The Rotis which couldn’t be uploaded:

Train runs over 15 migrant laborers in Aurangabad!

The news started appearing early morning on 8^th May 2020. Nothing unusual about this in a country of 130 Cr, with thousands of unguarded level crossings, the train runs over trucks, buses, tractors loaded with people with frustrating regularity.

Finding people crawling under the level crossing barrier with the train barely meters away is a routine human behavior we have seen for ages and have accepted. Sixty onlookers of burning of a Ravan effigy event got trampled as they chose the track as their vantage point on this occasion.

I personally never had any sympathy for the people who fall victims in such situations.

That is India! Where the behavior of people would surprise any man with a minimum IQ. The land where each street provides a thousand opportunities for a photojournalist. The magnitude of the problems in this country is too big and the problems in your own life are not few. You are taught to be philosophical. You are conditioned to hearing such news and to flip back to your own life a few minutes later.

COVID has forced us into our homes – the only shelter to escape the invading virus and the overzealous state which is out to protect us. It has taught to only think of us, our family, our money, our business. It also has taught us to stay positive and to distract our minds from thinking too much about the impending danger and the complete uncertainty. We watched reruns of the old TV serials, learned to cook and clean, learned new skills, connected with associates across time zones over zoom calls. We broke generation gaps, gender, and technological stereotypes. We have rediscovered ourselves.

We are alive fighting our battles in our world.

The details of the accidents start trickling in through the day. A group of 20 migrant labor mostly in the age group of 20 to 35 working in a steel factory in Jalna near Aurangabad, were rendered jobless because of the sudden lockdown, they chose to return to their homes somewhere in Madhya Pradesh. With no public transport in place and with no permit to cross borders, they chose to walk on the railway track which would lead them home and let them evade police and the check posts. They walk overnight, fatigued, sleep on the track thinking that to be safe. A goods train runs over them, killing 16. Some three escape as they were bit farther from the track.

They died fighting their battle in their world.

The picture of the bloodstains, strewn Rotis, used clothes, worn-out sandals on the track gave us a peek into their lives, their hopes, and their aspirations and how small they all were. How small! Both of us are fighting. But how different are our battles! How different are our battlefields! How different are our issues and challenges! How different are our hopes and aspirations! How different are our worlds!

But it was supposed to be one world.

Next time when we bake a cake and the network breaks preventing us from uploading it to Instagram; let us remember that our cake was their roti which never got uploaded.

IrrFAN

Just a day before 29^th April 2020, if anyone had asked me who my top 10 favorite male actors are, he would not have found a mention - maybe his name would not even have crossed my mind. I was not his fan. And If I am writing this piece after a week of his death with a deep sense of loss still in my heart; he was just not another accomplished actor for me.

What was he then? What was he to all of us?

On that day, I was depressed, edgy and knew something was not quite right.

In the evening I was strolling with a friend and randomly stopped by at a food charity to donate some money to lend a helping hand, I felt a distinct lump in my throat.

Unusual. I was perplexed by my own reaction. A friend calls at night to tell how she has been handling the news of Irrfan Khan’s death since morning and how she could not hold it any longer and broke down in her bathroom. That lump in my throat was coming back. Another friend I spoke to the next day, couldn’t speak in as many words, but the fact that he was deeply disturbed was apparent. Now it was clear, it was Irrfan who was causing all these. I thought this news in the gloomy times of COVID is perhaps accentuating our reactions. Had never cried over the death of an actor – he was my age almost.

Posts in the social media were overflowing. But something was different, the posts were not in the usual line how obituaries are written. The reaction of the people who didn’t know him personally but through the roles, obituaries by the people he worked with, those who mentored him, those who gave him his first chance, those who he gave their first chances were all over the place. Those were not the words of adulation reserved for a highly talented, successful or accomplished persons, but the words we naturally use on losing our best friend, our pet – the one we knew too closely, the one with whom we shared a deep bond, the one we trusted, the one we could go to share our deepest fears, and talk about our failures.

How can the reaction towards the person he was and the persona he became on the screen be the same?

We all know how diametrically different both can be. Writers and artists are infamous for breaking our fantasy with their real selves. In the case of Irrfan, if only a thousand would be knowing him personally, millions knew him through his screen persona.

Sahabzade Irfan Ali Khan, was popularly known by his film name Irrfan Khan. Many liked him on the screen but did not carry him back to their homes nor pasted his poster on their walls. The connect ended there. He was chilled but not conventionally cool. Who would give attention to a person who has the unkempt look of a common man, deep bulging eyes of a drunk man, no heroic swagger, no style of his own, no great voice or didn’t deliver his dialogues in the best theatrical way? He was not perfect. He did not fight for what he thought was right or was his right – he let go of things which wanted to go their way. He was honest in expressing his wishes but moved on when denied. He did not break down on losing but accepted failure with a smile - the smile of a resilient determined warrior.

Now perhaps I know why so many of us feel we knew him. We in him were seeing ourselves living our lives, losing things, picking up the remnants and moving on to rebuild our ravaged cottages and still smiling and waving at a friend as if nothing has happened. Our heroics lie in our ability to stand up again and again after falling and after being betrayed by the world around us.

He was our hero, he was us!

Raindrop

26th Sept 2015

Tap! Tap! Tap! 

The raindrop taps my windscreen waking me up from my hazy thoughts.

“Remember me Blade Runner?” She says, reminding me of the time I had met her along with the cloud a few seasons back.

“How is the cloud?” she asks. 

“I don’t know well enough” surprised, I tell. 

Saddened but determined she withdraws but clings on to my windscreen but looking the other way.

Minutes pass, “I am sad and bitter,” I say; “I am sad too but not bitter” she replied. 

I describe my life in the last few seasons, how I have not been able to walk and run because I have lost my crutches. How my crutches have become old and frail. She expressed her surprise and told how much she enjoyed seeing me run around the meadows as if there was no tomorrow.

She tells her story. How she had her dreams of floating over mountains and seas and the dream of seeing new countries and pastures…enjoying the weightlessness. How the cloud was suddenly struck by a lightning and had to rain. And she had to drop from the height hurtling towards the ground.

And we both laughed. Laughed at our situations.

“Are you still sad?”, “Can’t we both be happy?” I asked.

“I am happy because I fell on your window screen and made you happy,” she said smiling and slipping down the glass towards the ground leaving a streak of grey and wetness. 

Chalo milke dafna detehain.

Chalo milke dafna detehain.

Let it be buried,

unknown, unsung like an unwanted child,

in the darkness of the night, 

before we change our mind.

With no entries made in the registry, 

and the keeper looking away,
we will be lucky if no one comes our way.

With the breaking of the rays, 

we can wear our smile without fear,

refuse to recognize that unmarked mound,

 which the keeper would have cared.

It would then just be a number, 

a date not to remember,

we would go about living our lives of exemplary perfection,

with the sound of tiny footsteps following us forever.

Sridevi wont die

Sunday, 25th February 2018, 5.30 AM, as I lazily checked my phone; a mention of Sridevi passing away flashes by. I, in my sleepy wakefulness, didn’t register much. A few days earlier Sylvester Stallone was given this treatment and I thought this to be of the same type. I checked site after site and by then it was all over the media and the news of her death was shirking from the headlines.

That, Sridevi the superstar of yesteryears passed away at the age of 54 of a massive heart attack while she was at Dubai to attend a function! The reality of it all sinks in. With all the medical advancement happening around us, any news of a physically fit person passing away at 54 takes time to accept. Being almost of the same age group, you are made conscious of your own vulnerability. Sadness, disbelief, nervousness because of our own vulnerability envelops you.

Laden with conflicting emotions in your heart, you are transported to the year 1982.

The first year in my college, the first few tastes of independence, a period of life when you are tempted to do things which were denied to you, the thrill of breaking the law was not only fashionable but the only way to grow up. Escaping for a movie was the best we could afford to do in those days. Heard from friends that a new girl has arrived and her movie Himmatwalla is about to release this Friday. Some had started collecting money for booking the tickets for the first day first show in bulk. Those days it took only 5 rupees to witness and immerse ourselves in the world of fantasy. The excitement was palpable on that day. Bunking of the class was smoothly executed and we found ourselves safely seated. We were left in the darkness of the hall to deal with our respective dark and lurid fantasies.

The moment of truth arrived and she happened. In the movie, she was introduced in a rather comical situation. Wearing a pair of hot pants and tightly fitting tee she was shown doing a hopping exercise. With each hop her assets would bounce and it kept on happening for good 3/4 reps and matching that were our hungry hearts leaping out of its cage 100 times faster. The scene changed and you could listen to every person in the hall blowing out a cold sigh. The Thunder thighs from the South had just landed with a bang on our filmy subconscious.

It was not limited just to that show in that hall, it happened everywhere. So powerful was the collective sigh all across the country that it heralded a new genre of movies heavily influenced, financed, produced and acted on the southern sensibilities and taste. Riding that tide many actresses made their way to the Bollywood. Himmatwalla was followed by movies like Tohfa, Justice Chaudhury and many such outrageous movies with equally outrageous actors, sets, costume, dialogue, lyrics, storyline, plot, situation, and comedy. Southern kitsch was mainstreamed. So powerful was the tide that major actors were seen wearing Rajkumar style wigs with heavy sideburns and mustaches. It continued for 6 more years till Amir Khan and Juhi Chawla happened with the movie Quayamat Se Quayamat Tak in 1986 - Bollywood was back being watchable.

I never liked Sridevi - the heartthrob of our times, as an actress or as an inspiring personality but can’t deny her impact on our evolving, bumbling sexuality at that stage of our lives especially at a time when assessing a female anatomy was even elusive visually, forget physically. She with her bouncing bosoms and thunder thighs triggered a passionate curiosity of national scale amongst the boys of my age at that time. Later she graduated into more meaningful cinema like Sadma and to me, her best was her role in the movie Gauri Shinde’s movie English Vinglish where she plays the role of a homemaker who sets out to discover the world. She last appeared in a home production called Mom. There were many movies with her on the floor. Don't know what will happen to those movies.

Now, at the age when our coming to terms with dysfunctionality is a necessity, the memories of our youthful awakening are still fresh. You won’t die Sridevi as long as the memories of our growing up don’t! Your name in the annals of cinematic history is permanent.

A 36 years long career comes to an end...

Today, 30th November 2017 is the last working day of Tukubhai. The last day of his career as a bureaucrat and the beginning of his new phase of life. It's a somber day and a day to rejoice too.

The memory of he marrying into our family in 1985 is still so fresh. So many years has just flashed by before we realized. Reminiscing our various trip to remote districts of Karnataka, the birth of Niki and Tiku, their growing up with us, we experiencing our semi-parenthood, our learning of the ways of the Government, bureaucracy, it's oddities and it's benevolence.....It is all flashing by now like a time-lapse video today. It all happened so fast. Niki and Tiku have grown up and are on their own, and Tuku Bhai's role as a bureaucrat is on its last day but Leena continues to grow more beautiful and refuses to age.

Somethings don't change and Tukubhai didn't change.

He didn't forget his humble and difficult growing up. Instead of he, forgetting it as a bad dream and as a past to be buried, he lived it. Never ever he detached his present from identifying with his past. His past was his very own and he lived with it with the full view of the world. A life of simplicity, natural detachment from power and from the struggle for material gains; he continues to be a benchmark and a moral beacon for all of us. He exemplified how one's present power and position need not affect one's core self and your own set of moral and ethical values.

Tukubhai and Leena, you have made Baba and Maa and everyone of us proud. Sending you Godspeed from all of us.

A letter from a dead father to his about to be married son

Dear Son,

I am writing to you from heaven as I am not there in person to speak to you. I know you are going to be married to the girl you have chosen for yourself in a few more days and you are here in town to make the arrangements for it. The tasks are daunting even if your friends and cousins are helping you with them.

I think now I must tell you certain truths involving marriage.

You are not the first one to get married in our family. Your father did and his father did it also. In fact, you are here because they did it.

Marriage is not what you think it’s now. It is not a series of travel to destinations and eating out in fine dining restaurants and taking selfies and posting them on Facebook. It’s a bouquet of hard work involving adjustments, tolerating, suffering, and finally accepting your situations privately. Some people fail to adjust and accept and then separate, causing pain to the families involved. Approach this phase of life with a lot of maturity and caution, not happiness. The journey is tough. You better manage it somehow or it can destroy you.

Marriage function as a social event is a way of declaring to society that two people have their families' consent to be husband and wife and can raise a family. We inform our relatives and families and invite them to come and witness the event. We, in turn, treat them with food and give them gifts for their appearance. All to ensure that they don’t turn back and say that it's illegitimate. In fact, the best way to go about it is a civil marriage which is more binding and legal. But it lacks the fun and gaiety of the brand of marriage which you are planning for yourself.

Coming to the event part, you and your about-to-be bride have meticulously planned the series of events and partly financed the arrangements. Her parents and your mother had to agree to your plans because on such matters parents don’t have much say these days.

I know it's wrong to disappoint you now, but it may be a major milestone in your life and you are wide-eyed about it in anticipation but the people around you have seen it all and don't care much. Don’t expect them to be overly happy when you show them your marriage album and videos. You might be feeling like a prince in that Manyavar Achkan, but they would be thinking you are in a fancy dress competition. Don’t think that all the people and cars behind your procession are a part of your Barat, many could be helplessly stuck in the jam and gnashing their teeth and cursing you. The strobe lights and the deafening noise from the boom boxes may be helping your drunk cousins and friends to get wilder and dance away but it’s causing pain to the people living on the side of the road when they are about to sleep.

Son, these few days will pass quickly and realities will bite you soon. Better get grounded from now and take it easy and not waste so much of money and effort on a thing that has been happening for generations.

Good luck and my blessings.