New Year is here ..... What's on your mind ?

Starting this New Year , I wish and plan and  resolve to write .
Yes! Write ....
Neither on  my phone nor on the computer .... I hope to revive my age old hobby of writing letters to my loved ones . Just like I used to do in the past , much before e mailing and later Facebooking and now WhatsApping / Viber-ing etc etc took over .

While I agree that the present modes of communication are very quick and convenient , there is an intoxicating  charm , a regal luxury  in writing  with your own hands  ,.
I think one's imagination also works better , wanders far and wide and makes writing a pleasure when one has a pen in hand and a paper in front  ....
Then going out to post it  is another wonderful experience , ( walking is good for health ... isn't it ?  and believe me , for a free flight to your dream world too ) ..... !!!
And then waiting for the reply .... ???
Well in the present scenario expecting people to spare time for such an ancient excercise would be certainly  asking for too much .

Hence no expectations ....
Only  selfless affectionate wishes for Prosperous , Happy , Fulfilling , Successful , Beautiful  Future to all

Happy New Year .... God bless

Diwaali Mubaarak

This woman , a stranger , climbing the staircase showed her surprise as Sunanda and I exchanged our usual goodbyes and in addition wished each other "Diwali Mubaarak" too .
Indeed  for those who stay in their cocooned webs of self centred existence , "Khudahaafiz  .... aur  Diwaaali sab ko Mubaaarak ho .... ! " in the same breath must come as an hugely outlandish expression !!!

I have had the honour to witness this expression many times.

Thinking of  such well-insulated areas where persons belonging to one community are completely unaware of  people in another neighbouring community ,  in times of   a globalised world  would have amused me had it been a figment of my imagination   .... but it is sadly  not so .....

There is this middle aged woman , Sunanda , who my family knows from the time we were children .There was a time when she was an integral part of the fabric that cosntituted my family outfit. Everyday she would come with her mother and help my mother in the kitchen , while her mother did the jhaadoo-bartan.
Then for a while we drifted away into separate spaces.

But the moods of Destiny are unpredictable ....so once again our paths crossed.
Now she comes over from her home (travelling across Mumbai for an hour and a half) to my place every once in a while .
Her arrival is a big and welcome help as she keeps company to my seventy-five plus Mother while "home-ridden" me slips out , away from the sluggish daily routine , for a long breath of fresh air.....  !!!
I adjust my outings as per Sunanda's schedule .... a film , a play , or just plain awaragardi .... all depends on her presence in my house because I dare not leave Mummy alone

And  this morning as Sunanda was leaving after a three day-stay at my place , we exchanged the usual goodbyes .....and in addition the Diwaali Mubaarak .....

And the starltled look on the face of the woman climbing up the stairs ..... !!!

My Dakiya and his Daak

The Postman is now a rare sight ....

He was that familiar man from an era  long gone by ,  who would bring the news  from far away relatives , riding on a bicycle through the lanes and bylanes of  every city , town and countryside .
 He knew all the addresses by heart , most of the times  he personally  knew the people too who resided at those addreses and at times he was allowed to be a part of the news he brought for them

The Post Office was a reservoir of information and the postman was  the person who distributed not just letters , but many a time could help in bringing long lost friends to connect with each other once again .... like it happened a couple of years ago when an elderly online friend of mine had asked me to find a friend of his who he had lost touch over the the years , and had not contacted for close to half a century.... !!!
He had given me the address of fifty years ago.

And YES... ! Astonishingly in a city like Mumabi I could locate that person .....
With the help of The Postman of that lacality.....!!!

But The Postman is now a rare sight .....

No one writes letters these days .... May be a few times in a month we get some business mail or a couple of bills  through postal services  . And hence   this rather heavy envelope which came along in the post some weeks ago , went neglected  untill   I opened it at least two weekends later when I found the time to clear the accumulated " raddi " on my shelf.

It was this envelope , apparently carrying  a load of waste paper inside it , which was to give me the most pleasant surprise in a long time.
As I emptied  the envelope of its  contents I found  greeting cards , book marks and some brochures carrying  information and details about  the sender :
The IMFPA ....  ( The Indian Mouth and Foot Painting Artists )
As I held the amazingly beautiful contents in my hands I felt the deepest sense of respect for the dignified senders.

And then nostalgia gripped me like a hypnotic charmer .....
I struggled to remember all those greeting cards exchanged on birthdays , New Years and festivals ....

When was the last time I had sent (or recieved )  such a card ?
Must have been too long ago because there seemed to be  no connecting link in sight which would put together the present with the past this time .

The diary which contained postal addresses of friends had gone into hiding in the lowest  drawer at the foot of that wooden chest which had not been  touched for ages now ....as if it had never existed.
But inside it  existed a whole world that changing times had tried to kill through neglect.
But surely and thankfully too,  that world  had sustained itself courageously and so beautifully....

Among the pages of that old dusty diary were familiar  paths leading to real places and real people.
I could feel their fragrance . I could feel their affection ....
I had found my dormant Paradise.

This festive season I'm going to let the Postman work a bit more .... because I'm going to send greeting cards to my clan and friends  .... so just wait my dears ....here I come .....
Look for the Dakiya-daak-laya ..... because ...... Zindgi aa rahi hoon main .....  :-) :-) :-) !!!!

Aise bhi hotey hain

Bass ek khamoshi unn ki zubaan hoti hai
Kuchh giile-shikwe aise bhi hotey hain

Yuuun hi bannn jaatey hain milne-milaane se 
Kuchh un-kahey rishtey aise bhi hotey hain

Be-sabab udhar ko qadam uth-tey jaatey hain 
Kuchh alag se padey raastey aise bhi hotey hain

Jeet-Haar be-maaani nazar aatey hain jin mein
Kuchh khel zindgaani mein aise bhi hotey hain

Once Upon A Time In Bollywood .........

My unconditional love for Bollywood had crept in pretty early

The mahaul and the place couldn't have been more apt in helping the conception , nurturing and blossoming of an everlasting Prem Granth 💞💕💓💓💓💓 !!!

I was perhaps a little under-age to indulge in a love affair back then , but age ka ishq se kya lena-dena 

So it happened ... in Khopoli ... 😊🤗💖💐💐💐

Khopoli is a small urbanised village nestled in the natural warmth of dreams and romance at the foothills of the Western Ghats

Our colony is spread in a colourful abundance on both sides of the old Bombay-Poona Road away from the hustle n bustle of Khopoli village 

 

The Company had provided for its employees spacious bungalows , a well-stocked provision store , conveyance for children going to school and employees going to the Power House and other offices of the company , a well-equipped dispensary and a recreation club 

Our evenings used to be pleasantly enjoyable as most residents would indulge and unwind playing Carrom , Cards , Tennis , Table tennis , Badminton , Billiards etc , or sink into the cozy sofas in the reading room with a book or a magazine  

Also an interesting first in my life was watching the club attendant making carbonated fresh soft drinks on orders from the members 😀

In addition every weekend , except in the rainy season , old Hindi films would be screened in the sprawling open space behind the main club building .

It was there that I actually saw films for the first time ... and fell in love with Bollywood ..... 💕💕💕 !

Bachpan ki mohabbat , unshakably sturdy , has stood the test of time thus far 😍🤗😄

"Teen Deviyan" ,  "Dil Tera Deewana" , "Navrang" , "Geet Gaya Paththaron Ne" , "Junglee" , "Beti Bete" , "Dosti" , "Hare Kaanch Ki Choodiya" , "Jaanwar" , "Maya" , "Guide" , "Do Badan" and many many more have made a permanent place in my heart ... and as I grew up this Bachpan ki Mohabbat matured into a serious Love Story 💓💓💓

In between there have been such memorable instances of "madness-in-love" like barging  into the theatre manager's office when there was a "House Full" Board outside , and managing to get special entry into the picture hall ... or watching three different films in one day ... or sitting for all of three hours in the lobby of a theatre waiting to watch "Abhimaan" ... 6 to 9 😄 !!!

And who can forget battling the crowds when "Sholay" had released .... !!!


Even after so many years the magnificence , the impact and sheer bliss of watching "Pyasaa" , "Chaudhwiin Ka chaand" , "Tere Ghar Ke Saamne" , "Madhumati" , "Door Gagan Ki Chhaaon Mein" , "Kaaghaz Ke Phool" and such others in matinee shows with friends has not faded even one bit 😊

Watching films in Ramzaan afternoons while waiting for Iftaars  is yet another sumptuous memory of my profusely overflowing Bollywood-mania .....


Now fast forward to the present.
You get everything under one roof ..... And films are also available in all the malls like any other commodity ... !
Often I just stroll into one of these places , and if there is  no "sale" going on , I find some or the other film being shown in one of the many mini theatres called Hall Number 1 , 2 , 3 etc ......... 

The era of Silver Jubilees and Golden Jubilees is past in a mellinium where pictures are judged on the basis of 100 and 200 crore collections at the box office !!!

Titles like "Shahenshaah" and "Baadshaah" of Bollywood have replaced "Jubilee Kumar" in a hitherto thriving democracy now getting excessively obsessed with the soul-less pomp and show of monarchy 

Once upon a time songs used to be a strong and beautiful part of Bollywood films , especially the qawwalis and background songs , which added to the narrative brilliantly. 
Even the so called  song-and-dance-around-trees-and-bushes had a role to play in unfolding the magical tenderness of love between the lead screen couple 

 

Fans like me who have not been initiated into Classical music , began  appreciating musical compositions as the melodious notes mingled with meaningful poetry to create tasteful and timeless songs that are sung even today and continue to delight the listeners of all ages 

Nowadays our film makers "import" technicians and technology to make films , as if it is only a cold blooded business venture where the end-product will be judged exclusively on engineering skills and profitability   

Huge amounts are spent on marketing "human emotions" displayed with crass crudity on the silver screen 

All the "creativity and innovation " that comes in film making today after attending diploma courses in colleges , workshops and training courses , is sadly reduced to just one thing :  Dukaandaaari ... !

And that too is done in an undignified and disgraceful manner most of the time.

Film makers are getting away with unpardonable filth under the guise of  "Films show what the audience want " and 
"This is the real face of our society !"

I can't believe that most of our boys and girls have such gutter-tongues and are interested only in sex and violence , and are stalkers , if not rapists ... !!!


In the formative years of Bollywood we had exemplary craftsmen who trusted their own creativity and working with meager resources created everlasting masterpieces , that are still the pride of Hindi Film Industry .


I am quoting here a friend's comment to a song posted on Sahir Ludhianvi Facebook group some time back

She says : 
"There are two technical stories from the time my grandfather worked with Pancholi Arts.
Its a matter of pride to everyone who has worked with my grandfather that he could record every dialogue and song in a way that it could be reproduced with a certain wholeness in the movie theatres of pre independence.
He could even repair any movie machine that existed between 1935 till about 1980. This included cameras and sound recording machines. At the time he was in Lahore, he built sound recording machines from scratch. One of these machines was later owned by Dev Anand and his studio. The machine he made in Lahore was built within a trunk. Lohey ka trunk. He drilled holes on it and put parts that could record dialogues and songs. There is a chance that this song that you have posted has been recorded on an in house trunk wala sound recording machine.
He also built wooden cranes to lift the camera man and camera to get aerial shots while in Lahore."

In the initial days of our Film Industry, as we all know there were obviously no star sons / daughters , no Nawaabs and their Begums , no acting schools , no gym-perfected bodies and yet they managed to create benchmark masterpieces through an incredible sense of dedication to their work and to art 

Innovation was not a soulless mechanised procedure . 

Stories may seem to have been the formula hero-heroine-villain types , but they still had some morals , some values to share
They were not precisely Moral Science lessons , yet they talked of honesty , duty , empathy , sincerity and principles and these values seeped in to the psyche of the masses as they watched their favourite stars on silver screen ... There was an over all sense of humaneness , purpose and dignity in how the story was told 

Even the "dhiishum dhiishum" fights were so enjoyable , bereft of the superficial "special effects" they came across as delightfully "filmy" 😄

Aajkal we are fed "real" stories on screen with so much artificiality , monotony and repetitiveness that nudity and lewdness are the only attractions a film boasts of now !

In a glaring irony our world talks of peace and privacy on the one hand , and on the other bedroom , bathroom , toilet is all in the open now !!! 

There is no effort to dress up a passionate personal situation in the warmth of romance ... neither is an emotionally charged situation dealt with mature serenity
Everything has to to be loud and raunchy .... only then it is deemed to be real and true !

And I'm not being cynical , nor am I over reacting when I say that
I had to watch a refreshingly therapeutic "Junglee" to get rid of the  Barfi-sickness !!!

Allah Ka Shukr Hai

"Allah Ka Shukr hai"
The doctor  said with a wide  smile the moment he looked at my mother.

We had taken her for a follow up examination  after about a week of her return from the hospital. She had suffered  two heart attacks in less than two months.


As he began examining her , the doctor began to  casually chat with us  , informing us that  even when Mummy was in the Cardiac Care Unit of the hospital , with so many tubes and monitors  attached to her body  she would never speak of any discomfort.
Every time  he asked her :
"How are you feeling?"
Mummy always replied :
"Allah ka shukr hai.... "

Indeed that is how Mummy is . Always thankful to God for whatever He has blessed her with.
She keeps telling us that those who don't trust God in the true sense fall prey to worldly tensions.

At 77 years , it is hardly any wonder that her face is a collage of emotions .
And that intricate network of broken lines on her face ..... they aare not wrinkles ........ they are stories written by God
I often wonder how many storms lie beneath this deep serene ocean .....

Even the oceans flare up at times and send back ravaging tsunami , but my mother's heart is immeaurably huge and accomodating it seems ......

I really don't want to open the book of her life here , for the obvious reason that it is too much her own and completely her personal belonging . And also because there may be so many chapters which have never been opened to me ..... not because she wanted to keep secrets from me , but because she never wants to bother us siblings with some of her very personal concerns.
Although I do not agree with her on this, there is not much that I can do to change her .... not now , or ever before .....

It is very good to be grateful to God in all situations of life , and I also agree that life is so full of ups and downs .
There is heart break  , there is disease, there is mistrust , there is betrayal , there is depression , there is selfishnesss , there is cruelty , there is helplessness ..... and much more ........


But it is not good to keep your pain to yourself when God has blessed you with a family  that cares.
I think a family of a husband , wife and their children , how much ever big it may be is still too small for each one of them to not know everything about  one another. But often we fear hurting our  dearest ones and hence keep our pains to ourselves , sharing only  happiness .
This honestly is not fair  because in doing so , with all our good intentions ,  we actually end up deceiving people who love us unconditionally .


Coming back to Mummy , her doctor always has a compliment for her :
"My best and happiest patient"
She has "taught" even the most deadpan among  her team of doctors to smile and laugh when they see her .

But I think as the body weakens with age , the under currents of her concerns and worries become rather  resentful  at being constantly pushed down to a remote  unimportant corner .
They throw themselve up in a deleterious tsunami-like attack when the heart can hold the pain within itself no more ..........
Allah ka Shukr hai , she's pulled through them .....
Fingers crossed for the future

Conscience Pricks me .......... ???

I was expecting some guests yesterday and being the lazy woman that I am , thought of getting some idli-sambhar from a popular restaurant near my place instead of slogging in the kitchen on a beautiful rainy morning.

The  weather looked so wonderful that the idea of getting soaked in the rain was too tempting to  be ignored ... so I walked down to the restaurant , placed my order and waited for the parcel to come

There among the innumerable cars and a rush of customers coming in and going out of the restaurant was this woman looking dark , water dripping from all over her as she stood under the open sky , rain lashing at her mercilessly

I asked the man at the counter to give her a cup of tea and a plate of idli sambhar .

Till then all was fine.

But the moment I asked her to come inside , I was told very firmly that she could not come inside .
Let me add here that this restaurant has its parcel counter quite separate from the main dining area. But she was not allowed to even enter that privileged area , let alone sit or eat there.

I felt so helpless.

Hate myself for being a silent spectator to the murder of dignity that was her right as a human being ...

Now as I write I am sure I could have raised my voice
I could have cancelled my order protesting against the discrimination .

But I just took the parcel when it came and walked away ... away from that  pathetically wet and hungry dark woman , for whose breakfast I had so benevolently paid.

My duty was done .

My conscience was clear ........ !!!!

Seasoned With Salt n Pepper

From the earliest and most vivid images of my childhood , the women who I have loved , respected and looked up to , are obviously both my angelic grandmothers and my beautiful mother, to whom I am naturally partial , and who , with all their imperfections , have been for me the perfect women

Three other smiling faces stand out in the vast and populous collage of my treasured memories as they occupy a place of great admiration in my heart

Every journey on this Planet goes through ups and downs

And all these graceful women went through theirs with illustrative calm , carving out a niche for themselves with sheer courage and perseverance 

So as I ponder and ruminate , it is amusing to note an interesting thing about these elegant and serenely stylish women :
They never coloured their hair ... 😊

As a school girl , much before I got my own pair of spectacles, I had a fascination for women wearing glasses.

The ultimate epitome of feminine charm and grace in my opinion was ( and has since been ) a woman wearing cotton saris , a deep red bindi shining on her forehead , and inches above the bindi , her hair " seasoned with salt and pepper " ,  cut very short

In that phase of life when little girls steal chances of applying Mom's lipsticks and rouge, I would sprinkle talcum powder profusely in my hair and stand before the mirror admiring those "mature white tresses."

Whereas girls my age would be pestering mothers to buy them jeans and sleeveless tops , I would be trying out Mummy's cotton saris, wearing over sized jhumkas and buying bindis to adorn my forehead ... loving every bit of Myself for that radiant look of  “intellect" staring back at Me from the mirror ... 😜

It was therefore an irony of sorts that when I started getting my own salt n pepper , instead of enjoying the seasoning , I started searching for alternatives !

This may come across as a lame excuse , but quite honestly I started out colouring because I love colours ... and there were so many to choose from ... auburn , brunette , chestnut , chocolate ... and even the henna red ... so it was more out of my love for colours per se that I tried to experiment with a pallate and brush (of a different kind 😊 )

But colouring hair never made me happy
Every time I did it, it was a depressing experience

And after doing a lot of damage to my hair, this New Year I decided to put an end to this self-inflicted torture.

I STOPPED colouring my hair .

Then came an article in one of the Sunday editions of The Times Of India about women who have been remarkably indomitable in facing life's troublesome patches .
The one common string apart from the courage that bound them was , all of these women , whatever their age , were at peace with the wealth of silver in their hair.

I shared the article along with my personal views on a public networking site and was pleasantly surprised by a woman a couple of years younger to me , welcoming me to the " Pretty Women's Club" , showing me her pictures , proudly acknowledging her "senior Citizen" status , sharing the "benefits" grey hair has brought as she is now able to board a BEST bus from the front , spends less time in various queues , is instantly offered a chair / seat in crowded offices / public transport etc etc. 😄

I have absolutely nothing against women who colour their hair. Everyone has a right to look their best and it is their preferred option as to how they want to see themselves in the mirror.

But grey hair is traditionally associated with aging 

And ( traditionally again ) across the globe, it is extremely difficult for women to accept their age
after a certain age ..... 😉 !!!

While a lot of middle-aged men proudly display their salt n pepper hair as an agreeable symbol of maturity , and even sex appeal (!!!) , I wonder often why can't women be as relaxed in accepting the changes that age brings , specially after the fortieth birthday ....... ???

I think , (and it is entirely my personal opinion) , that true emancipation comes when one is able to accept one's past and present without being solicitous and without any inhibition.
Unfortunately most female minds are so definitely chained in tradition , and they are subconsciously so brainwashed that they have lost the meaning of true freedom. Women are still in bondage of various kinds because their mind is not free.

Of course this does not mean that putting a stop to hair colour would ensure a liberated mind set. Or for that matter end the misery of women like a magic wand 
But I think it is a powerful step forward in accepting yourself and being at peace with yourself . 

Quoting another friend who has now for a long time been idolising the graceful yesteryear Doordarshan News Reader, Neethi Ravindran :
" Thinking change karney ke liye bahot himmat chahiye ..... we are too fearful   ..... and fear always enslaves minds ..... fearful minds have never changed anything ...... women talk of emancipation and freedom ..... tell me how many of them are ready to accept as natural and as imminent a change as ageing .... and how many of them have the composure to age gracefully ?
Women talk of being comfortable within their skin, but just one grey hair and a slight laugh-line can ruin their sleep .... "

So true this !

A couple in their late fifties , who are my very old family friends are incidentally also quite a typical example of how different male and female psychology is.

While the wife spends a considerable portion of her leisure in the luxuriant confines of air-conditioned beauty salons going in for regular age-defying procedures , the husband relaxes indulging himself in the luxury of the " silence and solitude " 😛

He told me the other day that ever since he has put up his most recent grey-haired picture on Facebook his female friend requests have doubled 😁 !!!

*

*

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And ever since I have stopped colouring my hair, I feel a refreshed sense of liberation.
Like I have freed myself from some kind of vicious ghosty clutches ... HAHAHA ( trying to laugh like Bollywood screen ghosts  😉 )!!!

This expression of contentment may seem pretty exaggerated to those who still have not found "Moksh and Mukti" from the " Youngistani Moh and Maya " of hair colour.

But at the expense of sounding pompous I can assure you that all these words still have not fully captured that fountain of joy splashing in my heart at having conquered my own deceptions and delusions

 😍😍😍

Sunanda

Sunanda ...

She came to meet me this time after two years.
While watching TV, late night, she was oiling my hair, when she popped up the question:
"Baal mein rang nahi lagaati hain naa Zohra Bi?"

Her youngest child got married recently.
"Shaadi mein bachchoN ne mere baal rang diye ... !!!" 
We both smiled.

Every time she comes, I meet not only her, but also a past that only she can bring back.
And what is so strangely stunning is that she remembers me much more and much better than I remember myself.
She reminds me of my teenage with such heartfelt affection.
And I wonder if its the power of her memory or the power of her love that she remembers so much, so well ?

But then perhaps our circumstances were so destined that she needed to have an outstanding memory while mine were such that forgetting was a better way to a healthy life ahead.
Whatever it was, together we relived our diverse childhood and adolescence in an era of radio and romance.

She came from the poorest of the poor.
Her father had died before I came in touch with her.
Short, round faced, dark complexioned girl, with messy curly hair that used to be tied in what looked a very haphazard plait.
Dressed in faded frocks or skirt-blouses, she was not much of a sight.
Her family stayed in the hutment just across the road, not far from our colony.
Her mother used to work as a helper in my house. And this girl used to accompany her mother to work.
So while I went to school she cleaned my room or did the jhadoo-katka......!!!
Sometimes when her mother was sick, Sunanda came along with an even smaller companion:
Her younger sister.

And now after sailing with the tide, having almost drowned at times, in our varied worlds, we both have come a long way .
My adolescence was beautiful. Comfortable. Carefree.
How could hers be as good too.... ?
Was she envious of the kind of life I had ....???

The way she laughs remembering those days when she and her sister had to do "ghar-kaam"  in other people's houses, under the strict vigil of the Lady-of-the-House, I think she still had snatched enough fun moments to keep her sweetness and youthfulness alive forever ........
Her misty eyes come alive with a rare glitter as she remembers those imli-kairi days.

She told me what I looked like as a school-going girl.
That I did not speak much.
That after coming home from school I would be confined to my room with books.
At times holding the transistor close to my heart, like a mother carries her small infant, I would be listening to Vividh Bharati.
And there were times we would set the record player at top volume and hear the Long Play records blasting away to glory ......

Honestly I don't remember all this in so much detail .....

She also remembers what my mother did in the kitchen.
She even remembers that old black grinding stone on which she was made to make fine pastes of masalaas for the qorma that my mother's Maasi would prepare on her visit to our house.

The aroma of Maasi's qorma comes alive as Sunanda remembers Maasi's instructions so vividly:
"Suninda ! Aur bariik piiso"

She also remembers that heavy brass thaali in our kitchen, in which her mother would knead the flour .....

Talking of her mother she remembers how she would beat Sunanda black and blue if she ever asked for as small a thing as a toffee
She would walk down long and difficult path to get water and wood for her family kitchen
Yet she is delighted and filled with joy in remembering those days.
And I am happy she has not forgotten any of it. Because in her arduous life I get a glimpse of my cheerful teenage that strangely I seem to have forgotten   .....

I realized once again .... this time with a sense of gratitude to this woman who shares history with me that the measure of preciousness of a gift is not in its monetary value.
It is always in the emotions.

Chalo Ek baar phir se ......Attempting New Beginnings

With a few exceptions who can can move from pain to happiness on their own , most people have this intense urge to pour out the bitter repercussions of an anguished experience and thus cleanse their inside 

Sharing agony and distress with a genuine well wisher is neither weakness nor abnormal.

The winning , and also tricky point however is that the outpour of that bitterness must not create more bitterness 

This is easier said than done 

But I was deeply touched and overwhelmed with empathy when I saw in the documentary film " Soz: Ballad of " that in the present time a lot of youth in the terror torn Kashmir Valley have turned to writing poetry in order to exhume the deep anguish of a painful past 

Also there is Sahir Ludhianvi whose birth centenary is being celebrated this year 

Incidentally his mother belonged to Kashmir 

Most of his poetry is a narration of his life's anxieties and suffering 

He saw and understood through his own struggle the deprivation of others and poured out his compassion , sympathy and empathy for all the oppressed people through his timeless poetry that is remembered and discussed even today 

One of the most fascinating pieces of poetry that he has written , " Chalo ek baar phir se janani bann jaaeiN hum dono ... " has been 

Written by Sahir, music by Ravi and sung by Mahendra Kapoor, this is an underrated masterpiece that sinks in gradually as Kapoor Saheb brings the words to life with a depth that is engrossing and overpowering.

On the first hearing ... and even after many subsequent perfunctory hearings, one may listen and appreciate, but not necessarily be truly touched, leave alone fathoming the depth brought out in words laying bare the layers of human feeling.
But delve in just a bit and it engulfs you completely.
How does one go about becoming a complete stranger to someone with whom they have shared the most cherished moments in life?
How does one make sure that every little trace of the memory that involves a loved one will wipe itself out ...
Or that one will be so willing to let that happen?
Don't we deliberately cling on to memories ... ???
Keeping memories securely sealed somewhere in one's heart is the normal practice of all human beings. And the most touching poetry is most definitely made from memories which refuse to leave their place of pride in one's life.

And hence this song stands out in its uniqueness.
The poet apparently is comfortable in choosing to let go of a loved one with whom he cannot carry on any further.
But hold on.
Although he is moving on, he is not parting with the memories ...
He is taking along with him a bagful of moments too precious to let go ...
And seemingly this baggage is neither burdensome nor tiresome
So he casually and yet so profoundly remarks:
 "Chalo ek baar phir se ajnabi bann jaaein hum dono ..."

Moving on is apparently a part of one's existence.
Indeed truly so.
But Come to think of it, how much inner turmoil must one undergo before finally accepting and then coming to terms with life as it comes.
Someone who had not very long ago been the reason of all of one's dreams and aspirations, someone without whom life would become lifeless, someone who he had expected would be there for him throughout his life, and after too, was in reality an illusion ...

How does one come round to admitting the reality that Someone who was The World to him has moved away ...... forever !!!

But if life must go on in separate compartments for two people who once travelled intimately  together, can there be another better option than the one provided by Sahir Ludhianvi?
Shed the old skin .....
Smile as you indulge in the luxury of a new beginning.
You are the same person inside.
But clothed with a much better resolve and determination.
It is a beautiful feeling !!!

Chalo ek baar phir se ... :-)

Biitiii yaadon ka .....

" Jab bhi jii chahey nayi duniya basaa letey hain log .... "  is a very famous yesteryear song from a Yash Chopra film . Written by Sahir Ludhianvi and sung by Lata Mangeshkar, it has been giving word to the feelings of thousands of  broken hearts ever since it hit the scene.

I often wonder why it kind of hypnotises people whenever they listen to it .......

It could be the melodiously touching  composition so expertly created by  Lakshmikant-Pyarelal.
It could also be  the soulfully profound  rendition  from an emotionally charged Lata ji.
Or even the  remarkable picturisation  highlighted by a sorrowful  lonely night and  Sharmila ji looking almost like a white burning candle......

But I'm sure the reason is deeper than what the eyes can see .......
I think  Sahir Ludhianvi's words touch a raw nerve  in the deepest corner of a broken heart...... .
It is said that  "when you are happy you listen to the music, but when you are sad you understand the lyrics" and so every heart  that experienced a breach of trust identifies with this perpetually flowing cascade of pain

The poet very honestly states that  "Hum hi nadaan thay jo odha biitii yaadon ka kafan...."
And how true it is ...... Strangely we often choose to live in an unhappy past and wallow in self pity .....

The bare ( and may be a lot harsh  ) truth is that every memory is capable of withering and fading away with time. But sometimes we are too possessive of the past .... and bizzarely fearful of letting it go away. So we  try to keep it alive in the form of a dry flower between the pages of an old book, or like a melancholy song in our heart .... or at times like permanent  impressions of mutilated petals, torn wings and broken leaves on the open palms of our hands ............
And at the same time   we try to convince ourselves that we have moved on ......
But every once in a while we are unpleasantly reminded that actually, not we, but them, who hurt us  have moved on .... and away .... !!!

I wonder why it is not possible for the one who is suffering to come out of that distressing situation, shake off the misery and with the gait of a winner march ahead to find a beautiful world outside one's limited horizon of sadness.

In love with nauseatingly stale memories for eternity, ironically people don't realise how unforgiving they are to themselves.

Understand this : your tormentors have moved ahead.
They don't need you.
They never loved you.
And they are now nothing more than a memory.
Let the memories be.

Do not stagnate and strangulate your present for memories.
Move on ......
And move on with dignity and truthfulness .....
Forgive yourself. 
Liberate yourself.
Choose happiness ......
And celebrate the freedom that allows you to choose happiness.

Raani hoon ghar ki.....

I am a diehard Hindi Cinema fan. All the melody in my life comes from Hindi film songs. I think these songs take a lot of  stress off my heart and mind, and help me unwind
Grinding, cleaning and cooking become so much more refreshing as I "sing them away" .....
It is therefore no wonder that humming comes to me naturally when I am in the kitchen.

This morning it was a 1972 song that gave me Kitchen-company .
This simple and sweet, has been very popular in its time. It is now apparently lost , but I am sure still it puts into words the dreams of every girl.
"Mere piya ka ghar hai ye , Raani hoon main, Raani hoon ghar ki...."
How comforting. And so ultimately romantic.

The house where I am no less than an Empress and where I rule, is my Paradise on this Planet.
And so it should be
Every woman's home to her should be no less than a Paradise on this Planet.

Then why do so many women and girls have to go out of their Kingdoms to slave and slog  ?

This was not a lonely thought though.
It came with a stream of mind-boggling  memories ... some recent, some old, but all entwiend into one another.

Silently and slowly Times change, circumstances and lifestyles also change as people transcend from one decade to another, from one Century to another .......

My mother used to teach in the school where my siblings and I studied. But after my sister's illness, which lasted some months, Mummy left the job. Though my sister got well eventually and went back to school, Mummy never went back to that or any other job. She did not need to go out of the house to work for a living .
My father earned enough to look after our needs and also often helped other needy people, of which I got to know only after I had grown up.

In college I heard friends talking of their future in a bank or some good corporate office.

"Future plans? Yeah ... I think I ll marry yaar "

"Oh! You stupid ... don't you plan for uncertainities ... and provide for them ... ???"
One friend retorted, banging her head with her palm, and giving up on me.

Fast forward to the present.
Everyone ... a girl or a boy ... seeks job-oriented education.
"What do you do?" is the first question one expects to face on meeting someone for the first time.

And so I found myself wondering if it is really so important for women to go out of the comfort and safety of a decent house and through all the grind of a ride in tiresome crowded public transport, most often under the prying eyes that measure all the statistics , although they may have nothing more than just a good heart within.

And when I sat by myself after lunch, I seem to have heard a female voice somewhere in the air telling me how she suffers the daily ordeal of tackling a drunk husband who has no fixed job.
This was my maid, who had now left her job at my place . Fed up of the daily beatings that she suffered at her husband's hands, she had gone back to her village.
Back to her parents place. What she was doing there I have no idea.

Another voice came through piercing my ears ........
"My mother-in-law says I've not brought enough dowry. She does not even let me stay in the house with my husband. And my husband is helpless ... he cannot defend me  in front of his mother ... "
This was the woman who works for me these days.
She stays with her mother at the mercy of her brothers, and although the mother also works, these women have no power to spend the money they earn or to live a life they would like to within their means.

Then there were those two large eyes staring at me ... 
They were indifferent to the world , but not to the pain in life ...
This brave woman was fighting it out with her own brother who had disowned their mother and slapped a legal case on her.
Middle class family.
Graduate ... or may be less ... I am not sure. After crying her heart out , she has now  wiped out every trace of tears from her attractive face and went out of the house for the first time to seek a job.
 She now works in a hospital .

And before I could do something about those eyes, there arose another face ... innocent, tormented and yet masking a lot of what the heart had gone through ......... this charming , young , well educated  woman , has a good job , a good house , fashionable branded clothes and accessories ... and her own car too.
She is modern. 
She had married the man of her choice. Very well-place family.
Very socially and religiously aware
She is going through a separation process ... I hate to call it divorce ...
She was  informing me ...
"Nothing changes with women and girls. We all have the same life. Can you believe I'm not much different from your maids ... or that girl fighting a legal court case ... the only difference perhaps is that I can speak good English , I wear expensive clothes and I can afford a lot of the things that money can buy ...."

These are just four instances from among countless such unjust happenings around us.

I feel so distraught.
Women are being judged.
They are being told how to dress up in public
They are being given a list of "Do-s and Don't-s" ...

It is being implied that they stay at home.  At the slightest pretext their characters come under the scanner.
But who has pushed them to the wall so much that that instead of getting suffocated and sqeezed they have pushed hard , turned around , found an open door and preferred to go out ...

Going out of their homes to seek peace.
Abandoning their "Kingdoms" and preferring "slavery" ...

Who took away their right to to live a decent life inside the four walls of their own home ? And who is making it difficult for them outside ?

All Men! Please take an honest call on this. Please respect the woman who has the courage to go out and face the world even when deep inside she has been devastated emotionally and tortured physically.

And Yes! Please stop trivialising the female body, stop sharing double meaning jokes. Stop churning out Sheelas, Munnis, Radhas, Razias......
It is neither fun nor entertainment any more.