Radcliffe, The Line that Separates/unites Two Countries

Radcliffe Line that divides India and Pakistan will be 69 this August. Cyril  Radcliffe who drew the line had never visited India before he was assigned the monumental task. Thanks to the hot and humid weather of India that he left as soon his work got over, leaving the two countries living the paradox of loving and hating each other. At Wagah the paradox begins with the aggressive boot thumping by the soldiers and then shaking hands.

Lowering of the Flags ceremony is a daily custom at Wagah border. BSF, (the Border Security Force) of India and Pakistan Rangers of Pakistan present the spectacular show. Surprisingly I did not know the magnanimity of the show so, Wagah border was never in my bucket list, the Golden Temple was. But the parade and ambiance of the place made me see it as a Kumbh mela where collective faith of masses is at its peak. I had never imagined such devotion and love for Bharat mata  without an Indo-Pak  cricket match being played.

The broad passage reserved for parade gets converted  into a large stage. The oxymorons continued when audiences performed with full gusto. Our clothing tells the faith we follow, so I see the people from all the faiths  drenched in the colour of patriotism as well as in the sweat of hot and humid month of May, dancing, laughing, enjoying. I hated myself for having two left feet, but I did what I knew. I whistled loudly like no one was watching.

Partition took place mainly because  Quaid-e-Azam Jinnah thought Muslims needed a separate country. Before 1940 it was not even imagined that such a thing could happen. I could only guess by reading the literature of united India. Can you doubt the true friendship between Jumman Sheikh and Algoo Chaudhary depicted in premchand's famous story 'Panch Parmeshwar' ? Religion was the main cause of the partition, and religion was the only thing I did not see separating us when I sat at Wagah. 

The popular song from the film Veer-Zaara, was playing when husband and I entered the place which looked like an open air theatre. The songs usually played there are, Aisa desh hai mera is written by Javed Akthar, Ye desh hai veer Jawanon ka, penned by Sahir Ludhianvi, sung by our beloved Mohammad Rafi and in the movie performed by Dilip Yusuf Kumar. 

The place I was sitting was not allowing me to see the audience on the other side of the line. It was clear that attendance was thin. A lone small boy was running around waving the Pak flag. The mood was rather formal. I wondered if there was a lady sitting there who was also a school teacher like me. If we could talk or there could be a souvenir  shop, a restaurant where we could taste cuisines from both the countries.We are so similar, but the conflicting thoughts at the back of my mind refused to budge and reminded me all that their army  did to our Lt. Saurabh Kalia in captivity for over twenty two days. Could I see an enemy in the woman sitting that side? No!

I could hardly listen to the music being played across the line, but a journalist friend who watched the parade a few days back had told me that they played  songs sung by Mika! A singer popular among the younger generation of Indians. he also came back humming 'Pakistan, Pakistan' by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, who is loved by old n young in India. Indian media's love for Pak is not hidden from the whole world and how I adore the videos from Pakistan praising our Prime Minister and the adorable accent they call him Modi sa'ab with.

I grew up cheering India, but the biggest poster in my room belonged to Imran Khan. I hate mom watching some of the never ending serials on Indian TV channels,  but love to watch Zindagi Gulzar Hai with her on youtube for hours. It has a  strong female protagonist. I still remember her dialogue, "Zindagi main kitne log hote hain jo hum per garm chai nahi girne dete?"The male lead is  Fawad Khan, well a separate post is needed to describe his aura.

Even a small child can tell who is the culprit for the mess and war created between the two countries. He is definitely neither I nor the lady sitting on the other side of the gate at the wagah border,who would love to visit Mumbai or Delhi during her next vacations, if given chance and peaceful circumstances. I too would love to visit the Swat valley, Malala Yousafzai  talks so fondly about.

It is said that after the dark night comes the sparkling sunrise. Thinking about the dashing and brilliant boys sacrificing their precious lives in the continuous war between two countries, hoping against the hope I pray for peace.

Jai Hind, Sir !

The word 'Police' for me is a place where I grew up. All the windows of my house opened to the majestic building of Police Headquarter of Uttar Pradesh. My memories include manicured lawns, clubs, festivals, tamarind trees, mango orchards and everything pleasant. Neighbours lived cordially as a big family. Nobody was filthy rich as the department is known for bribe n black money.

My father was in civil police, so he never wore a uniform. As an auditor, sometimes he worked whole night in his office with his colleagues. More than half a month he used to be on tours within Uttar Pradesh of some remote part of India. I went to a Mission school but not to one of the schools, Allahabad is known for. Even at that tender age I knew those schools were expensive for us. I saw my parents working very hard. The affluence associated with people working in police department was not there. Contrary to the image of a policewale, father was a teetotaller. Back from his tours he used to tell us hilarious anecdotes. Never ever I heard him mentioning his boss without respect. Even while talking with his friends casually he never forgot to put the suffix, like DIG Sa'ab.

As I grew up I heard stories of police atrocities and corruption, though Hindi films had always projected good picture of policemen. Sholay was a luminous example. I Left PHQ as father got a promotion and transferred to some other department and another city. After that I never heard anything good about the Police. Police ke kutte was the most repeated refrain I heard in day to day life, still my emotional bond with policemen remain intact. Even after three decades I give them a second look wherever I see them. Be it a traffic policeman at a crossing of Chennai in scorching heat, groups of policemen patrolling the crowded streets of Varanasi, at Modi's 2014 rally at Kanpur, Siddhivinayak temple in Mumbai, posh areas of South Delhi, I always spot them.

When you listen to their stories, you would know that the number of policemen die on duty in a year is equal to the number of army men died in the Kargil War. Do we ever make memorials for them? Do we know that policemen never celebrate Holi and other festivals as they have to be on duty. Today there is peace in Panjab at what cost? The link below is a part of a Kavi sammelan where Mr Pawan Jain, IPS presents a poem about the lives of his fellow policemen which is an eye opener indeed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGL (Poetry by Pawan Jain IPS)

Mother's Day Musings

When FB was bursting at the seams with mom pics and quotations on 8th May, I too got tempted to post mom's pic clicked when she was sixteen, with her very long tresses and manicured hands. Though I always saw her with not so long hair, and hands, well the way hands look after a long day's chores. I didn't wish mom nor my kids wished me. Wondered if I love them less than others love their moms and kids?

 When I went to see off my parents at the CNB, we bought a few books from the wheeler at the platform, I clicked some pics of the spic n span railway station, touched their feet habitually and drove back. Back home read someone's status that her mother who was visiting her has left and her life is 'deserted' now. There were more than 100 likes n comments from the people who related to it. This is how FB fuels my guilt. But I have my moments when I feel like hugging my mom or kids really tight.

This winter when she visited me I told her that I had to attend a wedding but didn't want to because the host  had  sort of annoyed me for some reason. It may or may not be intentional. Mother chose a lovely sari for me from my limited collection and almost pushed me off saying that a wedding at home is a huge task, some little goof ups are normal.  Looking back I realised that she had quietly taught me so many things without being preachy.

My son (the one with long hair!!) also amazes me sometimes. During his JEE preparation days and just before 12th boards, when every minute counts, he had to collect his admit card from school. The teacher in-charge had refused to give the card because the computer teacher had not sent his home exam grades and had left the school. Home exams are not even important in class 12th. The next day again he went and somehow got his admit card. I was irritated, obviously.

They have their exams centre in some other school and as a convention some teachers also come to see the arrangements and say all the best to their students. Children usually touch their feet before entering the examination hall. I asked him when he came home, "Did you touch her feet?" I loved him so much for the answer he gave, "Yes, arre kya ferk parta hai, teacher hi to hain" (how does it make any difference, she is a teacher after all)

These little moments make my Mother's Day, just we celebrate it differently.

The Stalker

Stared, gazed and then hid,
He stopped and walked as I did.
Teasing, stalker moon!

Pic: Mamatha

Betrayal

When I asked my daughter, studying in Delhi, to visit a good friend of mine during Holi, she fumed in mock anger, "Those Aaptards!" Conversation ends.
Today we Indians are divided into two main categories. Modi can easily represent the one and the other is congress, Aap, CPM etc. I have clubbed the rest in one because Modi is their common enemy.
Before I knew a strange trend/ideology came up. 'Anti India' - any thing which is directly associated with India is condemned by some people. Hinduism is the main target.The other Indian religion, cricket has also got affected. I was at my wit's end when I read about anti India slogans shouted at JNU. Anti Hindu is still ok in the garb of 'freedom of expression', but Anti India?
Coming to the title of my post, see the series of betrayals I, an average Indian had to face. Betrayal by very definition means when you are cheated by someone you trusted. JNU, IITs, IIMs were awe inspiring or beyond my reach institutions. In that campus I got to hear obnoxious things about Bharat Mata/ India. Now I will have to tell them that Bharat Mata is not a woman sitting on a lion etc etc but just a symbol that we love our country as we love our mother.
Media. Going back to Doordarshan days I remember relying on newsreaders for the correct pronunciation of certain words. Watching News just to observe the newsreaders. All the ladies were awesome. Then there was 'The World This Week'. An NDTV product, which we never used to miss. Believed each word it aired. Today the same NDTV and rest of the media is biased. I seldom get to watch achievements of government on TV or newspapers.

Nobody can be closer to your heart than your favourite writers/columnists. As he/she shares his secrets and passions while he bares his heart in his books. We relate to what we read and the one-sided affair begins. I too followed a few columns. Today when I share those columns with some of my friends who believe in Modi's hard work and Piyush Goyal's crusade against darkness, they don't even open the link. The moment the name of the newspapers appear they delete it. I fight and shield my dear columnists in vain. But my admiration got thrashed when I read abt the JNU chanting in a hypothetical statement in ‘The Hindu’ that if Modi wins 2019 election 'anti national' would not be able to survive in India and would create a new nation to live. What sinful thinking! I too don't run around streets shouting 'Bharat mata ki Jai' but why scream in your fb status that you would never say this slogan. I wonder if we thought alike about Kishore Kumar, RDB, Sholay, and thousand other things then why can’t they see any development in railway, power and coal, road transport and other ministries? The same ‘The Hindu’ we subscribed, far away in the North while preparing for Civil Services, with hope and dreams in our eyes.

Meet Shashi Tharoor. I almost prayed for him, a fellow Indian, but he lost the topmost post of the UN. We all felt bad.The same Tharoor was speaking at JNU. He mentioned Bhagat Singh and took a pause and the whole crowd laughed mockingly. I was in tears.

I never imagined that a large number of people will be unhappy when India wins a cricket match. Can there be a bigger betrayal than this to an Indian?

If You Forget Me

by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Same old Story

Equipped with  God's view
I saw from my window,
An abuser luring a child with a pearl.
Wow! I'm grown up, thought the little girl.

Each rhyme n blush was praised
She thought that she was superior to the rest.
Smirking, grinning people she could not see
Till she found herself with her self esteem lost.

Now, there was a young lady.
Spring in the morning, noon n day.
She was baited with a diamond.
Who would not be blinded?

World is full of preys.
Now he found a woman who believed in faith.
Her guilts, regrets and doubts were soothed,
Till he won and she had lost.

God's role is difficult to play.
He can't do anything, but to stare at
the pearl to be given to a little girl,
And her distress or his cheer.

The Evening Walk

I discovered the pleasure of walking only after I came to the beautiful campus of IITK. Before that I did go for trekking, cycling and played badminton and volleyball but never walked. May be there ia a certain age required to enjoy walking for the sake of walking. Walking lured me during the long, busy days with two little school going kids, when I longed for some quality time with myself. So,when hubby used to come back from the office to be with kids, I used to be out for my evening walks. This piece appeared in EYES, our campus magazine in 2003, before Blogging and Facebook had happened.

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

Nothing’s like a brisk walk after a long day, that too on the newly tarred roads of the campus. As I move on many faces pass me by. Mostly I am with my inner self but do overhear sometimes;

"Aye tum school jaate ho? Kya hota hai wahaan?" Says a boy , pushing vegetable cart,to another.

Further near academic area, a cyclist to another, "Matrix dekh li?"

And then a rickshawalla to me "Bitiya gate jana hai?

Antragni is going on, so SAC is crowded with Junta full of verve and gusto. No soft drink ads amongst the chocolate and coffee banners. Thanks to the person behind this, sighed the mom in me!

Park-67 is a treat to the eyes but some trees are missing, what do you say? Strong Winds in the month of august already left the campus minus many green trees, but that was nature's fury. Every tree's death diminishes me. Indeed!

No matter how isolated the lane is where my 40 minutes walk takes me to, I'm never too far from an SIS guard. He suddenly appears in the scene like a gin, to my relief, as there is always a fear of a stray dog, monkeys and even a snake.

So..another day..another route

appeared in EYES, 2003

A part of Me

Sketch by "Puuung"-A korean artist

Blame it on my age

Or greying hair,

Dear Puuung,

Our thoughts are nowhere near.

Love, may be hugging her from behind in the kitchen,

But she found it on the dining table

back from work, when food was already cooked.

Love is covering your partner up with a blanket, agree.

But he felt it when she left his cozy bed to go to another room to read ,

so that he could sleep with lights off.

Falling asleep together is a bliss they know,

But she loved him most when he chose to 

get up and check the door.

Watching TV together is great,

When she let's him watch his fav sitcom

and misses her Wimbledon match.

There are many incidences 

which win her heart,

like when he warns her, still she makes mistakes.

And lets her come back in his arms.

Love shows you strange things,

The highest form of love for him is

when he feels the same warmth of his mother's lap

In his partner's embrace.

When back, knee and migraine do not let you sleep.

Depressing diseases come into the scene 

And your partner sleeps only 

After you are asleep.

Please don't get offended

When I mention,

He lets her burp

and she lets him fart!

The four letters look to me so naïve

When I see grandma quietly crying.

Hugging grandpa's suit and tie,

'Where the part of me  went flying? '

Loved your sketches of

emotions and hugs.

And wish you all about love

what I have learnt.

Mastani's Leela !

I entered the multiplex after a long time. My last was Lunchbox. Thanks to the kind persuasion by a lovely cousin.
No matter how much Bhansali and Deepika tried, but Mastani couldn’t earn my sympathy. It’s not the insecure wife (Kashi) in me is saying this, but the modern day lovers (Ila/Mr Fernandes of Lunchbox) .

Mastani for me is selfish, infatuated teenager/young girl who only added troubles to the protagonist’s life, disturbed a happy family and ultimately became the reason of his death. Poor guy didn’t even know that she is also transported with the other gifts to him.

I belong to the old school of Hindi movies. I’m sure the team of Bimal Roy, Nutun and Ashok Kumar would have convinced me even without the gigantic sets n computerized effects. Oh! why did I think of ‘Bandini’ now? Not a fair comparison. For me if I have to define love that would be Kalyani's in Bandini’.

'Five Point Someone' boy Revisited

Blogging was in its infancy when I started my blog in 2004. A busy working mom of two school going kids, I had my moments of frustration and monotony. I use to get tremendous solace in the arms of my blog. Likeminded bloggers automatically formed their groups and and lots of good vibes flowed through comments. E-books were exchanged, queries were answered, some fellow bloggers got married and some became parents. Joy as well as pain buried in the hearts were shared. Virtual joys reflected in real life too. Instead of responding to crafty co-workers' tactics, I preferred to think about the lovely response by a celebrity blogger on my post. Oblivion of a few negative elements around me, I waited for the lovely posts by my fellow bloggers. 

I also visited a certain Indian investment banker's blog who was based in Hong kong. He posted the pics of his adorable twins and mentioned his book. Bloggers knew about his book before the real world. I think he was the first person to get benefitted  by this medium. He commanded the same respect  as any IIT plus IITM grad does in India. I never commented in his blog and he might have never visited mine, but as  he was from blogging fraternity and I had an IIT connection so, I bought the book  and liked it. I was happy for him when FPS did well. It had all the salable ingredients in it.The book was more of a business acumen rather than a creative wonder. Everyone liked him. Neither was he a threat to anyone nor he was mortifying anybody's pride. But, the gigantic success of his book, rather books changed everything. 

 After more than four  bestsellers and two movies based on them, Bhagat became the hero of masses. A lot of developments have happened since then. Now he writes columns for a couple of publications. Bhagat and his books are always mocked by elites. Macaulay's  Downwards Filtration Theory didn't work here which says any trend comes down to general people from higher class people. Jealousy seems natural as what he earned in less than a decade others cannot hope to do in a long time.

In all these years I have read more about Bhagat than written by him. I review caught my eye because it was written by Pritish Nandi in a magazine. The review was a good piece of writing. Not that I claim to be a critic myself, but it had a good flow. I began reading it and stopped only in the end. It had economics of the book, which he could only admire. It had humour, sarcasm and humiliating stuff too in abundance .Years of experience and toil results in such prose, which we readers love. Nandi had wasted it for such a petty cause, sigh! Recently I was pained to see a post by one of my fav writers telling us how Bhagat is a moron and what all he doesn't know and what all he could do with his qualifications. I reached his page to read one more beautiful travelogue or column and not all this.

Bhagat has written books which gave immense pleasure to a large number of people. He made them read who never read an English novel before. So give him his due. The latest is that Bhagat is trending on Twitter and FB for a wrong reason. Why give him so much importance. Many, many others celebrities post foolish things. They are forgiven after getting chided for a day or two. But this time his crime is grave. He tried to become the biggest bhagat of our PM who has divided our country into two parts in terms of lovers and haters.   

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.