democracy.
Let us look at the most populated races across the globe. And what does one see?
They are all wretchedly plagued with numerous worries.
They are all churning out numbers and statistics, and information about their "increasing" numbers. But let us realise also that increasing among them is poverty, misery, disparity.
Human-rights-rule-book is dumped in a heap of garbage.
Lack of education, employment, resources etc leaves them all insecure and frightened. Selfishness that is often a result of insecurity and distrust robs them of their peace of mind.
Coming back to the Parsi population issue, I think by now I have made my point.
I think quality is more important than the quantity.
But that is my opinion, and many may not agree, so a question arises :
Are the Parsis burning out like a candle ?
I think so.
Like the candle that burns without the blinding-dazzles, preading light, driving away the darkness, so pretty much similarly, the Parsis, though small in number are leading by example.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Stay-At-Home-Mom
I recently read an article "stay-at-home-mom", which talked about how essential it is for the woman to be there for her children when they are growing up, and that women professionals often end up neglecting their home and family. Indeed there can be no two opinions on the importance of the mother's role in the life of her children. I am an ardent champion of what the writer had called a "stay-at-home- mom". But I also realise that she (the writer of the article) and I are among those fortunate women who have a supportive family and the satisfaction of a comfortable life.
However life is not easy for most of the females out there who
are slogging day in and day out. They may have got used to their daily
grind, but it is their tremendous courage that they bear it all with a smile, while balancing a home and a career.
It is said that the ordinary homemaker has to come face-to-face with what is called the "empty nest syndrome". That is when the children grow up and lead their separate life.
I wonder if it is only the home maker who misses her children? Let us accept this reality. Even the working women go through this phase of lonliness. When children grow up and take on the challenges in life, at some time or other they have
to move out of the wings of their parents and experience life on their
own. It is their privilege as it was ours a couple of decades back.
It is now taken for granted that girls will opt for a career and most
women, specially in the urban areas are taken to be career women.
Therefore people often are surprised when I tell them that I have
never been a career woman. One of my cousins who is about ten years
younger to me had once wondered with much sympathy to me as to why I
never thought of a career. But perhpas I was an odd one in my time too
as I never planned a future while the rest of the girls in my class
would be busy preparing for entrance tests of all kinds under the sun!
Having said this, I think it is necessary for girls today to be
financially independent. It is their basic safeguard. It is the best
gift parents can give to their daughters. It gurantees them confidence
and security (at least financial) and thus respect too. In case of a
failed marriage or the loss of her husband, she does not become a
burden on the male family members or a prey to the lustful ideas of
other men around her. And in her marriage too usually a woman
professional is much more in command of her life than the "ordinary
housewife".
However life is not easy for most of the females out there who
are slogging day in and day out. They may have got used to their daily
grind, but it is their tremendous courage that they bear it all with a smile, while balancing a home and a career.
It is said that the ordinary homemaker has to come face-to-face with what is called the "empty nest syndrome". That is when the children grow up and lead their separate life.
I wonder if it is only the home maker who misses her children? Let us accept this reality. Even the working women go through this phase of lonliness. When children grow up and take on the challenges in life, at some time or other they have
to move out of the wings of their parents and experience life on their
own. It is their privilege as it was ours a couple of decades back.
It is now taken for granted that girls will opt for a career and most
women, specially in the urban areas are taken to be career women.
Therefore people often are surprised when I tell them that I have
never been a career woman. One of my cousins who is about ten years
younger to me had once wondered with much sympathy to me as to why I
never thought of a career. But perhpas I was an odd one in my time too
as I never planned a future while the rest of the girls in my class
would be busy preparing for entrance tests of all kinds under the sun!
Having said this, I think it is necessary for girls today to be
financially independent. It is their basic safeguard. It is the best
gift parents can give to their daughters. It gurantees them confidence
and security (at least financial) and thus respect too. In case of a
failed marriage or the loss of her husband, she does not become a
burden on the male family members or a prey to the lustful ideas of
other men around her. And in her marriage too usually a woman
professional is much more in command of her life than the "ordinary
housewife".
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Looking back in time
26th January. This day in 1950 India chose to become a Republic adopting a secular Constitution that had been painstakingly written taking into consideration modifications and alterations, and giving thought to the aspects of equality and justice, making a set of fundamental rights such that every component of the Republic would be taken care of. Our elders thus proudly chose the path of democracy which brought the hope of a better tomorrow for every section of the society and a promise to empower the weakest among the weak.
Sixty years down that historic moment, where do we find ourselves? Our democracy should have matured with age and at sixty it should have ideally become a system that was flwalessly complete in growth and development. It should have achieved most of its goals and set new ones for the younger generation to accomplish.
This was perhaps the dream of most of the people who joined the freedom struggle making huge sacrifices of life and property, and even of a portion of our dear Motherland as the British brutally partitioned the country before finally leaving.
But what has become of the dreams of those principled freedom fighters? Their tortured souls demand an answer as we strive to find some meaning in the democracy that we are living in. Our elected representatives in the government have brought us back to a situation where it is difficult to feel really free, with globalisation literally tearing apart, not just our culture but threatening to ruin our agriculture and economic system. Today we are on the verge of getting toxins as food even as our farmers are committing suicides and that is not all: our fields are getting contaminated too through the GM seeds.
There is dissatisfaction among people and religious, liguistic, regional and caste based minorities have mushroomed all over. Kashmir is still far from finding peace. The Ayodhya issue has branched into a national calamity of sorts that has now seen immeasurable violence and senseless divisions among human beings.
There is unrest in the North-East. There are right wing groups who openly denounce the sacred Constitution of the country, but are never brought to book. Although a few feeble noises are heard in protest, nothing happens.
Various efforts to bring about some understanding between India and Pakistan have yet to bear fruit. The latest, Aman ki Asha, a joint venture of the Times of India, the oldest English newspaper in India and the Jung of Pakistan is limping even before it could start walking, almost "sabotaged" by the IPL Cricket series where Pakistani players were not included on the grounds of security threats. A leading English news channel has already dubbed this unfortunate turn of events as Aman ki Ashes.
"Hum laaye hain toofaan se kashti nikal ke
Iss desh ko rakhna mere bachchon smbhal ke"
I remember this message of the freedom fighters often, but what have I done to honour it?
And wonder how many in the present generation have heard or how many of my generation remember it?
As I wish everyone a happy Republic Day, a nagging thought in my mind is: Is this really a time when we can rest assured of the safety of our Constitution?
Sixty years down that historic moment, where do we find ourselves? Our democracy should have matured with age and at sixty it should have ideally become a system that was flwalessly complete in growth and development. It should have achieved most of its goals and set new ones for the younger generation to accomplish.
This was perhaps the dream of most of the people who joined the freedom struggle making huge sacrifices of life and property, and even of a portion of our dear Motherland as the British brutally partitioned the country before finally leaving.
But what has become of the dreams of those principled freedom fighters? Their tortured souls demand an answer as we strive to find some meaning in the democracy that we are living in. Our elected representatives in the government have brought us back to a situation where it is difficult to feel really free, with globalisation literally tearing apart, not just our culture but threatening to ruin our agriculture and economic system. Today we are on the verge of getting toxins as food even as our farmers are committing suicides and that is not all: our fields are getting contaminated too through the GM seeds.
There is dissatisfaction among people and religious, liguistic, regional and caste based minorities have mushroomed all over. Kashmir is still far from finding peace. The Ayodhya issue has branched into a national calamity of sorts that has now seen immeasurable violence and senseless divisions among human beings.
There is unrest in the North-East. There are right wing groups who openly denounce the sacred Constitution of the country, but are never brought to book. Although a few feeble noises are heard in protest, nothing happens.
Various efforts to bring about some understanding between India and Pakistan have yet to bear fruit. The latest, Aman ki Asha, a joint venture of the Times of India, the oldest English newspaper in India and the Jung of Pakistan is limping even before it could start walking, almost "sabotaged" by the IPL Cricket series where Pakistani players were not included on the grounds of security threats. A leading English news channel has already dubbed this unfortunate turn of events as Aman ki Ashes.
"Hum laaye hain toofaan se kashti nikal ke
Iss desh ko rakhna mere bachchon smbhal ke"
I remember this message of the freedom fighters often, but what have I done to honour it?
And wonder how many in the present generation have heard or how many of my generation remember it?
As I wish everyone a happy Republic Day, a nagging thought in my mind is: Is this really a time when we can rest assured of the safety of our Constitution?
Monday, January 4, 2010
From Tehelka Magazine, Vol 4, Issue 45, Dated Nov 24, 2007
Conspiracy? Yes, but Whose?
------------------------------
TEHELKA HAS DONE a commendable job for those who needed proof of what happened in Gujarat in 2002. But there are still those adamant parrots who repeat what has once been fed into their memories and who still differentiate between the Gujarat carnage and the Godhra episode. I request them to answer a few questions honestly, at least to their own inner selves.
The first and foremost point is Muslims know very well the outcome of every riot by now. They lose heavily, both in terms of lives and money... and almost never receive any compensation, except for some lip-service at election time, called "appeasement" by the above-mentioned parrots. So why would they start a fight or gather in thousands to burn a bogey or two of a train full of karsevaks?
Secondly, even if they had gathered in such huge numbers, mustering all the destructive material in their possession, it's quite surprising that neither were they seen by anyone nor did anyone object to their gathering.
Thirdly, investigations have pointed to the fire having begun inside the bogey. Could it not have been the work of a suicide squad of Hindu extremists, going about in the guise of pilgrims and karsevaks ? Also, if the Gujarat carnage was so immaculately planned, could the Godhra incident not have been planned by the same people? The carnage was termed a "spontaneous reaction" to the Godhra episode, but we now know that whatever happened as an aftermath to the Godhra tragedy was well planned and not "spontaneous" as Modi and his likes would have the world believe. It more than indicates that those who planned the Gujarat carnage also planned the Godhra tragedy.
Please, in the interest of our children and future generations, let us stop debating over human tragedies and let us look for permanent remedies, if bygones are really to be bygones and if we have any respect for the human race. Let us gift our children security, peace and love.
------------------------------
TEHELKA HAS DONE a commendable job for those who needed proof of what happened in Gujarat in 2002. But there are still those adamant parrots who repeat what has once been fed into their memories and who still differentiate between the Gujarat carnage and the Godhra episode. I request them to answer a few questions honestly, at least to their own inner selves.
The first and foremost point is Muslims know very well the outcome of every riot by now. They lose heavily, both in terms of lives and money... and almost never receive any compensation, except for some lip-service at election time, called "appeasement" by the above-mentioned parrots. So why would they start a fight or gather in thousands to burn a bogey or two of a train full of karsevaks?
Secondly, even if they had gathered in such huge numbers, mustering all the destructive material in their possession, it's quite surprising that neither were they seen by anyone nor did anyone object to their gathering.
Thirdly, investigations have pointed to the fire having begun inside the bogey. Could it not have been the work of a suicide squad of Hindu extremists, going about in the guise of pilgrims and karsevaks ? Also, if the Gujarat carnage was so immaculately planned, could the Godhra incident not have been planned by the same people? The carnage was termed a "spontaneous reaction" to the Godhra episode, but we now know that whatever happened as an aftermath to the Godhra tragedy was well planned and not "spontaneous" as Modi and his likes would have the world believe. It more than indicates that those who planned the Gujarat carnage also planned the Godhra tragedy.
Please, in the interest of our children and future generations, let us stop debating over human tragedies and let us look for permanent remedies, if bygones are really to be bygones and if we have any respect for the human race. Let us gift our children security, peace and love.
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