Subah-e-Banaras, Assi Ghat

Imagine a person who is a typical drunkard, obnoxious, difficult to live with and sometimes even his parents announce in the newspapers that they disown him. After a few years you meet him, he is most cultured, charming and elegant. This is what happened to me when I entered Assi Ghat, Banaras. I had left the same ghat four years ago, as soon as I entered it.

Visiting the spotlessly clean ghat in the evening was a bliss. I felt so ashamed that I had abandoned it, thinking there was no hope. A hesitant street food eater I pounced when my host offered me the lemon tea being sold there. Healthy and tasty. A new recipe, go explore! ! Wait, there is an Italian restaurant called Pizzario and a book shop also.

I sat on the mat spread on the floor and watched the majestic Ganga Aarti. Vedic shlokas were being played .

Morning, half an hour before the sunrise, the ghat was pleasantly crowded. Now The Ganga Aarti was accompanied by the vedic shlokas recited by the students of ‘Panini Mahila Mahavidhyala’. A yagnya was being performed simultaneously by a family and everyone was asked to participate if they wanted. I did, and loved it. After the Aarti we were asked to offer jal to the Sun god, if interested. The copper pots were provided to offer Jal at the river Ganga. Shlokas were being recited at this point also by the trained classical singers.

Classical Music Programme: Many celebrities have also performed here before. Today a young lady sang Kabir’s bhajan based on morning raga .While she mesmerised the crowd, appeared the sun on the horizon and its rays hit the Ganges spreading red hue all around.

Yog: A yog teacher instructed the gathering while doing yoga and before I knew it was already 8.30 am 

All my friends who see only dirt at the Prime Minister’s constituency, please visit Assi Ghat, Subah-E Banaras , if you happen to be there. And before saying, ‘What a dirty city’, remember the city is carrying the burden of millions of pilgrims smilingly.
Banaras pics: http://tinyurl.com/p32pc24

The Manikarnika Ghat, Kashi

 Photo:  TripAdvisor

"

Ok", my host Alok told me when after the darshan at Vishwanath and Kal Bhairav Temples, I asked him if we could visit the Manikarnika Ghat. It was his first time too, so had to ask for directions. Early in the morning, mentioning a cremation ghat to a localite who is enjoying his tea at a tea shop, sounded inappropriate. Sipping his tea, he guided us without any fuss.  

Manikarnika is the holiest cremation ghat at Banaras in India. Well stacked logs and rising smoke reminded me of all the dear ones who have left me forever. 

The self appointed guide/boatman reminded me of a Paulo Coelho's quote from  Eleven Minutes, "The world revolves around something that only takes eleven minutes."  After telling the story of  Parvati's lost Kangan (bangle) in a kund right there, he continued that it takes around two and a half  hours for a body to go up in smoke. Sometimes a little longer. After that other rituals are performed. The total cost includes Rs 3k. Though I had doubt about the numbers he had stated, still I wondered that is the end of a person's life so simple to pass? Rs Three thousand and two and a half hours? Actually it is simpler for the person who has departed. It is difficult only for those who are left behind. 

Between the smoke and fine dust in the air, I could imagine the great king Harishchandra, the epitome of honesty, as an employee at the ghat, haggling with his wife for the charges he had to collect for the pyre of their son. I had goosebumps when I read it in school in a book called "Hamaare Poorvaj", I still felt a few. Is that why these ancient cities charm us?

School Days.

Acknowledgements 

The urge to preserve the pleasant memories made in Campus School IITK,  culminated in the form of this Coffee table book. For a school teacher the most memorable moments do not always happen in the classroom but while passing through the corridors, checking the answer-sheets, practicing for the annual events, backstage and in the playground.

I start my day with a lot of positive vibes that make my mornings truly 'good'. Throughout the year my memory bank keeps getting enriched. The most repeated cliche of the school life is, 'I want to be a doctor', but the child who stole my heart, wrote in a creative writing assignment that she wanted be famous and win many awards. We all want to be successful, but how many of us have the courage to say it.

Mamatha and Indira, many thanks for  your constant  encouragement, Tanvi and Saurabh for helping me in getting the photographs printed.

This book for my 'little teachers' who taught me the virtues of childhood which we adults tend to forget.

-Vandana Bahuguna

Archie's

When an acquaintance was leaving the neighbourhood (Campus) I hurriedly went to say her goodbye.The things were packed and some books were lying on the shelf. She urged me to take some books if I wanted. I picked up two Archie Comics and 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.

My children, five and eight at that time, loved them and after that we must have bought more than hundred Archie's. They bought them with all the money they got from their grandparents at the railway stations and Noble Book Shop at the Campus. It was a ritual to buy Christmas specials. Archie, Betty, Veronica, Jughead, Reggi, Ethel and even minor character became the part of our family. I quoted Mrs Lodge while proving a point to husband.

Ayush had just learnt to read, thanks to the phonetics taught  to him by his sister. Though he didn't understand much, but with the pictures of things and situations he could enjoy the humour and learnt thousands of words easily. "Creeeak.." he would blurt whenever a door made a squeaking sound and we used to be in splits.

It was an emotional moment for me when I read the news of Archie Andrews's demise. He died protecting a friend. With a heavy heart I could only say. Archie is dead, long live dear Archie.

Koi Roko Na...

Music, apart from being therapeutic is like a hole in the tightly packed sack of nostalgia. Whichever part of the sack you prick, only memories flow out. In the times of ipod, earplugs, playlist of thousands of songs in the laptop, mobile phone folders of different geners of songs, I crave for a song sung by a fellow mortal and not by Lata, Asha, Shreya, Kishore, Rafi n Manna Dey.

My first outstation trip with my friends began with a song 'Mannu bhai motaor chali pum pum pum' while I enjoyed the spectacular view of snow capped himalaya peaks from the window seat of my bus. Garhwali gals sing well, better when they sing garhwali songs.

My next college trip was from Dehradun to Srinagar Garhwal in a pathetic GMVN bus. After Rishikesh the hilly area starts, so does the sickness.We realised that as long as we sing we would not feel the giddiness. So we sang till all the songs from Geeta Dutt to Nazia Hussain got exhausted. When all were quiet, Priscilla shouted, "Sing something!!" and pounced towards the window. Someone pulled her back from the window and popped her head out and did the needful. Rest of us were giggling while waiting for our turn to use the windows.

Months later we found ourselves at St Joseph's Allahabad for State level Games. After supper the bongo was taken out and under the moonlight started one of the most memorable mehfils of my life. We had Parul an excellent dancer and ultimate mimic, Maya, retro-specialist, Rachana, who used to keep the sur-tal  intact for rest of us. The mehfil continued till midnight. 'Jaane kahaan mera jigar gaya ji' was a hit, as usual.

Then happened my sister's wedding. Waiting for the barat we started our band -baja.The bride still remembers how Parul danced like Amitabh while others sang 'De de pyaar de, humme pyaar de'  made every one laugh because my sister's name is Meena.

Unlike film songs, ghazals are best enjoyed in solitude.Thanks to brother's collection of Gulam Ali, Mehndi Hasan n Pankaj Udhas which I could truly appreciate years later when hubby explained them to me. The enjoyment turns to contentment when we know the meanings of each word, eg Aaab-daana means water n food like we say khana pani

Thanks Sapna, for making me relive my lovely memories by bringing this link to my fb feed.
http://tinyurl.com/nu55vdm

With Love from the Hills

Answering the doorbell on a hot afternoon can be pleasant only if it is rung by a Flipcart/Amazon boy. He delivered two books written by the boy whose birthday is being celebrated by his innumerable fans today. 

'With Love from the Hills' by Ruskin Bond looks like a picture book for three year olds. The moment I pulled the red thread attached to it, a window opened to a beautiful scenery straight from a kid's scrap book. I tried to hide it from my daughter who will be English Major soon but couldn't. Unable to supress her laughter she enquired, "What have you ordered ?" I guessed that the book was meant for very little ones. The book is written in a diary form in longhand font. It is as enjoyable as any book by him. 

I never desired to meet the writers I love to read as  he has already shared the best and worst moments of his life with me through his books. I feel closer to Bond sahib because he lives in a Garhwali household. He must be  familiar with the language  my parents and I speak. We grew up in the same city, Dehradun. As a kid he might have rubbed shoulders with my father in Paltan Bazar. 

Whenever I alight at the Dehra railway station I think of the ten year old Ruskin sitting on a tin trunk all alone. Nobody came to receive him. He was back from his boarding school. He hired a tonga and reached his grandma's house where he was not welcomed. Immediately he was diverted to his mother and stepfather's house. How badly he would have missed his dear father whom he had lost only a few months back. Can there be anything more haunting?

I wonder why Ruskin Bond is called children's author. Would a ten year old relate to his writings, humour and little details the way I do?  My children who are avid readers could never relate to his writings. They would ask, 'Would you accept jalebis from a stranger?" Like he does in one of his stories. And why he has to describe even the hedge of his house? How I love when he "describes the hedge of the house", because I have seen those hedges which are no longer seen in Dehra now. How would the kids living in multi-storeyed buildings know that a wind-storm sometimes blows the tin-roofs away and so many little things.

The books specially written for kids are gems. I gave my students, ' A long Walk for Bina' and they loved it. It talks about problems of migration, displacement and making of big dams and their ill effects on the wildlife of the surrounding area which they are studying in EVS.

Thank you Ruskin Bond for all the moments when while reading your books I'd smiled or was moved or had blurted 'Good", "Ha ha","Great", "Exactly","Right" "Sahi", and "he writes so well"! 

Happy birthday.

Trending, Follow, Comment

We are caught in the Web World. Here we know strangers, acquaintances, celebrities, international sensations, idols and  favourites as a mother-in-law knows her daughter-in- law or we know our co-workers. We are aquainted with their extensive wordrobe, menu last night, the place of their birth, schooling, 'worked at', without even being inquisitive.

This experience becomes a bliss when the person is someone we admire i e a role model or favourite author. I am not fortunate enough to know the comment or one liners from the writers I enjoy reading most. Khushwant Singh passed away without even having a Twitter account and Ruskin Bond is still tied to his typewriter. But in a way it's a bliss for sure because they are also humans. They might post something which is not as sublime and politically correct as while writing leisurely when they have ample of time to edit and re-edit. Thus Singh and Bond are safe, but others are judged everyday. The lyricist who penned  love anthems  during our youth, tweets something nasty about my fav leader and loses all my respect. What when an actor who defined perfection on screen, posts something he feels strongly about but sounds anti-feminist ? He blocks all the love and affection from his female fans.

Now we know how human those people are whom we thought were highly sophisticated and suave. They can also be rude. Read the reviews of Chetan Bhagat's novel on blogs by the renowned critics to know what I mean. Each one has something humiliating stored for him, but they do long for the economics that follows the release of his books.  Giving a bad review is fine but language could be civil.

We get to read all types, from wordsmiths to novices. The veterans know how much of their 'spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings' should be revealed and the novices do not know how much to hide.

This is the best time for the people who want to write to share what they think with their  friends. Blogs are the comforting arms which give them assurance of freedom. All the grammatical and other mistakes are forgiven.There is no fear of rejection from the editors  and publishers. The good news is that many bloggers are successful writers today.

So like in real life, in the virtual world also the same rule applies, Jo achha lage usse apna lo, jo bura lage usse jaane do. (take the good and leave the bad)

Gajak, a Winter Delight

Gajak is a sweet  that we eat without feeling guilt as it is a bundle of nutrients. Jaggery a natural sweetener and sesame with its richness makes it an ideal snack to devour.

My date with a gajak factory is fixed on the Christmas Day. Following the address as I cross Jareeb Chawki  signal, I can smell the sweet smell of melting jaggery, though my car windows are tightly shut. I reach a cozy factory with a furnace, huge woks of iron, roasted sesame and melted jaggery all around.

For making gajak, jaggery is heated till the consistency is like hard kneaded dough. The most interesting part comes when the trained workers stretch this dough like elastic. A nail on the wall is used to tuck the dough and it is stretched and whipped for some time. It looks like a thick shinning rope. Now roasted sesame is mixed well with jaggery and  divided into the pieces of half Kg each.Now each piece is beaten with wooden hammers by two persons. finally an iron frame is pressed on it to divide it into square pieces.

The gajak is ready to be packed immediately to avoid the moisture so that it remains crisp.

Mrs Rani, the owner of this factory, is a part of this family business for more than 50 yrs. She invites me to see how they make sugar-toys, a popular sweet during diwali as gajak is made and consumed only in winters. Ruchi, her granddaughter gives me a packet of chocolate-gajak and leaves me enveloped with the sweetness of her gift and smile.

2014, A Memoir

I  have seen so many 'New Years' Eves' and birthdays, but none could make me feel a day older. I'm not sentimental about them. Neither I raise a toast for the new year nor lament for the year gone by. I do have regrets but I let them torment me any time of the day when they want. No resolutions, though I do have a bucket list.

2014 gave me a pair of reading glasses. People who never needed spectacles can't deny their craving for wearing one, at least at some point of their lives. Specs do add something to one's personality. May be because specs are associated with being studious or intelligent. If you are wearing them since childhood or student life then it is normal. If you start wearing them late in life when your hair or goatee has a silver tinge  then it is directly connected to the fact that half of the journey in this planet is over.

In the month of April I visited my brother. While we sat and chatted, I picked up a newspaper and showed him that I have to keep it at a distance to read it. I asked him if I should get my eyes tested. It took me to our childhood when he used to answer all my queries. He immediately gave me one of his pairs of glasses.The moment I wore it and read, the words looked crystal clear.

I came back home with a pair of trendy reading glasses. Nothing changed much, but I observed  that I was gesticulating in a familiar way. As, while reading and suddenly talking to someone, I bend my head a little and with wide eyes stared at the person, avoiding seeing through the glasses.  The very first time when I looked this way I thought of my father. Years back, I reached his office from college as a friend needed her mark sheet to be attested. We were standing next to him. He lowered his head and looked at us with his almost bulging eyes and asked, "Where is the original?" I almost shouted reminding him that she was a close friend. Those eyes I still remember.

I feel so much like my mom when I ask others to pass my specs. I realise that a different phase of life has started. I was reading quotations posted on FB giving us gyaan that age is in the mind etc, just then I was called, I looked up and was immediately  told that I look like my mom.

The Woman in the Joke is You, so Don't Laugh!

• We all get jokes that begin like:

* Two gals were playing chess....wait the joke has not completed yet...

* Ek baar ek aadmi ki wife mar gayi. ( once a man lost his wife)

Since I love to laugh, I used to enjoy these jokes till one day my daughter gave me a piece of her mind. Don't know why, but I never found these jokes derogatory for women. I used to think it's ok to laugh at one's own sex. After all it is only a joke. But suddenly I realised why we never get jokes on idiosyncrasies of men? 

After FB and stand up comedians, now Wot's App is the latest carrier of these. I don't blame them, but call them innocent because they have not yet realised the curse they are transferring to the next generation. After all I was in the same boat once.

Now whenever I get such  forwarded jokes by innocent women/relatives/younger cousins, I copy paste this message :

"Your joke was funny but such jokes are called 'sexist' ie against the dignity of women. I have decided not to appreciate  and forward such messages. How wrong it is that  if we just replace the word 'wife' with 'husband', nobody would laugh."

Our films are the bigger culprits. Few months back I was forced to watch, 'Two States'

 in a theatre.  A dear friend persuaded and I couldn't say no. She wanted to watch it because she had to set the question paper based on the book for her BA students. Apart from other things I found Amrita Singh's character so obnoxious that I preferred the gatekeeper's company outside,  than sitting inside the hall. I was amazed that nobody thought the way I did. I have seen IIT + IIM gals and they do not behave like the young actress was behaving.

 Thank you dear for the opening my eyes and ordering  Simone de Beauvoir's 'the Second sex'  for me.

Unfriends

A mountain breeze

happy, unshackled and ecstatic.

Undisturbed and non- disturbing

flowing like a river, with an ease

"Pray, stop I want to mingle",

begged the fragrance of a flower.

Knowing it would disturb her equilibrium said,

No, we 're happy the way we are..

But this is not the way of the world,

You'd be lonely without me.

Nature's kingdom would  be incomplete

If we didn't meet.

A beautiful tale will remain untold.

Think of the deep bonding of the 

loose atoms,

Don't be shy, be bold.

The fragrance was inviting,

the promise of life long belonging.

And together creating a gift for humanity.

Madly, deeply, truly.

Slowly, the bond started to break

It is  also the law of nature, the breeze exclaimed!

And heard the scent of the flower asking a wild wind

Pray, stop I want to mingle. Bonding...depth...belonging.

Election in the Times of Electronic Media

Not that my house buzzed with election discussions during 1977 General Election, but we kids had to keep quiet during 8.45 pm news on radio, mostly by Devki Nandan Pandey. I was too young to know about elections but was old enough to know that Indira Gandhi was going to lose because of something called 'emergency'. I remember people discussing Rajnarayan and HN Bahuguna while we played at the beautiful lawns of  Police Headquarters Allahabad.

Thanks to the internet and TV news channels for making the elections more spicy as well as informative.But it also has a negative side. I wonder if netas made such obnoxious and repulsive statements as, "Rape is just a mistake" and "kargil was won by the soldier of a particular community, knowing that instantly the messag will reach their target audiences and they would get the publicity

I was the greatest enthusiast during the Anna Hazare's fast against curruption. Remember those long live telecast ?. Kezriwal became my hero.Well- meaning friends, even back then, warned me that he is a dramabaaz, but I even wore an Anna Cap thinking there is someone who is trying to make my country a better place to live. Now seeing all his drama I'm so ashamed of my choice. Now those well wishers laugh at me and the loudest laugh is from the one who is from the next gen and lives with me in the same house.

Election campaigning is in the full swing. All the parties are using the internet to the hilt. BJP seems to be on the top for an hour long interview of its PM candidate was trending on Twitter....worldwide. Hero worship is all time high. India's National Festival IPL and Bollywood have taken the back seat. Indian populace is divided into the devotees of one party/leader or the other. previously middle-aged were seen discussing Chunaav, polls but now eighteen plus look most active.Today these birdies on Twitter NamoNehaRoy, darrengal, SweetRiya, and shatirbilli keep me updated and my funny-bone tickled.Gone are the days when polling day was booked for picnics. Very healthy symptoms for democracy.

In this hullaballo of social media, emerge some victims too. people who are dignified, shy and  happy in their own world are brought to the limelight. They are discussed and made fun of. Their photos are splashed everywhere from print media to graffiti on the net. Here I'm talking abt Yashodaben. No link to her pic here. Or I would be doing the same what I detest. She was  married to Mr. Modi and separated just after her marriage. Must have been a difficult life for her in the Indian society. I don't know her feelings for her husband but I surely know that she is uncomfortable with media pestering her and depriving her of her privacy.

I feel bad for our PM Manmohan Singh  also.Whatever, a dignified professor, who was once appreciated for his work which he knows best, does not deserve his photoshopped cartoons being circulated on FB and Twitter.

The opinion polls show BJP leading and the way winds are blowing but only final results will tell which camp this storm will uproot.

I know whoever comes to power will not have a magic wand but, I sincerely hope proper roads and cleanliness for my beloved city which ranks at number 10 in terms of GDP.

1

The Curse of the Sage.

I don't think we would ever know how Sunanda Pushkar died. She didn't have anything in common with my favourite people, but her untimely death shook me. Like many women bloggers I too wondered that why only women have to face the music in any relationship? Even Advanced Learner's Dictionary defines 'dumped' by giving the example,  "Did you hear? He's dumped his GF". why not the other way round? Tumbler is full of the sobbing though lovely quotes from the girls who have yet to see the world.

Going back to mythology/literature Shakuntala seems to have started this pattern. She lived blissfully in the natural surroundings of her father Karnv Rishi's Ashram. A prince came and fell in love with her. (and not the other way round) He  later forgot her completely as our Shakuntala was cursed by Durvasa, a sage when she was lost in the thoughts of her beau and did not greet him with due respect. Her misery was over after few years when the king gets to see the ring and his memory is back.But the curse still seems to linger.

Another curse is by Oscar Wilde whose famous quote is accepted by even some modern and contemporary people.Most of us would not agree though.

 “Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.” 

I laughed at this quote when I read Ismat Chugtai's memoir that how she went to Lahore from Bombay to appear in the court as one of her stories were considered obscene. Manto,another renowned writer was also accused .So they reached lahore and stayed at another friend's house.She writes how she enjoyed the shopping in Lahore and wanted to be there again.

We see beautiful friendships around us between men and women. but there is always a fear of ,'in the name of friendship...' accusation. After Sunanda episode I got to read a mail by Mr Tharoor to his female fren,which says that they were good friends and how he wished his wife understood it.

I usually  turn to Ramayan whenever I am looking for an answer. I have yet to explore it deeply and I'm sure to get an answer there.But I got my answer in an another epic  Mahabharata, through the characters of Krishna and Draupadi. Did anyone ever thought their relationship to be  anything but friendship? How he helped her when she neede him the most

This beautiful quote from Dr Lohiya says it all: Roughly translated) " Draupadi was neither krishna's sister, wife, lover, mother nor an ascetic, but only true friend ( kewal shuddh mitre).

                          

A Belated Infatuation

A guest post by Arushi dated December 29, 2013. Remembering the immortal superstar on his 71st.

The world didn’t end in 2012, but was left with a void because of which it would forever seem       incomplete. I write this with a person in mind whose absence only now I have come to fully mourn.

“Rajesh Khanna”, my father had replied when some seven years ago I had interrupted him watching a movie by my question,“ Who is this handsome man?” Little did I know then that this actor would break my hostility to Bollywood as I knew it by taking me to its golden era of the seventies. Having enjoyed watching Anand and Bawarchi with parents at 13, I had yet to discover what made romance synonymous with Rajesh Khanna.

Now years later I caught the Kaka fever on a breezy July evening. The weather called for some music but I craved for something new as I was tired of the same songs in my overplayed playlist. Kishore Kumar’s name came to my mind and I found an album ‘Remembering Rajesh Khanna’ on searching his songs. The fantastic songs led me to watch all of Kaka’s hit movies and so I discovered Hindi cinema’s superstar and became one of his thousands of infatuated female fans. Just like stars leave their light in our skies for generations to see, this superstar’s twinkle reached me now, even though he had shone brightest long I was even born.

What I was perhaps too young to fully appreciate at 13, I began to relish at 20. The absolute pleasure of watching Kaka’s acting was the chief motivation, but I enjoyed other things that the movies had to offer as well. I marvelled at the wonderful contrast that the cinema of the seventies posed to the present day. Every movie that I watched had the perfect blend of science and art, from well structured plots to melodious and richly poetic songs. The movies even reminded me of my class lectures as the storylines met the demands of Aristotle’s dictums of ‘reversal’ and ‘discovery’ and the songs blazoned the beloved in a livelier way than Petrarch. I also admired how movies back then were made to mirror the society’s shortcomings and profess a hope for change. Even as they ended usually on a happy note, the gender and class problems stood out. Issues of widow remarriage in Kati Patang, the hard life of widows in Aaradhana, and the  prostitution in Amar Prem and Mehboob ki Mehendi, are a few examples of the ways in which movies fulfilled their responsibility of being vehicles of reflection and change in the society. This moralistic aspect blended all too well with the divine persona that Kaka portrayed. The crux of the stories’ messages was always voiced by his character, and would become ingrained in the audience’s minds because of the dramatic perfection in his acting. It’s interesting to note that even in the story, so often he was called “devata”, as he indeed became in reality with his superstardom. The characters, sometimes even the villain, would be as much in awe of him as the audience. This blurring of the line between fictive and real worlds added to the fantasy that cinema created for the people.

Kaka became this awe-inspiring magnet by virtue of his indescribable charisma. All poetry in the songs could only strike so strong a chord with the audience because of that spell he cast with his eyes, voice, and charm. I had been used to listening to songs, but with Rajesh Khanna, I ‘saw’ the songs as I listened to them, as if the mandragora of his eyes spilled into the sweet melody and created a sweeter ecstasy. Songs usually appeal to us mostly because we find in them something that relates to our lives, but Kaka’s songs also carry the effect that he infused in them by his serene seductiveness. The helplessness that I feel for lacking words to express all that I so ardently admire in him, I also feel for the lack of people in my age group with whom I can share my passion for him. Being very late to the Kaka fan club, I envy the fans who have lived in his reign, have seen him up-close and keep cherished autographs. I also realised that not only is my passion belated, it is also much belittled by the passion of his fans when I learned of the euphoria that spread in his stardom, of girls writing letters to him in blood and even marrying his photograph! Such craze remains unparallelled even today and is the only way to express his aura when words fail.

The wide variety of roles he has played also pays homage to his artistry as he played the imperfect man with his classic perfection. Be it the uncaring husband driven to madness by being trapped in false blames in Ittefaq or the alcoholic womanizer in Prem Nagar, Kaka made the audience love his character as he showed the frailties of man and the sad truths and circumstance that made a man cross the line dividing the good from the bad. Of course, at the heart of this rich variety always lay the essential element of romance, without which no movie could captivate the audience. And Rajesh Khanna defined exactly that captivation. Even the restrictions of propriety that the seventies era posed on cinema only stoked his fiery charm. In his actions, there is that essence of literature which implies love in a poetic, subtle sense and heightens the emotive potential in being symbolic, dramatic, artistic. It is his alchemy because of which, Roop Tera Mastana, a song shot in only four takes and involving just sight and delicate touch, became the most sensual song filmed in Hindi cinema. The importance of songs needs no explanation, but what Rajesh Khanna did with the romantic lyrics shows how the song was the hallmark of love and courtship in the movies. It is in the songs where he puts to work his wondrous ways of implying love through mannerisms and multiplies the effect of the already effusive romance in the songs. From rubbing his fingers across his lips to the iconic eye blink, there’s even more to him than pure charm. His art feeds also on the perfection with which he delivers the dialogues, as if his voice wrote it in the air that those lines were to go down in history.

While he made history on screen, his personal history isn’t documented with similar glory. Even on being told that he was impractically dramatic, a “complex person” according to gossip columnist Devi, and one who, according to the BBC’s documentary, had the “arrogance of Napoleon”, I could reason away every blame that his critics piled on him. What he achieved as an artist is so great that, for a fan, all his faults get eclipsed by that wink of his eyes. Watching his estranged wife Dimple say, “there was no man behind Rajesh Khanna, there was only Rajesh Khanna.. He lived like Anand, he was Anand”, I smiled for she answered my wondering questions about how he would have been in real life. Not much then, remains hidden from his beloved fans who are the subject of his last on-screen dialogue ( Havell’s ad : “Mere fans mujhse koi nahi cheen sakta”) and to whom he dedicated and addressed his last message. There isn’t a single interview I could find where he doesn’t thank his fans from the heart, for giving him so much love.

While dialogues from Anand are Kaka fans’ anthem and are usually reiterated to evoke the immortal superstar that he’ll always be, this line from Prem Kahani said by Vinod Khanna’s minor character in his dying breath encapsulates the undying love that Kaka inspired : Rajesh hamare dil mein hai.