THE BUDDHA SOLILOQUIES by Meiyang Chang

PRASHANT: MERO BHAI

2026-01-17T10:45:00.000+05:30

As I return from Darjeeling after seeing you one last time in your city of birth, I am going through our chats, voice notes, pictures & memories and traveling back in time to 2007. I remember the shy, lanky boy from Kolkata police who executed a perfect knee slide on his selection on Indian Idol. We both auditioned from the same city but eventually met for the first time on the train to Mumbai. It was easy to miss a guy like you in a loud, excited bunch - a silent, brooding fish-out-of-water with a piercing gaze that made me wonder what was going on in your mind. We didn't immediately become friends but eventually gravitated towards each other. Perhaps because we were of the same age (24 and oldest in the group), or because we were both untrained but passionate about singing. Or perhaps we struck up a kinship because we saw a fellow "apna" in another "other.".

It is to the credit of your beautiful nature that even though we were competitors, I unreservedly wanted you to win. You & I lived in the same Mumbai house in our early working days. Even when you were on tour, you would always ask after me, encourage me, listen to my rants, insist that I take your car and not public transport so that I might be treated better at meetings & auditions. I would tease you that you'd won a car you didn't know how to drive and supported a football club that never wins. You would good-naturedly retort with the taunt that none of that mattered because you had already beaten me in the competition & I should be privileged to be your driver. We could say anything to each other without judgement or ego, and revelled in each other's success over two decades. You taught me my first Nepali songs, helped me with auditions that required Nepali dialogues. We often traveled together to the mountains and you always took care of me and protected me. You would follow my acting work & tell me you were proud of me... then add "seriously" as an after-note in your typical deadpan manner, as if I wouldn't believe you. You gave me more respect than I deserved and are probably one of the handful of people in my life who I have never been angry at, except now when you've left us so soon.

You presented yourself with grace & honour even when pressures or controversies during & after the competition erupted. To carry the expectations of millions must have been an unimaginable burden, and even though it weighed on you at times, you always carried yourself with dignity & determination. You did not just make it out of millions of hopefuls, you inspired millions to reach for the sky. Money & fame did not get to your head, and your family & friends always came first. You forgave even the vilest of people because you hoped to see the goodness in them that was inherent in you. You stood for representation & unity and were bringing people together from even before fame became your ally. You had no filter on your love for people, neither did you show any arrogance for those who took you for granted. I witnessed firsthand how your love story with Martha blossomed, and how you forged a beautiful family with her. The last few years have been a series of missed catch-up opportunities but never a missed connection. We were constantly in touch through audio & video calls, knew what was going on in each other's lives. I'd joke that you better utilise this time raising your daughter like a good father and that we will meet more regularly when she grows up. And by God, you were a most doting father. I was over the moon when you were selected for Paatal Lok where you just killed it, and it is unfathomable that I will now see you for one last time on screen in the upcoming Battle of Galwan.

My lasting memory of you is your absolute humility in the face of hardships as well as success. Having to work from an early age when your father passed away, putting in interminably long hours on police duty, from making 400 rupees singing all night with the police orchestra to earning millions, and more importantly, the love of a global audience. I don't know how many people know this (especially the newer audiences who know you only as the cold-blooded sniper from Paatal Lok), but behind that tough exterior was one of the goofiest & nicest persons I ever met. I know eulogies tend to be hagiographic, but for those who knew you know that you were a genuinely good man; a rare quality in today's world. You had the ability to laugh at yourself but never punched down at anyone. Your poker faced humour always had me in splits, and the memory of your loving nature & quick wit is something that's making me smile even as I write this through tears. You were also deeply emotional, and it wouldn't be an overstatement to say that you were the glue that held our group together, even as some of us inevitably drifted apart. You orchestrated the final get-together in November last year that I could not make it to. We last spoke on your birthday on the 4th of January that I would make up for it by meeting you this month, even though I suspected you might bail. You did not, I'll give you that. You finally managed to get us back to Darjeeling to see you. Only, I never imagined it would be under such circumstances.

My hope & prayer for Ariah is that despite this untimely tragedy, she will grow up to be like her father who despite everything had no bitterness and lived life for those he cared for. To Martha, who has always been such a positive influence on your life: it's easy to ask her to be strong when she's lost the love of her life, but for the sake of the memories & bond you shared, I hope she can be and will live life to the fullest for the three of you.

Prashant mero bhai...you are the finest example of how one can stay grounded and yet conquer the skies. You taught me the lesson of brotherhood that I hope to live & propagate. You will remain in my heart through this life and the next. I am going to miss you & your dorky laughter.

Rest in everlasting love.

SMALL TOWN MAGIC

2022-08-26T17:36:00.008+05:30

A little bird perched in my Dhanbad home balcony

What is it that gives well-told stories set in small town India such a wide appeal? Being from the hinterland myself, I believe it is their wonderful concoction of relatability, simplicity & nostalgia; a balm I did not know I needed in the expanse of the fast-moving, faster-talking city of Mumbai until I binged shows like Panchayat, Tabbar and especially Maharani (the latter is set in my home state, with its Bihariness an integral part of its story). Given that most of us are a migratory flock whose flight of fancy brought us from small towns to a bustling metropolis, these stories strike a chord. In an absolute contrast, they take us back to a slower, simpler life with restrained yet lofty ambitions, and the helpful yet meddling nature of a place where everyone knows everybody & their lives are intertwined whether they like it or not. Private moments are sparse & gossip often reigns supreme. Add to this, the unsolicited but usually well-intentioned advice cuddles you from all corners, while matters being blown out of proportion are a common shenanigan. The lingo and the 'दुत्कार में भी प्यार' feel familiar & comforting, like a warm blanket on cold winter evenings. The characters remind you of someone familiar, their lives akin to one you have also lived. Everything takes more time, but everyone also gives more time to you. The stakes may not be as high as, say, a continent hopping espionage thriller. But as these stories often portray, these 'low stakes' are what make them shine. They teach us that most of life's problems are simple ones. And that if we face them with an open mind, their solutions are usually just as simple.

Watching these stories unfold unlocked a past I often recall fondly, knowing very well that it is not a world I can return to anymore. I was in Dhanbad for 3 months last year (the longest I’ve stayed there in the last 2 decades, what with a punishing college schedule & then moving to Mumbai to start a new career altogether). Everything seemed slower, but with time I was able to appreciate it better. I miss it all, but there is a reason why we leave home for greener pastures. Therein lies the sacrifice between big city aspirations and small town nostalgia; the latter captured in its many hues in our stories. In a way, they ARE our stories. I hope to be a part of such stories, if only to live the small town again vicariously through them. Till then, it's back to on-screen reminiscing.

Until the next post, Adieu.

THE SEEDS OF ACTING

2022-05-20T12:41:00.002+05:30

Watching Quentin Tarantino's The Hateful Eight in a really, really cold cinema hall in 2016 (atmospherics anyone, considering the movie is set in the mother of all blizzards?) eerily reminded me of the staging of an Agatha Christie thriller in my beloved alma mater Wynberg Allen School, Mussoorie. Set within a solitary home on a stormy, snowed-in night, with multiple characters under the shadow of suspicion of murder or abetment to murder, The Mousetrap pulsates with the familiar anticipation & pall of mystery of The Hateful Eight (in a snowed-in guesthouse, no less). I loved this eighth offering from Tarantino replete with his trademark black humor, circuitous chatter, witticisms, music, gore & choice of actors (even though portions were censored & words bleeped. Damn you, Pahlaj Nihalani). But I digress. What I want to relate is the memories the film evoked and the subsequent planting of the seeds of acting in my psyche.

I had never planned to get into dramatics, and was surprised to be asked to audition for The Mousetrap. In my previous school (Col. Brown Cambridge School, Dehradun), I was always part of the choir that took the narrative forward in song but was never selected for an acting role. Whether it was for lack of trying, or my drama teacher (also my music teacher) Mr. Joshi not wanting to distract me from music or the mental block of having attempted (and failed miserably at) a comedy skit when I was little, I didn't think I had it in me. But audition I did for this particular play, was too shy to have made an impression (I'd just joined a co-ed school after 8 years in a boys' school) and was relegated instead to the boring but crucial job of the prompter; the one who prompts the actors in case they forget their lines. A vital first lesson was soon learnt that everyone connected with a play is an important cog and theatre is a wonderful learning experience in team work, self-exploration & observation. Over the months, I saw the play come to life before my eyes. I observed the rehearsals, witnessed the actors' spectacular victories, embarrassing failures, raging frustrations & ecstatic jubilations. I saw some of them fall in love and witnessed everyone come together as a team under the enthusiastic tutelage of our director & English teacher, Ma'am Mcleod. I shyly pined for the attention of one the actors, one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen in my life (more on her here: http://buddhasoliloques.blogspot.in/2012/09/the-girl-in-white.html). I saw the first ever set-production, with panels for walls, plastic panes for windows and cotton wool for snow. The only real elements on stage were the furniture, the actors and the rousing drama. The play itself was enchanting, with sinister mountain winds howling through the crevices on a dark night only adding to the authenticity. I daresay that in spite of knowing the big reveal, I still felt a chill up my spine when it came: as if I were actually trapped in a guesthouse on a stormy night, and the terrible, dark secrets that had tumbled out of the closet were my own.

Next year I was asked to audition for the role of the Inspector in J.B. Priestly's An Inspector Calls; a spiritual cousin to The Mousetrap. I was ultimately cast as Gerald Croft instead, the prospective son-in-law for the Birling family. The "lovers" from the previous play were cast again too, this time (ironically) as father & daughter (they weren't lovers in real life anymore. Ah, the short-lived mortality of school romance). When the play was finally ready to be staged, there was but one blight in my opinion: the excessive make-up we were forced to adorn! We staged the play for our own school as well for a neighbouring girls' school, and the excessive rouge on my cheeks earned me the moniker "pretty cheeks", getting me a lot of female attention. Suddenly, I wasn't complaining anymore! However, a vivid memory of the performance goes thus. At the end of an emotionally charged scene, I was pleased as punch for having pulled it off. A deathly hush followed. Good! I've stirred them into awed silence, I thought. While I simmered on the inside, a gentle but insistent whisper from the wings jolted me back me to the horrified realisation that I had forgotten my lines! I quickly collected myself, thanked the prompter (a-ha!) in prayer and pretended to use the unintended silence as a dramatic pause. Ah, the good ol' learning days! But like with all school plays that I'd been a part of, whether as a singer or an actor, the magic seemed to end all too soon. When the curtain would fall for the last time, it'd feel like a part of my soul had gone down with it. There would be a regret that it didn't last forever, and a sense of gratitude that it ever happened.

"This engagement won't work out anymore, Giles."

The entire cast of An Inspector Calls. Yup, that kid is me!

Years later, after the success of Indian Idol 3, I was offered two TV fiction shows. I'm glad I couldn't do them because I don't relate to Indian TV fiction at all, even though I needed the exposure & money back then. However, that wasn't the primary issue when the roles were up for grabs; I still didn't think I was good enough. It wouldn't be until I'd been approached for an aborted PNC film that I would give it an honest shot. I was on an upward rise. I'd finished recording an album & had just been signed to host Indian Idol 4 and the IPL, and the contrasting role of an introvert whose identity & existence lay solely in the virtual world appealed to me. In a particularly emotional & soul-searching scene, I realised I could indeed act. And then I said yes to Badmash Company (because which newcomer would've said no to Yash Raj Films at their peak?)! I agreed to do it without knowing anything about it; I hadn't read the script, didn't know who the director or co-stars were and was not even aware of the length of my role or how much I'd be paid. Not the most intelligent thing to do for a debutant but fortunately my foolhardiness did not lead to disaster. I had absolute trust & faith in my director Parmeet Sethi and wonderful co-stars in Shahid, Anushka & Vir, and it was after a long time that someone with oriental features had a starring role in a mainstream Hindi film. The rest, as they say, is history. Some very interesting roles have followed over the years, of which I have relished & evolved the most with films like Dibakar Banerjee's Detective Byomkesh Bakshy and now Vishal Bharadwaj's Mumbai Dragon: Modern Love Mumbai. I just can't thank my stars enough!

Oh, and that sinking feeling when a story that has your heart is coming to an end? On our last day of shoot, I asked Vishal Sir how he copes with it.

"It feels terrible. And that is why I make more films; to get rid of that feeling and be whole again."

On to the next one then :)

A THOUSAND THOUGHTS...

2020-06-15T21:26:00.008+05:30

And here we are, back to the blog! It's a no-brainer that I would have been compelled to write sooner or later, even if it were to be after quite some time (my last long post was in mid 2017!). Many ideas & thoughts had been running through my mind since the end of last year, which are snoozing safely in the drafts folder. Then COVID hit and we all got busy in surviving first. I finally started writing this particular post two months ago when someone I knew died of suicide owing to depression. And to my surprise, I just could not finish it. The incident had completely blindsided me. From the other side of the looking glass, where you are living a good life and have few worries, it doesn't add up. You fail to understand what happened and chalk it up to "someone going through a bad phase." But thanks to a lot of people who have opened up about it, we know better now, don't we?

I first experienced the aftermath of the suicide of a batchmate in 1997. I was 15, unable to grasp what had transpired. As I stood there next to his funeral pyre, an overwhelming sadness engulfed me and the eyes that had been staring vacantly into the flames were suddenly brimming, the unseeing vision blurred by tears. In 2001, a junior in the medical fraternity went the same way, unable to bear the ignominy of having stood second (and not first) in his batch. Two months ago, it was a friend's mother who had always been an absolute sweetheart. And now, with Sushant's passing, a conversation has started anew and I find myself struggling again through this post, trying to make some sense of all this. I guess it just hits you harder when someone you knew succumbed to it, and you can only hope that you made their time on this world a little easier.

I first met Sushant on the sets of Jhalak Dikkhla Jaa, where he was by far one of the best, most popular & constantly innovating dancers in the competition. But where he truly earned my respect was in the workshop & on the sets of Detective Byomkesh Bakshy, where with a fire in his eyes & a spring in his step, he transformed himself into the titular sleuth, full of brash confidence. He traversed the tricky path of transitioning from a background dancer to a widely loved TV actor to a talented film star who made some interesting choices from the very beginning. Being from the non-industry crop myself and aspiring for something similar, I was inspired by his ascent up the ladder of success. We only saw him rise, but didn't notice the descent of his mind. When most of the information comes from the media, gossip or the grapevine, sometimes distorted, veiled, deifying or maligning, you lose track of what someone might be going through in their personal lives. We don't genuinely ask "how are you doing?" often enough. In a society where success is currency, did we leave what really matters behind?

Byomkesh Bakshy & Kanai Dao. Image courtesy: Yash Raj Films

A Doctor once tried to explain depression to a friend of mine: 'It's like asking someone to run with a broken leg. You can't just wish for it to feel better'. What pushes someone over the edge? Who really knows? Everyone has a different journey. Some of us are extremely resilient; we learn to cope and move on. Some of us can't, and we must respect & understand that and come to their aid. Not as a reaction, but as a way of life. We must be kind to each other, and this is one advice I will give myself as well, no matter how empathetic I think myself to be. "Be kind" sounds like a generic marketing line, but it is actually quite simple: 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'. I may be unqualified to write about mental health but surely barbs, insults, judgement, rejection & abandonment cannot be positive influences. They can break the bravest of people, and we are not unbreakable. Don't say or do anything that you wouldn't want said or done to you or your loved ones. And the simplest of them all: if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything at all. Words have tremendous power. Use them responsibly, or hold your silence. We'll all be the better for it.

And if you're someone who's suffering from mental health issues, please talk to someone, anyone. Seek professional help if need be, society's judgement be damned. YOU are precious! Stay. The world is a better place with you in it.

***

By the time I'm putting finishing touches to this post, I've just attended a lockdown wedding and things may never be the same again! Sanitiser instead of gulaabjal, namaste instead of hugs, masks hiding our smiles, and a live streaming set-up for those who could not make it (which was pretty much everyone close to the newlyweds - I had to step-in for a particular ritual as the bride's brother couldn't be there either). There's a joke going around that this is probably the best time to get married so that you can have simpler ceremonies, save a lot of money & time and also have a very valid reason for not having unwanted relatives or acquaintances on your big day. I find it tough to argue with that logic! Sure, the customary razzmatazz of a big, fat Indian wedding was missing today, but what really mattered was there in abundance: a lot of laughter and a constant & adorable exchange of glances between bride & groom. I just could not help smiling under the mask at those moments. After all, if a mountain of sorrow is what it takes to make us sad, then one needs very little to be happy :)

"कि Life की simple सी philosophy ये जान लो।
हम यहाँ दो दिन के मेहमान हैं, ये मान लो।
Non-stop एक party है , जहाँ  सबको आना है।
और खाना खा के, दारु पी के, चले जाना है।" 
Amitabh Bhattacharya, Jagga Jasoos

The one good thing to have happened in this lockdown :)

QUESTIONABLE BEHAVIOUR

2017-07-19T17:43:00.002+05:30

I’ve hosted quite a few TV shows over the years, and one of my duties as a presenter (apart from dancing/singing/flirting/cringeworthy gags) is to ask questions about pretty much everything under the sun. From the awful “You just lost everything. How are you feeling” to the intelligent ones which dig deeper. When I hosted my first talent show, I’d be genuinely interested in the answers of the aspirants to know their interpretation of a similar experience, having been an ex-contestant myself. On the IPL, for all my gobsmacked wonder and love for the game of cricket & cricketers, I often couldn’t hear them over the din of the stadium. Additionally, the constant chatter of the studio executives on my in-ear monitors (those fancy contraptions that make us look like FBI agents) would drown out any reactionary statements, thoughts or quick repartee, hence leading to many a hosting faux-pas during the tenure. However, the Live telecasting nature of that assignment taught me many a valuable lesson, most notably on my last-but-one assignment, the Rising Star. The questions, some contrived but mostly organic & out of genuine curiosity, continue to be asked to this day at events, award functions & the like. I hear all but don’t necessarily listen to everything, selecting only the juiciest bits relevant to the job at hand.

Over time, I learned to work with the system while maintaining my freedom & power to leave a personal imprint on my professional undertakings. What helped was a clearer line of communication with all the parties involved & a calmer, more experienced & confident me. The Host/Presenter Chang that you see onscreen is 90% me and 10% an add-on act, a persona dictated by many factors & the need to spice things up. In real life I can’t be, won’t be and am not an over-dramatic person. In real life, I’d rather be me: no longer the sociophobe of my teenage years but still a relative introvert trying to make sense of the razzmatazz. I now believe myself to be friendlier, a good listener and conversations flow smoother than they did many moons ago. But in the profession, I remain a perennial inquisitor. And with the experience gathered in it comes the problem of real & reel blurring and merging into one, much to my amusement. This was most prominent in a recent chat with someone I know professionally but almost not at all personally. We met at a party, and while she shared her story of moving to India & working here, I saw myself becoming the reel me to hilarious ends. My stance, my body language, hand movements, eye-contact or lack thereof, my stock reactions to certain keywords. Fact & fiction were merging unconsciously and I feared I’d utter a cliched trope out of habit, much like the hilariously over-the-top crime news reporter with a fondness for the word “sansanikhej/सनसनीख़ेज़” (sensational) in Dibakar Banerjee’s brilliant Oye Lucky Lucky Oye. The chap uses the word so often that he laments:

"Abbe, ye sansanikhej main kitni baar bolunga? Ghar mein biwi poochti hai khana kaisa bana hai, muh se nikalta hai ‘sansanikhej’/अबे, ये सनसनीख़ेज़ मैं कितनी बार बोलूंगा? घर में बीवी पूछती है खाना कैसा बना है, मुँह से निकलता है 'सनसनीख़ेज़'.” (Dude, how many times must I say this word ‘sensational’? I’ve said it so many times now that when my wife asks me how the food is, I habitually blurt out ‘sensational’!” 

Let’s hope that is somewhere I’m not headed!

On a punny note, the next time an anchor asks “How are you feeling?”, you should just mess with them by saying, “With my nerve endings.”  That might just bring an end to this questionable behaviour, forever. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to ask you that if I see you ;)

Till the next blog, ciao.

COURSE CORRECTION

2016-10-31T20:48:00.000+05:30

Image courtesy: https://devomania.com/tag/course-correction/
I used to be an avid blogger. I say this in the past tense because with the many professional & personal distractions (the most addictive & notorious being Social media), the focus & patience required for writing longer posts seems to have dimmed. Six posts in January alone & then absolutely nothing till August! Ergo, writing in long hand has taken a backseat. But as people who know me closely will agree, I express myself best in writing. And while it can never lose its relevance, the written word sure is getting rarer by the day for me. So nowadays whenever I really feel like writing something, I put digital pen down to virtual paper as soon as I can before that feeling begins to ebb. So here we are, on the “same page” again.  Once begun, it must be seen through to the end. Or so I tell myself.

On the surface, I’m itching to tell you about two fantastically satisfying journeys of detail & discovery I’ve made to Italy & Himachal Pradesh this year. However, deep within, what really occupies the throne of my mind this very moment is the reality check that we need every now & then to hold up a mirror to ourselves, to get us back on the right track. This isn’t some philosophical mumbo-jumbo and I’m not the monk who sold his (non-existent) Ferrari. I’d rather keep that monster of a car if I had one, but I digress. Perhaps the toughest thing to do is to realise what you’re doing wrong when you’re doing it, accept it and course-correct yourself. That is the basis of our evolution, it is what separates the wheat from the chaff. Now, the definition of right or wrong is a subjective matter dictated by internal & external influences but there are certain universally standard precepts which are the embodiment of good. One doesn’t necessarily need to be a philanthropist to be a good person. Rather, that desire to change oneself and/or the world for the better, to live a life of purpose must surface organically and can in itself elevate one to a higher purpose. However, that desire is often lost in the blindfold of complacency, resignation or pure hubris.
Let me give you my very own example. I have strived to be a better person, friend, son and I'll be the first to admit that it hasn't always been enough.  Am I a better person with that realisation? Perhaps. I am more sensitive to the world around me than I was before. I sense the countless things we need to be thankful for. I always try to put myself in the shoes of others before forming an opinion but every time I think I’m a better person than my fellow man or woman, I surprise myself with the cruelty, indifference and judgmental attitude that I can be capable of. I complain about things but am rendered mute when I realise I’m equally responsible for what plagues me by either contributing to the malaise or by not preventing it in the first place, even if it is beyond my control.

I tell myself on such occasions that it’s never too late to learn, accept and change for the better. To not only help myself & my close ones but also my fellow men & women, absolute strangers if the occasion presents itself. To not be a sermonising goody-two-shoes, but rather a person who leads by example without having to prove anything. 

Thoughts equal actions, and actions will always speak louder than words. If we can be better people, then why shouldn’t we invest in it? I hope I’m listening, and so are you.

*****

In a similar vein...
"What do you really want to be? Famous for the good work that you do, or famous for the sake of being famous?" A friend once asked me, and it got me thinking.

Singer, actor, host. These are titles that I have today. But it wasn’t always so. I had an aptitude for some of these skills from the beginning (singing & illustrating, thanks to Dad). The others (hosting & acting) were embraced as opportunities presented themselves & were honed over time. But complacency set in and impeded the once rampaging, Juggernaut-like thirst for knowledge & self-improvement. Some long term interests like writing & illustrating were relegated to the background once the more public aspects of the job started taking precedence. Somewhere, the growth-rate slowed exponentially and the radiance of creativity diminished.

I am good, but I should have been better.
Am I overthinking all of this? Perhaps, because the yardstick is very relative. Set the bar high enough and you tend to undervalue your own efforts, mighty as they may be. Practice Makes Perfect, and if what I do is my passion, then that will have to be the inexhaustible fuel that occupies every nook & cranny of my mind, body & being and negates any obstacle & distraction that life can throw at me. There is much to learn & much to be, and that realisation is what keeps me hungry, antsy, insecure even, and on my feet.
So what do I want to be? Why, famous for the good work I do, of course. I’m greedy like that.

THE EARLIEST BIRTHDAY MEMORIES

2016-10-14T01:30:00.000+05:30

According to NASA , a person now born on the 6th of October (me) is no longer a Libran but a Virgo. Bollocks! As far as I’m concerned, I love to nap & that’s kind of a Libran trait, so pfffft to you, world’s top scientists! Never mind them, the nights leading up to the 6th last week were sleepless ones owing to one thing or another and my intentions for the birthday were simple; sleep in! That was before my friends “surprised” me with cake, and more importantly their company & love into the wee hours of the morning. But why such a boring lack of plan to bring in my birthday, you ask? Well, blame my life before Mumbai for that!

As long back as I can remember, my birthdays have always been spent far away from home & family. The only one that I do remember at home at an early age had me prancing around in a Superman bodysuit all day; that’s how far back my love for superheroes goes. (Of course, Batman is my favourite but no one should have to be a brooding loner on their birthday. That would come later). The subsequent birthdays would fall during curriculum year in boarding school (Dehradun, Mussoorie) and smack in the middle of final exams in college (Bangalore) where my friends’ enthusiastic query of how I was livin’ it up was always met with a killjoy “Dude, I have exams tomorrow.” And ever since I moved to Mumbai, I’ve almost always been working out of town on the day (including a one 3 years ago in Sydney, sharing cake with a certain King Khan & Dhak-Dhak girl). But let’s proceed chronologically, shall we? There is so much that we take for granted on a birthday today that it’s tough to imagine a time when the regular tropes weren’t so regular. Being in a residential school meant no cake, no blowing of candles, no gifts (except for handmade cards; remember those?) and initially, no friends either. My parents would make it for my big day in the beginning in an attempt to slowly ease me into life away from home But it was never going to be sustainable in those days of protracted train journeys & exorbitant airfare.  Thus my birthdays would be low-key affairs, characterised by lack of fanfare, enthusiasm & loved ones. The emptiness would make me miss home all the more & somehow, that emotion stayed with me over the years. Birthday became just another day.

And yet, those school birthdays stay steadfast at memory’s door. In spite of being minimalistic & celebrated with people I barely knew, there was always an air of excitement around them. The reason can be summarised in two words: Birthday Treat! It was an unsaid rule: if it was your birthday, you had to treat your batchmates. Our paltry pocket-money couldn’t buy much in school and depending on how you look at it, we were all equally rich or poor inside the premises, undivided by class or status. Nothing special happened on the big day. You’d still wake up at 5 AM, slog in the morning P.T. and attend regular classes & sports hour. There would be no brand new clothes; you’d wear the same uniform you’ve had had on you the entire term. You were an average Joe amongst 400 other Joes. You could still tell the birthday boy apart though, by his bag of candies which served as appetisers. The honor of the first pick would go to the teachers, the rest would be ravaged by batchmates & seniors. The most awaited main course would happen at Lala ki Dukaan: a dark, dank, tuck (slang for food) shop with an overpriced stock of virtually nothing. The Lala, that crafty but gentle businessman would carefully count & handover the soft drinks & pastries, not a one more or less, and in a few famished gulps & bites, we’d polish them off. Momos (dumplings) replaced pastries when I changed schools & our gastronomic lives changed for ever. A mini-riot would break out for them at every treat & it was survival of the rowdiest: eat ‘em or get out of the way. Being the mild-mannered one, I’d get few or none at all. I quickly realised that time & momos wait for no one and soon became an expert at snatch ’n’ grab. Hungry boys will eat anything, but momos had a special place in our hearts. Still does. However, when our late Principal decided that they weren’t healthy snacking & replaced them with a bland substitute, he broke our hearts. School birthday treats were never the same again.

Celebrations in college & working life got fancier with more money in hand and the freedom to choose the venue & menu. They got populated with more friends, some acquaintances, unhealthy food that our late Principal would have disapproved of, liquids of both the sweet & intoxicating kinds, accompanying music, bright lights and extended deadlines. And yet, none of these quite had the charm & little pleasures of a more innocent time, where less amounted to a lot! With every occasion becoming an event in itself, each subsequent celebration is expected to be bigger & better than the last. But can they, like more modest times, leave an ingenuous, indelible impression on the mind? I doubt it. In this self-inflicted race of expectations, I’d rather keep mine simple & snooze. Unless someone springs a good surprise on me. Now who wouldn’t love that?

Wake me up when this is all over.

Oh, and thank you for the birthday wishes :)

YE KYA HUA: HAPPY BIRTHDAY KISHORE DA!

2016-08-04T23:44:00.001+05:30

Because it's your birthday & no one can ever match your mad brilliance ❤❤❤ Happy Birthday Kishore da!

#YeKyaHua #KishoreKumar #Legend

ONE HELLUVA RIDE!

2016-01-31T11:00:00.000+05:30

This is a short post.

We're lost in the mountains amongst thick foliage all around, drifting in & out of a fatigue & cold induced snooze on a very bumpy mud road that should make sleep impossible altogether. There is not a soul in sight for miles around and although the near full moon illuminates everything, it slowly dawns on me that we're all afraid. Each one of us has a different reason to be scared: possible wild animals in this overtly dense forest, naxals, ghosts, getting trapped in the mud pits on the non-existent roads, falling off the edge of the cliff or not making it to our destination and spending the night out in the wilderness in bone chilling cold weather with no mobile network and a vehicle with a malfunctioning heater.

Sound ominous? Well, that's what this road (or rather off-road trip) turned out to be. I'm not always particular about comfortable, luxurious journeys. When you set out to see the world, not every sojourn will be a bed of roses and I have done quite a few long, gritty road journeys in the past. In spite of those experiences, nothing could've prepared me for this.

I and my team left Mumbai in a sleepy but upbeat mood early in the morning. Our eventual destination would be the quaint town of Seppa in Arunachal Pradesh where I was to be the headliner for the Kameng River Festival. The audiences in North East India are hugely appreciative & might I say, I have a huge fan following there. Plus, the region is mostly unexplored & beautiful and the people kind and well-meaning. To add to the excitement, Seppa is also known for its trekking, river rafting & paragliding. Needless to add, I'd been looking forward to this for months. However, the North East is not very well connected yet and one has to take multiple modes of transport to get there. We first landed in Guwahati to take a helicopter to Seppa. I was pleasantly surprised that we would be traveling with the (now former) Chief Minister of Arunachal Pradesh, Mr. Nabam Tuki, who I'd briefly met during a previous, immensely fulfilling concert at the Tawang Festival, Tawang. After he disembarked at Itanagar to flag off a marathon (and to the political imbroglio that followed), I stepped out for a quick lunch of pork momos when I was intimated that the chopper would not fly any further due to inclement weather. This put all the plans into the spanner. The only other way of getting to Seppa would be by road; an unspecified unknown for us. From my past experiences of traveling by road in the North East, I was expecting the worst. On previous occasions, I had been vacationing and wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere. This time I was, and the multiple miscommunications at various levels only made the confusion graver. We hurriedly took the road in the hope of getting to our destination in 6 hours. The audiences in Seppa had been intimated that I'd be delayed & that they should wait at least until 11:30 in the night. What followed was an 8 hour long nightmare, surpassed only by a 13 hour road journey from Gangtok to Yumthang Valley taken a decade ago.

Since our driver Nirba was driving at break-neck speed to get us to our destination, the vehicle bounced about violently on the mud roads, showing us the true meaning of break neck, and within 90 minutes we were feeling very sick indeed. Not even a bobble-head could have survived this kind of physical assault! The body had been thrown in all possible directions, I must have hit my head on different parts of the car many a times and we had no option but to stop. After an hour, some rest & serious deliberations about whether we should continue or not, I was on my way again, for the love of my fans. We passed through a "short-cut"; some of the densest forests & the narrowest mud roads I've come across. Although the thick, gorgeous forest was a thing to marvel at, the car swerved dangerously in some of the morasses & almost got stuck in one. There was also the perceived risk of running off the track or being encountered by wild animals or naxals. Surprisingly, I was mostly in good spirits & none of this really worried me. What did scare me was when we reached a large clearing for future roadways construction and Nirba lost his way. The construction work had closed off the road that led to Seppa and after this already 6 hour long journey, I was mortified at the prospect of returning down the path we'd taken so far. In drastic contrast to what our minds were going through, melodious songs were playing on the stereo system and would you believe it if I told you that these songs played in quick succession: Jag Soona Soona Laagey, Jadoo Hai Tera Hi Jadoo & Hum Jo Chalney Lagey Hain. You'd appreciate the irony, like I did, if you pay attention to certain lyrics in these songs. It seemed like God had set them up to accurately narrate our plight. Sample this:

"Ye kya hua, pehle na aisa hota tha. Main hoon kahaan, main jaanu na. Koi mujhe itna bata de, ghar ka mere mujhko pata de" (How did this happen? I have no clue where I am. Someone please guide me home) or "Aao kho jaayein hum, ho jaaye yun hum laapta. Aao meelon chale, jaana kahan na ho pataa." (Come, let's get lost. Let's go missing. Let's travel miles without any idea of where we're heading) Or "Roothi roothi saari raatein, fikre fikre saare din. Veerani si Veerani hai, Tanhai si tanhai hai" (the nights are angry & the days are worrisome. It's so bad that even the desolation is desolate & the loneliness is lonesome!) Although the songs themselves are mostly optimistic ballads save one, my frame of mind was having a field time interpreting them as prophecies of doom! Hahaha :)

Fortunately, there was some trace of humanity there in the form of some construction workers who were toiling late into the night and they set us off in the right direction; an alternate path that had been cut into the mountain. The extensive roadwork was nothing short of impressive, knowing how immensely difficult it is to carve a way through the mountains and hopefully, in the years to come, travel in the North East will be much smoother & less time-consuming. Nevertheless, cut to the present, some more forest, mud roads, morasses, bumps & hours later, we finally reached Seppa in the dead of night, long after the last of the audience had waited in vain, and left. Obviously, I was upset, not only at the futility & roughness of the journey but at the disappointment of not having performed for the fans. Apparently, the crowds had waited till 12:30 AM and the fact that we reached just an hour later only made the disappointment even more acute. I was literally sulking when we alighted at one of the organising committee's members house for the night and in moments, my anger melted away. They were so kind & apologetic and had suffered so much more than we had in pacifying the disgruntled crowds that it seemed inappropriate to be cross with them anymore. They stayed up late so that we'd be received & fed well and taken good care of. This is one of the hallmarks of most Northeast Indian families; they welcome you into their fold and make you feel like one of their own, and this comes naturally to them. When I left by helicopter the next morning, clicking a gazillion pictures with the locals, mingling with them and waving at the students gathered in the field for Republic Day parade practice to a rapturous response, I had only one thought on my mind. If only I could've taken the stage the night before as well...

For now, I have the love of the Arunachali people & these memorable snippets to take back home and a hope that I can come back to the next Kameng River Festival to finish what I started :)

The gorgeous Kameng river

The sleepy little hamlet of Seppa

This gentleman also performed hours before I was supposed to take the stage. Credited with reviving the traditional music of the Tangkhul Naga community of Manipur, it's a pity I missed Rewben Mashangwa's performance.

*****

An amusing thing happened on the way back home when the cabin crew of one of the connecting flights doubled up as literal wingmen for their Manipuri colleague and tried to set us up! I'm sure both of us were suitably embarrassed but full points to them for helping a fellow out. She's cute and we're bound to bump into each other sooner or later. Now, where could that lead to? ;)

PUNJAB KI BAAT HI KUCH AUR HAI :)

2016-01-25T20:06:00.000+05:30

Let me just start by saying that some places have the magic to leave the heart FULL of happiness & gratitude. Over the years, I've managed to travel a lot by extending work trips but it's only recently that I have actively started expanding my plans outside work as well. Even though I now have a better understanding of travel than before, there are no hard & fast rules for it. One must have fun! Having said that, there's been a jinx surrounding me & Punjab. I was to shoot at the Golden temple first in 2008 for Indian Idol, in 2011 for India's Got Talent and was supposed to visit with family in 2015. Somehow, none of them worked out. This particular trip almost didn't happen either, with work threatening to hamper the reunion with a school friend in Ludhiana and the long due visit to Amritsar. Now that I finally did make it, I can say with conviction that it was a gorgeous, gorgeous experience, both spiritually & gastronomically. Ride on with me...

My journey to Punjab started like our approach to most exams. Last minute plans were put into action & I first landed at Chandigarh, where my school buddy Kshitij & his wife Mansi picked me up. They make a really cute couple. Ever since I've known them, I've seen them as two grown-up people who haven't let the child in them wither away. And now many years in their marriage & a baby girl later, their bond has only become stronger. As soon as we exited the airport, we saw a group of people distributing biscuits & tea for free (we'd later come to know that these offerings were being made to all & sundry on the occasion of Guru Gobind Singh Jayanti). Thereon, we were off on lush, canal-lined roads all the way to Ludhiana while discussing travel & philosophy, and reminiscing about old times spent there after completing our 12th board exams over a decade ago. I got some sound relationship & marriage advice from them as well (which may come in handy as many friends feel that I have a terrible taste in partners, but that's a story for another time). It was nostalgic to be back in Ludhiana after so many years & to meet the entire family as well as the two new members: tiny tot Krisha & the grunting pug Oreo. We had a very late lunch of Baba ka butter chicken (best ever!), exquisite home-made paneer, rajma-chawal, roti & sewai for dessert. My friend & his mum even joked that I might find a good Punjabi girlfriend during my stay in Punjab. It felt like home, it always has. The only hitch was that this was a very, very short visit; literally just a few hours. I left from Ludhiana with a heavy but merry heart, seeing how much had changed, and how so much was still the same in this lovely family. Until we meet again buddy!

From Ludhiana, I took a train after many years and it felt both awkward as well as familiar. The gentle rocking of the train, loud banters & the aroma of food wafting across the compartment are memories that had faded away. I hadn't slept for over 2 days, and dozed off while reliving those memories. When I woke up, an extremely jovial TC ensured that I got to eat train ka khana; simple & hot fare which, in my opinion, is leagues ahead of the rubbery, gooey, often inedible stuff we get in aeroplanes. With a full belly & some warmth in my cheeks, I stepped out into Amritsar. A quick taxi ride manoeuvreing through extensive construction-debris later, I checked into Le Gold Hotel, named so because of it's insane proximity to the Golden Temple. I met Rachna, my friend & agent and made some new ones in her friends as well. We soon turned in for the night for the bliss that awaited us the next morning.

At 4:30 AM, we stepped into the temple to participate in the bringing in of the Guru Granth Sahib (holy book of the Sikhs) on a palanquin. I can tell you what I saw but can't really put the experience into words. I guess that is something one needs to imbibe for themselves when they visit this shrine. It would not be an exaggeration to say that as ethereal as the Golden Temple looked that morning and that it is a sight to behold as you enter those gates, I was distracted throughout (not hearing much of what my friends were saying, not seeing the gorgeous temple either) by the mellifluous, classically rooted & soul-searching singing of the Gurbani. For those who know the true power of music, this particular recitation was one of the most telling renditions I've ever heard. I had goosebumps and could not help going wah wah every now & then at the impeccable singing. The place was packed despite the biting cold & early hour, and a serene tranquility enveloped everyone. There was peace & calm in the body language & voices of people, as opposed to how loud & often aggressive places of worship can get. I guess the vibe of a place is also made by the people, and the Sikh are a strong & jovial but gentle & caring folk. When there was no space in the inner sanctorum, I sat outside it on comfortable carpets laid out for devotees. The crowd only swelled with time & I feared getting trampled upon by the crowd but I needn't have worried. Everyone was mindful & the world whizzed past me in a calm blur. The still, constant me with eyes shut tight in prayer didn't have to worry about anything. I've rarely felt such inner peace surreal enough for words & I do highly recommend a visit to this beautiful place.

Golden temple is one of only two places of worship that I would willingly go to and spend a lot of time at, the other being Bodh Gaya. In my piece on Varanasi, I'd mentioned why I have an affinity to religious places out of curiosity but not out of faith. Before you brand me an atheist, which I could be, let it be known that my faith in many of these religious institutions is zilch owing to their rampant commercialization and/or hypocrisy & corruption, where Godliness is not measured by your intent but by how heavy your wallet is. Bodh Gaya, and now Golden temple are the only places where these didn't matter. Seva (voluntary service) is all that's asked for at this gurudwara. There is no compromise on the food provided for free, almost everyone is a volunteer and there are always enough to get the job done. For a good hour, all of us volunteers combined collected at least 3000 rotis made via automatic machines, put ghee on them & placed them into big containers for distribution at the langar (the free community kitchen). Our feet were bare in the cold & my hands were sore with handling hot rotis but we had the goodwill of people we hadn't met, a content heart & delicious karha prasad (wheat halwa made in desi ghee) for our efforts. What else could one ask for? And who doesn't remember repeatedly going to the Gurudwara for that delicious, ghee laden prasad? This early morning visit is something that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.

Sikhism, Buddhism & many other religions teach you not to indulge in gluttony, but that's one thing that we could not adhere to, not when you're in Punjab! We further treated ourselves to some amazing grub at Kanha sweets. While the choley were undoubtedly amongst the best I've had and the pooris soft, hot & light, it was the sweet aloo sabzi that intrigued me the most with its tangy-sweet combination of flavours. This wonderful lunch was topped off, obviously, with the malai wali lassi and gud (jaggery) ka halwa. The jovial family next to us, who were on a homecoming trip challenged us not to fall asleep after this heavy meal and told us that Drinking & Driving has a different meaning in Punjab, with lassi inducing merry drowsiness in many :)

The best poori in town

Don't drink and drive just got a new meaning ;)

Early evening took us to the Attari-Wagah border for the ceremony between rangers from India & Pakistan. The scene at the border was both overwhelming & exciting. I'm not the jingoistic type, so I can only compare the atmosphere to that of a ginormous music concert; crowds going ballistic, every patriotic song ever composed playing over the public announcement system and hordes of locals & foreigners dancing to these tunes, chants of Bharat Mata Ki Jai, Vande Mataram, Hindustan Zindabad reverberating through the sky. And even though the Indian side was loud, on this particular day we were outnumbered by the Pakistani tourists on the other side. The only thing I could make out from that side was chants of Jiyo Jiyo Pakistan & some indistinct music. Being in the VIP section gave us the best view in the house & we were closest to the border gates. Conversely, we were far away from the rest of the maddening populace, and for once I kind of regret that because such surging sentiments are best experienced in a crowd. However, the cherry on the cake is the actual ceremony: the lowering of the flags or the Beating Retreat. The drill commences with the blowing of horns, characterised by what I could only describe as speed-marching on steroids (stomp, stomp, stomp!) set to the beats of drums, impossibly vertically delivered kung-fu kicks, elaborately choreographed manoeuvres that symbolise the rivalry as well as the brotherhood & coooperation between the two nations. There is so much attitude oozing out of their every move and the raub-e-tashan, demeanor & fitness of the BSF Jawaans is intense and sure to set your heart racing with adrenaline, pride & patriotism (and apparently this was a toned down version of what used to be pre-2010)! I just couldn't help wondering what a torture it must be on their knees to repeatedly stomp the ground in those boots though!

This bit, I missed. Image courtesy hastenteufel.name/blog

Image courtesy vodkatrain.com

Image courtesy indiatimes.in

The two flags are lowered simultaneously. Image courtesy indianoverseas.com

The Indian flag is brought back with full honors. Image courtesy hastenteuful.name/blog

Once the ceremony was over and the rangers retreated, there was an obvious rush to click photographs at the border & BSF 102 point. The BSF 102 point is a curious spot on the Indo-Pak border. Shorn of the massive gates that separate the two countries, here you can come face to face with your Pakistani counterparts. Of course, everyone is there only for a photo-op and the rangers & jawans ensure that. But take them away and all you'd be left with is a black chain (denoting the Pakistani border), a yellow chain ( the Indian border), the No-Man's land between the chains, bemused & reticent people on both sides and lush green fields on three sides, albeit cordoned off by electric fences. It was surreal as well as awkward, as folks from both countries just looked at each other without as much as a smile or a wave of the hand. Perhaps the mood was wary owing to the recent Pathankot attacks. This reverie was broken by a smiling Pakistani man who wanted to click a picture of one of my friends, which she obliged him with, and he returned the favour by posing for her as well. It was a cute moment, with not a word having been exchanged and the message conveyed only through a smile & sign-language across the border.

Thank you Papaji Jaspal Ji (extreme right) for making our visit a smooth & memorable one. And thank you photographer Raman for this perspective from No Man's Land

Insaan tum bhi ho, insaan hum bhi hain.

Pakistan Zindabad. Hindustan Zindabad. INSAANIYAT ZINDABAD. Mazhab nahi sikhata aapas mein bair rakhna

Every step for peace will always be met with many to thwart it. And yet, that step must be taken. For humanity, for the future.

On our return to the city, the ladies stopped to sample a variety of eatables. I bought achari mathri which I know my friends will love. In fact, traveling with these 4 women made me shop for things I otherwise wouldn't even have thought of: paapad, dry fruits, mathri (they even said so & were obviously better judges of the quality & price of the same than I). Unfortunately we had sampled so much that by the time we got to our dinner of mutton & fish at Makhan and chicken at Beera, we had surprisingly encountered "Food fatigue." A long night of conversations ranging from Bermuda Triangle to Astral travel to Yoga to Peru, Egypt, mental sanity ensued, notwithstanding the extreme fatigue that ran us down before we finally turned in for the night.

The next morning was reserved for some amazing Amritsari Kulcha at Balwant ke kulchay: Aloo, Gobhi, Paneer, Dal and a mix of all that's called the 4-Mix Kulcha. Before I made an early move back to Mumbai, I knew I had to make one more visit to the Golden Temple. A quick, peaceful visit later & with some more karha prasad, I headed to the congested Amritsar airport with a heart full of love. And as luck would have it, I finally did see the Punjabi kudi my friend & his mom had told me to keep a lookout for. Tall, beautiful, deep sexy voice, long lustrous black hair and so, so angry that I didn't have the courage to go say hi. Well, I guess you can't have everything ;)

PS: I have sourced some of the photographs of the ceremony at Wagah border off the internet. Thank you to the original contributors for these amazing pictures which speak a thousand words.

INDIAN, and proud!

GRANNY'S TEA-TIME STORIES: OF KITES & DENTISTRY & WHAT I LEARNT FROM TWO LITTLE GIRLS

2016-01-19T15:05:00.010+05:30

Isn't it amazing how some conversations lead to hypnotic revelations about times & people we're not too familiar with? Granny & I often have them around tea which I have christened "Granny's tea-time stories" (they happen around meals as well, but let's not get too technical here). Some of them are meant for personal consumption only, some make it here to the blog, others get committed to memory but not to paper owing to many distractions. Some grab me by the horns & I'm compelled to write about them as soon as possible. This post is about one such conversation & where the train of thought leads to from it. It becomes the third one in this series that I've posted on my blog. Funny it should start with something that occupies most of Granny's time & attention: television!

Even though I detest the tripe that Indian television regurgitates in the name of content, I inadvertently end up watching a lot of it, thanks (or no thanks) to Granny who's a big TV buff and usually gets a good laugh out of my misery. On the occasion of Makar Sankranti, the festival was being covered on all news channels. As images of the traditional kite-flying accompanying it flashed across the screen, she randomly remarked that kites were first invented by the Chinese. A heartwarming conversation ensued over a cuppa piping hot tea which began with the story she'd heard from her parents: a man so fascinated by the flight of birds that he sought to create something that could mimic them, thus inventing the first kite which was bulky & bigger than a full-grown man and if the winds were overtly favourable, it could probably give flight (but no control) to the person holding it. The Internet, however, credits the invention of the kite to two Chinese philosophers. Whatever the truth may have been, flying it soon became a favorite past-time and its manufacture a side-income for many. Kite-flying is still very popular in China & the country has its own annual international kite festival at Weifang, widely considered the birthplace of kites. I'd love to witness this gala celebration of elaborate kite designs some day, and probably learn more about the elaborate history of kites & kite making.

Image courtesy : http://kaleidoscope.cultural-china.com/

What came next opened portals of my memory & organically connected some dots. The proficiency of the Chinese with silk & paper products is obviously well documented. Granny tells me that many migrant families (including our own) continued this tradition in India & eked out a living making kites, lanterns, paper flowers & decorations. Over the decades, this work was delegated to or taken over by the Bengalis and the Indian Chinese moved on to other businesses. The last I saw of these alluring traditional decorations was as a child at a relative's place in the then inappropriately named Japanese Building in Kolkata (since it only housed Chinese residents at the time). The reams & reams of multihued streamers, flowers & stacks of raw material occupied more space than the sparse furniture in the room and the rage of colors stood out in stark contrast to the spartan surroundings housing them. I remember this relative well; old & bent over, he only spoke Chinese & always had a beatific smile on his face. And while I could never understand a word of what he said to me, it’s a testimony to the times & resilience of his kind that survived & flourished in India.

(Update: this relative was the Chinese equivalent of the Hindu Brahmin; a learned & religious person who did not eat meat. Now that's rare; a vegetarian Chinese.)

My grandparents were part of a big joint family and granny remembers how all of them, including my mother & uncles would sit from morning to night to make these decoratives too. They stopped doing this backbreaking & not so lucrative work once Grandpa started practicing dentistry (a profession that would be passed down the generations) in his mid-30’s at Grant road, Mumbai, two years before the Indo-Pak war. There were already quite a few Chinese dentists in the extended family to learn the craft from, and his keen eye, faultless memory & good hands (the hallmark of many a Chinese dentists) made him successful even though he wasn’t qualified according to today's standards (that is, he didn’t have a formal dental degree or education to back him up). Here the details are sketchy but from what I gathered from our conversation, one didn't necessarily need to complete the Bachelor of Dental Surgery course to practice. Rather, an easy to procure Dental hygienist/technician certificate was all that was needed, the qualifications & criteria for which are suspect but many dentists functioned on the basis of this document alone back then. I can't even imagine such a scenario in today's times. Although one can still risk practicing illegally without a dental degree, they run the danger of scrutiny & permanent disqualification from all forms of practice if caught.

Since Dentistry was pretty much a family business & the personal domain of the Chinese back then, even the extra-clinical work (mostly making dentures) was done within the family, sometimes even by the lady of the house! Here, with a chuckle, Granny reminisces that she would often help Grandpa in his clinic and even had her own certification qualifying her to work as a dental assistant! So much for not bringing work back home! Mind you, this was an era without the convenience of reliable dental technicians or laboratories. My father was probably one of the first in our family to get a valid dental education & degree from Manipal. He too, made dentures by himself (which explains why home was full of dental impressions, plaster models & casts) and gained a repute for his good handiwork. Meanwhile, mom was raising me & would later start her own beauty parlour. Two decades later, I followed in dad's footsteps by procuring my dental degree in Bangalore. Thereon, our professional paths have diverged but I know that I have his support, because he too, is a creative & musical person at heart.

Where destiny & passion took me :)

What I studied to become...

This refresher course in my family history has renewed my respect for my grandparents & parents who created careers in spite of immense financial & academic handicaps and admirably handled domestic duties as well. They stand out as beacons of resilience & integrity for me. Mom often tells me how hard they have worked in their lives shorn of luxuries, and how we the youngsters have it so much easier. Even if that claim were incorrect, I would agree with it. We live in a more convenient world where the mortality rate is lower, economies are stable, most of our demands are met and barring some roadblocks, we do have a much better life.

As Granny & my conversation came to a close, my mind was afire with our absorbing family history & her robust memory! May she continue to live a long, happy & content life. If you have an elder relative at home, talk to them more often. Not only will it make them happy, it will also teach you so much and fill you with wonder, stories & miles of smiles. Maybe, you too will write about it then :)

If you'd like to read previous Granny's Tea-time stories, you'll find them here.

http://buddhasoliloques.blogspot.in/2010/06/journey-of-thousand-miles.html
http://buddhasoliloques.blogspot.in/2014/05/grannys-tea-time-stories.html

*****

By the way, here's an actual conversation I had with two little girls when I was returning home the same night. Enjoy!

Girls: Chang, we lit some Chinese lanterns today. It was so much fun!

Me: Yeah, I see a lot of people lighting lanterns instead of flying kites. I guess it's because today is...

Girls: RAPUNZEL'S BIRTHDAY!!!

Me: Errrr... I was going to say Makar Sankranti, but yeah.

Girls: Yeah, must be. We're doing it because it is Rapunzel's birthday.

Me: I didn't know this. My school textbook never mentioned her birthday. All I know about Rapunzel is of her exile in the tower & her long, lustrous hair.

Girls: We learnt it from the animated movie Tangled. On her birthday her parents would light lanterns in her memory, so we did so too.

Me: Aaaaaaah okay. I must watch Tangled too to update my knowledge about her.

Girls: (eyes rolling & with a disgusted expression on their faces) Uhhhh... why would YOU watch Tangled?

Me: Ummm... for the great animation & to see how Disney has tackled this fairy tale?

Girls: It's just that... it's a girlie movie... and boys don't like girlie movies. They should NOT like girlie movies.

Me: Hey, that's not true. I...

Girls: (as if I've suddenly fallen in stature, dismissively) Ok bye!

Me: ......

THE HAPPIEST NEW YEAR!

2016-01-03T19:23:00.001+05:30

The BEST start EVER to a year! Picture courtesy: Victor Mukherjee

Perhaps age has something to do with it, perhaps it doesn’t. Although I’ve attended innumerable parties around the world, having enjoyed some & just ghosted through most, I have also consciously avoided many. The reason could purely be that one party mirrors another, and unless it is to spend time with some genuinely close & loved people, one party is no different from any other. Now, as mentioned in my previous post, I had been traveling & socialising so much over most of December that I was absolutely all right with not doing anything on New Year’s eve. I was convinced about two things, however. One, that I did not want to repeat the loud, vacuous, alcohol-fuelled parties nor did I want to be caged within a box, no matter how big that box might be. Something I did do on New Year's Eve, and I can state with conviction that it was the most blessed New Year I’ve had in my life.

Near a month ago, as with most people in the world (or maybe we were too late in doing so), plans were being made as to how my friends & I would celebrate if we were not working on New Year’s eve. Two strong options were proposed: the hilly trinity of Rishikesh-Mussoorie-Auli or the beachy solitude of Gokarna. The latter was decided upon for the adventure (and warmth) attached to it. The decision was also influenced by the fact that most of us had already had enough of the melancholy winter of our journeys. However, as with many best-laid plans, this particular one fell through owing to many reasons. I was mildly upset but as I’ve mentioned before, I didn’t mind doing absolutely nothing on the 31st of December. Some friends decided to spend time with family, some with their better halves, most had already embarked on their plans and yet some decided to sleep in! And while I was enjoying Star Wars: The Force Awakens, a very last minute, alternate, simpler & shorter camping plan at a lake in Malshej ghat was hatched. A plan initially dismissed & later agreed upon, it will stand as one of the most interesting things I’ve done so far as well as easily the best way to have started a year.

On the afternoon of the 31st of December. four of us left from Malad-Goregaon by road, stopping over in Thane for lunch, to purchase camping equipment & meet the rest of the new gang. I guess we got a little carried away with the shopping, and the delay meant that sunset would happen enroute rather than at the lake as previously envisioned. This still turned out to be a blessing, as when we stopped to take a break just before dusk, the sky threw at us colors that are hallmarks of a rising or setting sun against an open sky. No matter how many solar ascents & descents your eyes may have been fortunate to witness, words will still never be adequate to describe their beauty.

Once darkness set in on that gorgeous stretch, I looked at the sky and could not remember the last time I’d seen so many stars, like crushed diamond dust sprinkled across the black cape of space! I’ve studied for years under the generously clear & open skies of Dehradun & Mussoorie and do not remember witnessing so many constellations on a single night. Giving over the driving responsibilities for a while, I relished the crisp night air through the sunroof of my car. The drive through roads lined by trees, mountains and darkness pierced only by the car’s headlights has always fascinated me; like a hyperdrive through space, and with the interrupted painted median rapidly running into & away from you. The visual is reminiscent of traversing through dimensions and you'll understand the reference if you’re a sci-fi fan. Many of my childhood dreams have centred around country roads at night, and I relive my childhood on every such journey.

When we finally reached the foot of the lake, I could only hear the waves lapping against the shore, and in the shroud of night the eyes could barely discern the dark, limitless nothingness of the waters. Picking up our equipment & making way with camping flashlights & iPhone torches, slipping on the wet ground & occasionally sinking in it, we settled on a spot closer to the shore and started pitching our tents in near-darkness. Now, I don’t know a thing about tents, and camping had sounded a fabulous idea until the moment to actually set up camp arrived. When we began, I realised that none of us in this big group really knew how to set one up. A lot of laughs & experiments and almost gouging each other’s eyes out with the tent’s skeletal framework later, they were finally up. Wood was collected (stolen actually from a storehouse nearby which, I assure you, was well-compensated for the next morning) to set up a gorgeous bonfire, fuelled by whiskey instead of fuel saved up for the drive back. We could finally "see" each other better as well as embrace the warmth of the crackling fire as the mercury steadily dipped.

As I sat by the fire, the sight around overwhelmed me. I’ll try to describe it: a looming, imposing mountain on our back with the entire constellation above it, giving it a mystic, insurmountable look, and a gigantic lake facing us. As the temperature dropped, the music got comfortably louder, bonhomie wafted through the air and we witnessed the coup-de-grace of the night; señor moon decided to make the most dashing of entries just before midnight. I have seen many things in my life, but to see that half moon rising from behind the mountains and cast a reflection on the lake, the kind we only see in the movies, is right up there in some of the most gorgeous sights I’ve ever witnessed. The phone cameras were inadequate to capture this otherworldly phenomenon but the visual shall remain firmly embedded in my memory for a long time. I'd love to return here to see what a full-moon night looks like.

At the stroke of midnight, New Year wishes were exchanged with those around and via patchy phone network with dear ones who weren’t. For once, it was a relief to not hear loud screeches & music, the minimal fireworks in the distance were adequate distraction and the deep, personal conversations made the night more meaningful. I lit my first Chinese lantern (yeah, yeah) and saw it float away into the zenith of the starlit sky with a silly, content smile. Later, as hunger pangs dominated all other emotions, we had the most memorable 4 AM onion-laden & whiskey-infused Maggi of my life. Don’t ask me how that combination came to be; it just did! If there ever was a good Maggi story, this would be it! By the way, thank you Maggi for being the comfort food of students, bachelors & travellers for decades. You may have lead in you but we still love you ;)

That's a look of genuine, unadulterated glee :) Picture courtesy: Victor Mukherjee

Let it burn. Picture courtesy: Victor Mukherjee

I must’ve dozed off at around 4:30 AM, keeping an alarm for 5:30 AM so as to not miss the sunrise. What’s so great about a sunrise, you say? Very many things, and also more importantly for me as I’m a late riser and don’t see many sunrises anymore (unless I’ve been up all night, and sunrises in cities are pale excuses for those out there in the midst of nature). When I woke at 5:30, a few friends were still stoking the fire and having a great time. Dawn hadn't broken yet & the moon was high in the sky and the ink-black darkness of the night before was gone. Have I told you I love moonlit nights? Interestingly, they don’t remind me of romantic getaways but make me emotional & thoughtful and take me back to school in Dehradun & Mussoorie: of early morning PT sessions when the moon would still be up in the sky, of treks and expeditions under a moonlit sky, of lying down face-up on school benches & counting the stars before night studies hour... With those reminiscences, I dozed off yet again.

Barely an hour later, a friend excitedly woke us, urging us to get out of our tents for the sunrise. As i stepped out, the amber glow of the yet-to-rise sun had already lit the rim of sky outlining the mountains. The music of A.R. Rahman’s Rockstar was playing on the sound dock; Phir Se Udd Chala in particular. I’ve never heard a more appropriate song given the time, mood & place I was in. As the sun finally showed its bright visage, the chatter died down, the music was switched off and everyone stared it in the eye in complete silence. To see this jovial, loud & talkative bunch soak in this ethereal sight in pin-drop silence was a thing of beauty in itself. I wonder what thoughts were passing through our heads. Perhaps, for once, we were not thinking about anything at all.

Net practice. Picture courtesy: Victor Mukherjee

Picture courtesy: Victor Mukherjee

A quick game of cricket later (where everyone was only interested in batting, no surprise there, and would vanish as soon as they had to field), our roof for the night - our tents were packed back in (an arduous task in itself!). The fact that we'd barely slept the night before contributed to our bungled attempts at packing as well ;) Only adrenaline was keeping us awake now.

Heave-Ho! Picture courtesy : Victor Mukherjee

Outta the park! Picture courtesy : Victor Mukherjee

As we prepared to leave, we noticed something interesting about the road where we had parked our cars the night before. This road must have, at some point of time, traversed through the lake. The middle section is now submerged in water and only the two ends can be seen at the banks. Walk in a little before it drops into the depth and you could look like Jesus walking on water! Water so fresh, cold and refreshing that we rued not taking a dip in it before leaving (we just didn’t, even though we came prepared for it. Regrets? Never! We leave that for next time).

Walking on water ;) Picture courtesy : Victor Mukherjee

As we drove back, the temperature soared considerably once we hit the plains and the usual Mumbai traffic welcomed us home. Over a quick bun-maska & malai-chai, this thought ruled our conversation: What a wonderful way & place to have started the new year at! Truth be told, I can’t wait to get back there.

Thank you Victor for suggesting this memorable trip & taking me along. Victor is also the progenitor of the doomed Gokarna plan, as well as the writer-composer-director of my spoken-word poetronica "Move On" - a philosophical look at the need to let go of baggage both good & bad. You can check the video out below. And I must wish you a very Happy New Year. I hope you’ve had a great start to 2016, and before this one passes in a flash as well, live it up, follow your dreams, love profusely and always, always keep smiling :) :) :)

Have a great year ahead!

LUCKNOW: GANJING AND TUNDAY KABABI

2015-12-30T12:18:00.003+05:30

The last 10 days have been a whirlwind & I could say I was beginning to feel a little rudderless before the journey came to a conclusion and brought me back to Mumbai. I love traveling, but this is one of those junkets I'm so pleased with as well as exhausted by that I'd now rather stay low for a few days and embrace my bed as I've never done before. And yes, probably even (gasp!) do absolutely nothing on the (over-hyped) New Year's Eve. (But as I type this, I'm secretly hoping for some plan to materialise. Heh! I could well be the brand-ambassador for hypocrisy ;)

The 10 day junket began with Ganjing & Tunday ke Kabab in Lucknow, progressed into a cousin's wedding in Delhi and culminated with a visit to extended family in Indore. But I'm getting ahead of myself; more on the wedding & family get-together in one of the next few posts. On a mid-December afternoon, while I was talking nine-to-the-dozen with my co-actor (actually, she did most of the talking. I'm more of a writer), I got a text from my friend Shilpa Rao asking me whether I'd like to guest-perform with her in Lucknow for something called "Ganjing." At first, I was amused by this Chinese sounding activity in Uttar Pradesh and owing to bad network, the clarifications of what it was exactly were hard to come by. I didn't think much of it and over the next few city-hopping days in Udaipur & Varanasi I finally said yes, I'd do it. Anything for a friend. Till this moment, I hadn't bothered to find out what exactly Ganjing was. In retrospect, the self-imposed ignorance was a blessing in disguise, because the experience that followed came as a surprise, and a pleasant one at that!

On the afternoon of 20th December, Shilpa & I flew into Lucknow. A quick lunch later, the organising committee apprised us of the evening's schedule. Some government formalities, fireworks, an interactive drum-circle, hand shadowgraphy by the very talented Amar Sen & Sabyasachi Sen, who I've had the privilege to interact with when I hosted India's Got Talent (called a silhoutte act here & pronounced as sill-ow-tee by the locals; no joke! Find the video of their ad for MP tourism below) and a musical performance would be part of the evening. Previous editions have had a gamut of eye-catching, ear-pleasing & mind-wowing attractions. In this particular edition, Shilpa would be the headliner and I, for lack of a better term, her celebrity guest on a few songs.

Ganjing, as far as I can comprehend can be crudely defined as chilling at Hazratganj in Lucknow. This state-sponsored public entertainment & engagement program was initiated mere 6 months ago. Celebrated every third Sunday of a month, this is now officially called the Ganj Carnival. On this day, a massive chunk of Hazratganj transforms into a pedestrian-only festival space for all-and-sundry to indulge in. In my opinion, such events should become an integral part of the fabric of every town & city in India; logistics & security permitting. Every culture & society must encourage and involve performers as well as the public, and such a melting pot can only lead to a happier, artistically satisfied populace.

As the evening progressed, we made our way to the venue amidst tight security, passed barricades & headed backstage. Even though we couldn't see the audience at that point of time, their enthusiasm was very vocal & palpable. It is interesting to meet fans & folks alike in smaller towns & cities where you can get the true measure of your following as well as gauge the insane reach of television. These are places where people have seen you on big shows as well as little projects that even you'd forgotten about. It was also good to have a casual chat with the police-on-duty at the venue; I dread to think how a conversation with them would go on any other regular night ;) An event of such a massive attendance must be tough for them but they get to rightfully enjoy the night as well. Our stage was set bang in the center of Hazratganj and made for an impressive sight. If my words fail me, perhaps these pictures could tell you a better story; people as far as the eye can see, cheers that resonated off the skies and appreciative roars that warmed the cockles of my heart. Oh, and did I forget to mention a footfall of just under a lakh, despite the late hour & dipping mercury?

How the Hazratganj streets look like, leading up to the Ganj Carnival. Pic by Sajal Sharma

Audience as far as the eye can see, cheers & roars for miles around.

Like every government undertaking, a lot of things left much to be desired & inadequate prep-time provided for meant that neither the band preceding us nor we managed to squeeze a sound check in (and from what I hear, it was a nightmare to have the stage ready in time in the first place). Nevertheless, the sight of people all the way up to the horizon cheering, screaming, singing along is the best mood-elevator, aphrodisiac even! Shilpa started her performance & I could feel the deafening roar of appreciation on each & every song shake the stage up! This obviously had me quivering with excitement to go join her. Unfortunately, a technical snag meant I could do only two songs instead of the planned three but it was well worth it. The two duets? Yaariyaan & one of my all time Vishal-Shekhar-Shilpa favorite, Khuda Jaane. Man, I can never get over that song (the fact that it also has Deepika Padukone in it could have a strong bearing on it)! I could barely hear myself over the crowd as they sang along on every word, every line. Phew! What else can an artiste ask for? Thank you for being there Lucknow & I hope to be back again soon with a longer performance for you :)

It's a Bird. It's a Plane. It's.... AUDIENCES numbering just under a lakh! Picture by RJ Preteek

A ringside view. Picture by Naman Singh Bisht

Picture by Meraki Inc.

Once the gig was over, we were immediately whisked away in our vehicle lest the surging crowds overwhelm us. A quick drive later to Aminabad market, we got off the car & greedily rushed into Tunday Kababi. Packed to the rafters, heads started turning, people started getting excited & a palpable hush was evident. The very gentle & sweet owner of Tunday and our friends in Lucknow ushered us into a separate (and new) family section where we could dine in peace. The company, weather, time, preceding events & how hungry you are do affect the delectability of the food on a given day/night. I was here with the close friends I've mentioned in the previous blog post for yet another wedding on an excruciatingly hot summer afternoon a few years ago. This time it was a cold winter night with just a few familiar faces and many, many new ones. Both so different & memorable in their own ways, but of course the food seemed much tastier this time round.

With my buddy Shilpa Rao, her mom & brother, her band members and Piyush & Meenu from Meraki Inc.

We gorged on galouti kababs (I being the only one trying the beef variant as opposed to everyone's mutton, although there is barely any difference in the flavour of either), parathas, tandoori chicken & mutton korma. We pigged out so much that there was no space left for biryani, but as a wise man once said, there is always space for dessert. And hence, kheer was ordered ;)

TUNNNNNNDAAAYYYYY KE GALOUTI KABAAAAAAB!!!

Dear Tandoori Chicken, I knew that the moment we'd meet, SPARKS would fly ;)

Mutton Korma

Parathas being made at a brisk pace. Missed trying the orange Sheermal parathas this time. Agli baar...

Koi Kheer Ko Kaise Na Kar Sakta Hai ;)

The mandatory "I AM AT TUNDAYYYYYY" selfie :D

The food was served with brisk enthusiasm & I'm thankful to Tunday Kababi for feeding us famished souls. The meal was topped off with a ginormous meetha paan which was delicious & painful at the same time (painful because the silver/aluminium foil on the paan created a galvanic current every time it came in contact with my saliva & pre-existing silver amalgam restorations. If this sounds Greek to you, it's because it's the Dentist in me talking again. Haha!).

A quick word of appreciation for the team that had Shilpa & me for the Ganj Carnival: the very sweet and recently betrothed Piyush & Meenu and their team at Meraki Inc. I'm sorry I don't remember all the names but thank you for being respectful, affable & protective at the same time. Again, as I've mentioned in my previous post, every subsequent visit to a place teaches you something new about it, and I came back from Lucknow with something new as well as something old & familiar.

Before wrapping up, I'd like to share my new music video Kya Yahi Pyaar Hai with you. It's a beautiful recreative rendition of a classic melody & I hope you like it. Carry it on your lips & in your hearts, and until we meet again in 2016, here's wishing you a very Happy New Year! Stay healthy, stay happy :)

VARANASI: SWEET CHAOS

2015-12-23T03:19:00.000+05:30

The entrance to the Kaal Bhairav temple

I absolutely LOVED this last visit to Varanasi! Quite possibly the best thing about weddings is that friends from far & wide finally make the time, get together in one place, have fun & create some more indelible memories! These are some of my closest friends from two very important & eye-opening school years in Wynberg Allen, Mussoorie. If organising a wedding is a huge logistical nightmare, then getting your friends together for one is just as big a headache, if not bigger. In the end, it's more than worth it.

I've been to Varanasi before: once for a day-long peaceful shoot for India's got Talent & then again as a transit point for another friend's wedding. However, this current visit has been the most immersive & explorative of the lot. It started on an ominous note when I got stuck in a massive traffic-jam owing to Narendra Modi & Japanese PM Shinzo Abe's visit. Shuffling through multiple barricades put up to facilitate their smooth passage, the narrow ramshackled & brick-lined lanes reminded me of my hometown Dhanbad which is just as small, crowded & charming in that special small-town way. Finally, hours later, I got together with the buddies I cherish spending time with: a big gang of friends laughing, drinking, reminiscing, cracking the same jokes which never get old. I realised that there was so much to catch up on: our lives, our relationships, achievements, troubles. Since I'm one of only four remaining bachelors in the group, I was gifted some valuable relationship and marriage advice, if I choose to tie the knot anytime soon. Some married friends advised me to avoid matrimony like the plague! I think I'll take that advice for now ;)

Months before this visit to Varanasi, one of the highlights of the then-proposed plan was to have a wild drinking night-out on one of the hired boats at the ghaat. That was obviously put paid to by the security surrounding the PM's visit. I had thought, however, that we'd still go ahead with this wild plan the following day, but to my amusement everyone went into a religio-spiritual mode instead! The morning after took us to the Kaal Bhairav & Kashi Vishwanath temples (I was disheartened to see the 30 foot high metal barricade around the latter, the story behind it & the eternal feud it has ignited between the Hindus & Muslims) and the evening to the ghaats. The mischievous monkeys at the Kashi Vishwanath temple gave everyone a tough time, swooping in & snatching the milk kept aside as offering for themselves! A visit to Sarnath was planned as well, where Lord Buddha had given his first sermon, but that got canned while scouting gastronomic stops in the marketplace.

Kaal Bhairav Temple

Gyaan For Free!

Guess who went temple-hopping!!!

That's where the garlands go. Volunteers urge you to garland cows & dogs

Like with every small town, the food and the love & diligence involved in making it tell their own story. Also, like with every small town there are bound to be endless recommendations of which place serves the best sabzi-kachauri, paan, thandai. To an outsider like me, a place which comes second, third or even a distant fourth would be palatable, but for a local it's sacrilege to go for second best. Why, when you can have them at the best shop in town? However, one's preference of food is subjective & I personally loved the food, tea & desserts we had at certain shops, thanks in turn to one of my more enthusiastic friends who did the research & asking around to get us there. The thing about small towns is that, with polarised opinions and uniformly decent-to-good food, it's difficult to point out where the best grub might be found. Therefore, no matter how many eateries you explore (and enjoy), someone will always come up with another (exclamatory) recommendation!

"Lovely Ladeej, banarasi kachodi-aloo sabzi & Jalebi!

Simple yet delicious snack: malai & sugar on toast!

दुनिया इधर की उधर हो जाए लेकिन गुलकंद में कंजूसी मत कीजिएगा! Cue song

Saying cheers with कुल्हड़ वाली चाय!

सरकारी है, जायज़ है।

I also had a bemused time navigating the crowd, chaos, extreme noise & seemingly rude (but actually generous) people with so many stories to tell. One could be fooled by their seemingly indifferent demeanour but under that tough exterior they actually have a warm, hesistant smile for you. And if you get them talking, they will tell you more about the city than anybody else can. Varanasi's streets are places where you fear going deaf with the incessant honking or getting run over by the perambulatory traffic of people, vehicles, carts & cattle (but you don't)!

Things one does to navigate the traffic!

This was also the first time I came to the ghaats with a big posse of friends, and did the entire sojourn from end-to-end, albeit on a boat. I think I even remember the names of some of the ghaats: Assi Ghaat, Jain Ghaat, Dashashwamedh Ghaat and most importantly the Manikarnika Ghaat (fresh in my memory from the film Masaan, which has incidentally just won its' first set of commercial awards in India). There was a sudden, all enveloping silence on the boat as we passed this cremation ghaat, punctuated only by the loud whirring of the boat's motor; as if everyone on the boat was digesting the fact that one day, everyone has to return to the ground. It is believed that cremation in Varanasi helps the soul achieve moksh. Quite a sombre sight, with many funeral pyres alight simultaneously, the grim, contemplative mood was broken by our maajhi cum guide who mentioned that the funeral fires on this ghaat burn non-stop every day of the year. Shaken of our reverie, a friend wondered where they found so many dead bodies. I, for one, proceeded to ask a logical question (slave that I am to logic) that how do the fires stay alight in the open ghats in the monsoons? The boatman just smiled & said, "They just do." Another one of those legends based on faith as well as stories passed down generations. One can never travel enough, even if it is to the same place because you discover something new about it every time.

Dashashwamedh Ghaat: Picture by Sanchai Kumar

Jain Ghaat

The Ganga Aarti that followed was fantastic & familiar, with all the boats huddled together in a cluster around the banks and hundreds of devotees, whether on land or in water, watching in rapt attention, silence & devotion. The only other time when I've felt such an aura of absolute peace in spite of the hordes of people around was at the Buddhist festival of Kalchakra a few years ago at Bodh Gaya, with only the sound of the chants permeating the cold air.

Ganga Aarti

Thereon, it was regulation stuff: get back to the hotel, dress in ethnic finery, dance like a rowdy maniac, lead our friend's baraat to the venue (and delay it by hours while doing so), click loads of pictures and over the next few hours reluctantly say our goodbyes. I must admit though, that I was shocked to witness an actual mujra (or a watered down version of it) as part of the wedding function. Now that is a wierd memory my mind will have to work doubly hard to expel!

Another wicket down!

I must take this opportunity, however, and punctuate this otherwise cheery narrative with something that has been bothering me for years; probably instigated by a visit to this holy place. I have always had strong reservations against the extreme commercialisation of religious institutions as well as the rampant mutation of laws that apply to such places. Films like PK and Oh My God have accurately depicted the corruption, hypocrisy & dichotomy of those who pose as faith's holders or God's messengers. Faith moves mountains, but many make a business out of exploiting our faith & there is no denying that this is the bitter truth of our country. To put it out there, in the last couple of religious places I've been to, I've had arguments over principles & perversion of values. Two incidents stand out in my mind: the ruckus created over an accidental extra cup of prasad at ISCKON Bangalore and over a volunteer demanding donation & threatening me with dire consequences if I didn't pay up at the Ajmer Sharif dargah. In terms of commercialisation, underhand dealings & disrespect to the offerings, this place was no different.

At the Kashi Vishwanath temple, a policeman standing guard surreptitiously asked me where I was from, since according to him, "foreigners are not allowed in this temple." This, after I'd already crossed the mandatory security check & pat downs. Cop number 2 added his version of the rules that foreigners are indeed allowed but only through Gate number 2. Cop number 3 summed it up with his version that irrespective of nationality, only those who believe in Hinduism may enter. That last bit was so bizarre that I almost laughed in his face. I didn't want to point out the fact that I'm as Indian as any of them but by the end of the conversation, I wasn't sure as to which version I should believe in. If they were having fun at my expense then I'm not amused, as it created the wrong impression. And of course, while I totally respect the need to clear the surge of devotees at popular religious destinations, being herded & shoved like cattle is just not cool. Nor is the absolute wastage of the offerings which are either trampled under foot or flushed down the drainage.

Some might ask why I bother to go at all if I have such reservations. It's because it's my right to visit such places if I want to, for my belief or lack of it. I like to explore these places to absorb their history, the stories behind them, their architecture. And while I may not believe in God per se, I do believe in a supreme being. I respect others' beliefs & wouldn't dream of belittling another's religion or faith. At the same time, blind faith is a concept alien to me, and those who would mercilessly exploit the faith of others are nothing short of villains.

Ah, but I digress on a path that is so full of debate that it would never end. Centuries down, our descendants will be discussing the very same things, and the loop shall never close. Let me conclude this post by reiterating that I really enjoyed this trip to Varanasi & saw the city in a new light. Even after jet-setting from megapolis to megapolis, the charm of the small town shall never end, and the small-town boy from Dhanbad, in the recess of my mind as he may be, will very much stay alive.

Self-enlightenment: using the torch-app to provide extra light

ANGRY INDIAN GODDESSES

2015-12-11T23:46:00.001+05:30

It's been a long, long time since I wrote about something that I've watched or attended. Way back in college, I'd write regularly about any play, movie or concert that tingled my senses. I guess I had more free time then. Now, with profession-building, other distractions & the microblogging convenience of 140 characters, one tends to abbreviate their feelings into mere like or dislike without any depth to that assessment. I watched Pan Nalin's "Angry Indian Goddesses" a few nights ago & I liked it. I sat down to write about it & here are my thoughts. This may or may not be a regular feature on my blog, and it is not a "review", for lack of a better term. However, if it feels truncated to you, blame my Twitter addiction for it!

Make no mistake, Angry Indian Goddesses is not a festival film, even though it started off as one. It's every bit a commercial Hindi film with no stars but a bunch of good and/or natural actors and a great team to back them up. More importantly, it's one of the very few films in India revolving around all-female-bonding. We've seen the highs & lows of male bonding in Hindi films like Dil Chahta Hai, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, Rock On & countless others, so it was refreshing to explore the "other" perspective for voyeuristic pleasure as well to perhaps understand the female psyche better.

Angry Indian Goddesses' premise is simple. A group of diverse friends get together in Goa for a friend's wedding & learn more about each other than ever before; their trials & tribulations, their personal demons and their anger at what it means to be a woman in today's India.The narrative may occasionally seem contrived but it's engaging & entertaining. I particularly relished the way it has been shot (must do some additional research on the cameras & techniques used here). We've seen innumerable movies shot in Goa but this was different, refreshing & pleasing to the used-to eye. The rapid edit, multiple cuts, the just-right colour saturation & constant dialogue flitting between the foreground & background was delighting and constantly teased the creative person in me. I'm assuming a lot of the dialogues were unscripted; a certain basic guideline was given & the actresses took over with some excellent improvisations (a fact corroborated by the credit given for "additional dialogues" to them).

I guess the best measure of good acting is when you can't tell whether the actors are "acting." Sandhya Mridul and Tannishta Chatterjee are strong & reliable as always, and a worthy mention for Amrit Maghera; it takes a special something to let go like she does. She was very real even in her excesses. I know a couple of UK based friends who came to Mumbai with lofty dreams & became disillusioned with our perception of them, before picking themselves up again. In a film with good, honest acting all around, it's tough to pick favorites. Mine are Sarah Jane Dias (strength, vulnerability & those mesmerising looks), Pavleen (adorable) & Anushka Manchanda (honest, carefree & that voice; she's a natural here. What many people don't know is that, just like her character, she has a great talent and body of work outside Bollywood music, even though she's mostly known for it).

There were many scenes where I could personally relate to the elation or pain the women went through, and the horrors in their reel lives felt palpably real. There is a point in the film where (spoiler alert) the issue of same-sex love & marriage is introduced into the narrative. Kudos to the makers for doing so subtly & matter-of-factly; even joking about Section 377 & our ignorant inability to differentiate one law from the other. Having said that, a big boo to the current censor certification team for some very silly and unnecessary cuts, blurs & beeps which would embarrass even the most conservative & narrow-minded viewer. What were they smoking? And how do such people even get appointed to these posts? Wait, don't answer that question.

A lot of what is said in the film is something we've already heard repeatedly in real life for ages. However, it's important that we continue hearing it until it registers, because it hasn't yet. I didn't necessarily like the way all the characters were painted as victims, but then again it's a 2 hour film with a lot to say, which is why it may seem excessive but in reality, it's not. It is an important film; preachy, screechy and too teary at times but important nonetheless. Many or all the things depicted in the film are a part of our country's reality. The film highlights the new-age Indian woman & the society's antiquated perception of her, social ills & discrimination against them, sometimes subtle, often blatant. This is not merely a feminist piece or a gang of girlfriends ranting away (although it comes close at times) but daily conversations given life on celluloid. Even though it packs too much into one film, we know in the depth of our hearts that these perceptions, crimes & mentalities do exist in our country.

Will this film change anything? I don't know, and I doubt that Angry Indian Goddesses consciously aims at that. However, knowledge holds the key to change and awareness is an important aspect of that power.

With Goddesses like these, who needs heroes?

Definitely worth a watch.

RISE

2015-09-08T12:09:00.000+05:30

Photo credit: Ritesh Uttamchandani

Rise.

Rise - above pettiness, hypocrisy and lies (unless they’re white).

Rise - above envy, hatred and everything that makes us fight.

Rise - above the person you are today, to become a better version of you.
Rise - beyond your reality; let none say you can't live life anew.

Rise - above your ego, before it rises above YOU.
Rise - above your possessions, because many have only a few.

Rise - higher than the sun; that, is your place in the sky.

Rise - because the question is "WHY NOT?", not a silly "WHY?".

And if all this seems too difficult, take my hand.
Together we ought to,
Together we must,
Together we can!

Virtue, integrity, morality; our battle hard-fought,
A better world is not a myth, a lost ideal it is not.

So,
RISE.

(This particular poem is inspired by my very talented friends Ritesh Uttamchandani & Victor Mukherjee.)

आज एक कवि से मुलाक़ात हुई

2015-08-01T15:57:00.002+05:30

आज एक कवि से मुलाक़ात हुई।

बहुत अच्छा लिखता है।

लफ़्ज़ों का सहारा सहारा है, बैसाखी नहीं उसकी,

मगर उसे अपने हुनर पर इतना यकीन भी नहीं।

पढ़ने वाले जान जाएँगे दोहराई-दोहराई सी सोच है,

सुनने वाले जान जाएँगे गहरी कोशिशों में संकोच है।

लिख पाना अपने-आप में एक सफ़र है,

और सफ़र में आभूषण व औज़ार ना हो,

तो कवि सजाए कैसे, क़दम बढ़ाए कैसे?

अनुभव और स्मृति-स्तुति-सामग्री,

तुम्हारा कोश उमड़ता हुआ, मेरा कुछ ख़ाली है अभी।

जिऊँगा कुछ और, और गुज़ारते ये दिन, शब, सुबह,

अनुभव की झोली भरता जाऊँगा।

शायद कवि कहलाऊँगा, और फ़िर कोई और कहेगा...

आज एक कवि से मुलाक़ात हुई।

बहुत अच्छा लिखता है।

लफ़्ज़ों का सहारा, सहारा है बैसाखी नहीं उसकी,

मगर उसे अपने हुनर पर इतना यकीन भी नहीं।

CONVOLUTED REALITY... OR IS IT?

2015-07-01T12:09:00.000+05:30

Image Courtesy: wernerstudio.com

As I descend into the darkness in that imposing elevator, I wonder where I am and how did I get there. I have absolutely no recollection of taking this elevator before, and I must have done so to get to the upper echeleons (unless I landed on the roof in a chopper, which I don't remember either). The lights in the elevator are dim & flickering; it's occupants grim & sweaty. It has no walls and it is easily 20 X 15 feet in its entirety. I have been here before! Many times over the years, but where am I? Is this a dream?

Before I can comprehend the gravity of the question, the elevator comes to a roaring halt! I am the only one to alight; right into a dark room devoid of any furniture. The place looks like it hasn't been cleaned in months. In the center of the room is a television set hooked on to a contraption that makes it swing like a pendulum. Only, the movement isn't horizontal but vertical. This throws shadows across the room & rectangles of light on the floor & the ceiling, and blinds me every time the screen faces me.

Once I adjust my sight to the alternating darkness & light, I notice the screen. Blank, only static. There is another man in the room, on a mound of moth-eaten mattresses, staring at me with disgust as if I am responsible for the shitty cable reception. With nothing on TV, I step out.....

....into bright daylight, right into a horde of children in uniforms returning from school! Neatly lined up in single files, they are eerily soundless. I turn around to look at the building I've just come out of: "Jamuna Apartments."

Wierd! What am I doing in Dhanbad? This is one of the apartments in my old housing society. Well, now that I'm here, I might as well go meet Mom at her salon. I'm running towards her now, with no apparent hurry to get there. And yet, I'm running. While I zip across the children & familiar sights of my hometown, I calmly ask myself a question:

How did I get here? I remember sleeping in my bed in Mumbai last night & yet, here I am, thousands of miles away in Dhanbad. I rarely come here anymore. Did I just fly over on a whim? If so, why don't I remember it???

It was a dream. Real; and yet, as convoluted & fantastic as one can be. Why am I documenting a dream in such vivid detail? What is so special about it? We dream every time we sleep, don't we? Therein lies the catch, at least for me.

I haven't dreamt in a long time, or have been unable to retain a single fragment of my dreams. It has been documented that even though we dream everytime we sleep, we retain or remember only a minuscule percentage of that. Hence, the extremely frustrating memory of having had a great idea in your dreams. If only you could remember it.

Ergo, either my dream adventures have been cut short, or I cannot recall them. Then again, why I was excited by this particular dream was that it was set in my hometown, in the housing colony where I first lived. Shanti Bhawan was its name, and it became a recurring character in my dreams when I was drafted to a boarding school. Perhaps, in spite of years of drifting through wonderful schools & a purgatory college experience, and finally having settled in the chaos of the entertainment industry, home is never too far away from my mind. And that in the deepest, more colorful recesses of my mind, there still remains that awestruck comic book fan, whose dreams take the shape of all the imagination locked up inside him.

And oh, my parents come visiting me in Mumbai tomorrow :)

RISE AGAIN

2014-11-11T13:00:00.000+05:30

He's awkward with death.

He hasn't seen much of it up close, barring a batchmate's in school. He didn't know the batchmate too well, had no idea how he met his end and never got to see the body at the funeral. Still, he cried. Over the years, relatives have passed away but he's never been in the thick of it, still cocooned in the mountains of his childhood days & the life he leads (or rather, the life that leads him) in the big city.

Ever since, death has become a scurrying search for comforting words. And no matter the intentions, one can never ever understand what the other person is going through, so it's prudent not to utter those dreadful words. In his case, there are no words. Maybe awkwardness or an anecdote out of place considering the situation. But he knows that his emotion is true, his concern is genuine. No searching there.

Death is always a sad moment compared to birth. Apart from the fact that you're letting go of someone you've probably known your entire life & gotten extremely fond of, it is also because there is no good way to die. Even the "went peacefully in his/her sleep" is not something one ever looks forward to. He's unsure if that is also true of people who say they're "ready to go in peace." Are they, and in peace?

On the other hand, birth is arrival of new life and merrily anticipated. In our lifetimes, we will witness many births & deaths until we crumble into the dust ourselves. It will be much to ask for but when the day comes, there need to be happy faces left behind. And if there must be tears, let them be tears of joy: for a life well lived, for a person much loved & for memories indelible.

He's headed to meet his friend's new born. The cycle continues...

QUESTIONS

2014-09-05T03:32:00.001+05:30

He's been very, very restless over the last few days. It could be the niggling sore throat, or the fact that his mind is dragging him into deep contemplation. Ha! As if that wasn't a problem already.

You see, he has ambitions, temptations, dreams, fantasies just like you. Add a dash here or there and they're smaller or bigger than yours; zanier or blander than yours. But whether he faces success or rejection, joy or heartbreak, his mental rumination poses him that one dreaded question. WHAT is the point of all of this? Whether you get it or lose it all, where does this path lead?

We live full lives, run through the gamut of experiences, wound, heal, love, help, hurt. We do everything by the book and out of the box. We help others as much as we help ourselves. We live for the moment & we plan for the long run. We see the glass half empty, half full, fully empty or fully full. Sometimes, we don't even see the glass.

We're considerate and we're egoistic. We're good & we're evil. We're saints and also sinners. We are charitable & spendthrift. We are introspective & frivolous. Selfish yet philanthropic.

Everything that a life is meant to be and more, may we live that and beyond. And even if we do, WHAT is the purpose behind it all? Love completes, they say. Is that the answer? Or is it? Is it a full stop? Then what's the rest of this life for?

How much success, love, good karma, experiences great and foul must run their course before he gets an answer? If we are every permutation of everything a human being is meant to be & do or not, what then?

Questions.

Too many questions.

And a restless mind.

To be or not to be. Now that is NOT a question. Damn you Will!

To BE! But to what end?

How will he sleep tonight? Will he? At all?

THAT BEAST CALLED FITNESS

2014-08-12T12:49:00.000+05:30

I'm in a profession where fitness & good looks hold much weightage, though nothing is more paramount than the obvious presence of that elusive creature called talent, whether inbred or cultivated. In a city like Mumbai, where every second person is looking for that one (or maybe two, three, four) big break(s) in television, film, radio or performing arts, one is often surrounded by well-chiselled (and sometimes way too plastic) bodies (and personalities). I could never have fathomed that muscles were ever meant to attain that Greek God-ish proportions, where biceps are bigger than a human head or that fitness automatically paved the way to good looks & a natural sense of well-being. It is but natural to want to be better equipped out of that desire or of competition. It requires immense dedication, focus & a farewell-to-arms to plenty of distractions. Back in Dental school, the frenzied preparations of my peers would literally jolt me into working harder , and the same continues today when it comes to the various things that I do. As a Dentist-to-be, I handled academics, practicals as well as internal politics without falling by the wayside. It was mentally & physically demanding and I conquered them all! But fitness? Ah.. Now that is the arch nemesis in my story.

Don't get me wrong. I feel AWESOME after a good workout, some Yoga, a dance routine or a good ol' jog! The body structure feels good, clothes fall better on you, your skin & hair become radiant, stamina levels for shoot & live performances race up: I could go on & on. And as cliched & oft-heard as it sounds, the pain is always worth it (well, almost always). But I have ditschy lovers who refuse to let me go - FOOD & SLEEP! Theirs is the leash from a delectable hell that refuses to let me fly.

It's irony aplenty; everytime I look at a fit body I don't go "Damn! I gotta work harder to be like that". Instead, I say "Damn! That's one (chomp chomp) helluva task (chomp chomp chomp). Gotta get there someday (glug glug glug burp!!!)"

Sigh! I'll never get there, will I?

THE MUMBAI DILEMMA

2014-08-12T11:22:00.000+05:30

Picture Courtesy : www.worldtop7.com

One of the first things you'll hear as a new immigrant in Mumbai, even before the "Maya Nagari" cliche will most probably be "Once you've lived in this city, you can't or won't live anywhere else." And true to form, I've heard this since my childhood when I'd visit my grandmother here, up to 2007 when I set up base in this big, bad city with my own dreams in tow.

But as the years have gone by, I've failed to find that love & lust for the city that many swore on their mothers I would (peace be upon their mothers). Perhaps the city is not to be my muse, and I neither its master nor its slave.

Then again, I hear such wonderful stories from & of people who've lived their entire lives in this city and realise that the dictum is more a romanticised memory of a bygone era when this megapolis really was something else. I vividly remember lovely childhood vignettes of Dadar by my friend Sidd Coutto. My buddy & co-actor Anand Tiwari has a treasure trove of Bombay stories. I've visited friends' & relatives' ancestral homes & bungalows in Mumbai and experienced first hand the history & character bursting through their every line, crack & beam. Heck, I have personally witnessed the growth of the city over the years, first through the innocent eyes of a child & then a cynical view of an adult. And yet, when I return to the ruins of the rest of the crumbling city, I find it very hard to peer at Mumbai with a rose-tinted perspective. I rant about the pitfalls of the city more than I'd like to admit. Yet, I cannot take it when it comes from an outsider; as if I alone have the right to declare how ridiculous this city is.

The Mumbai of today is safer & boasts of deliverance from many social ills & restrictions. It is a free, modern city; a veritable utopia amidst dystopia. But for old times' sake, I wish some Bombay would seep back into Mumbai. Because the suburbs of Mumbai is a city, but the old city of Bombay is a person. I would like to meet that person more often, have tea together, talk about a romantic yesterday and the day before. Perhaps then, yes then, I too would fall blindly & hopelessly in love with that person, this city.

THEATRE THERAPY + THE MAN WHO THOUGHT HE'D BE A LONER

2014-06-27T14:55:00.000+05:30

"Theatre or theater is a collaborative form of fine art that uses live performers to present the experience of a real or imagined event before a live audience in a specific place."

When I was in Dental College in Bangalore, it was extremely vital for me to find a life outside dentistry. Dental study is an interesting but taxing occupation and a distraction is as crucial as any to maintain one's sanity. Circa 2000, in a pub-city with an erstwhile deadline of 2am, distractions were aplenty. However, one of the more worthwhile diversions had to be watching plays at Ranga Shankara; that beautiful theatre space conceptualised by Mr Girish Karnad. Each & every visit to this hallowed ground was, for me, ethereal. Right in the middle of this lush but concrete-ridden city, there lay an alternate dimension where you could apparate and be giddy & light-headed for the right reasons.

I never knew I'd be an actor one day, but I had always shown a keen desire in watching theatre if not being a part of it. Right from my boarding school days in Dehradun & Mussoorie, I witnessed some grand as well as threadbare yet impactful productions within & without. Some that remain fresh & everlasting in my memory are renditions of Tughlaq & Julius Caesar, as well as many of the sociodramas my own school in Dehradun put up. I still remember the scope of those sociodramas with awe; helmed by our music coach Mr. Joshi, who himself dabbled in nautanki in his hometown, Nainital. His plays were a perfect marriage of music & dialogue, with several actors & scores of singers. I was always part of the choir & did not act in these plays. However, I admired the manner in which he extracted gems out of rank amateurs, each and every one of us. Teachers like him planted the creative seed in many of us, and I've probably never acknowledged his contribution to my cultural growth until now. In my next school in Mussoorie, I finally progressed to being a prompter on Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap & then to playing an important character in An Inspector Calls. Dental Education beckoned thereon & theatre/acting was relegated to the background for a while.

The first professional play (by which I mean it wasn't a school or college production) I witnessed was "C for Clown" at Ranga Shankara, starring Vinay Pathak & Ranvir Shorey, amongst other brilliant talents, and directed by Rajat Kapoor. My hostel being nearby, I went to pick up the tickets in person. And who should I bump into but Mr Girish Karnad himself! That was the first time I experienced what is better known as "ohmygodicantbelieveimseeingacelebrityimsoexcitedimshiveringlikecrazy" syndrome. That play was my first confrontation with celebrities. I call it a confrontation because of the extremely upfront & direct connect the actors had with the audience, and what a sweet one at that. The play was in gibberish, and it established a basic notion in my mind; that art is ephemeral, it need not have a language, only a medium.

Years later, I moved to Mumbai and found, to my utter joy, a similar hallowed space in the famous Prithvi theatre. It is smaller & located in a very busy region (which pocket of Mumbai isn't?) but has the same, warm vibe as Ranga Shankara. It's edge, however, is that it hosts more multilingual plays than RS did & its cafe serves some mood-altering cutting chai. An ageing actor often practices his flute here which adds to the bohemian atmosphere. You'll often see playwrights & actors running around, or just hanging around. When he still could, Shashi Kapoor (son of Prithviraj Kapoor, founder of Prithvi Theatre) would come visit too.

Unfortunately, I haven't always had the time or like-minded partners to accompany me over the years & this great space had been denied me owing to my own constraints. So when I recently attended "Nothing Like Lear" by the same director & production, with Vinay Pathak as the solo lead, a lot many memories of C for Clown squeezed their way through to my mind's eye and a decision was made: hereon, a steady diet of theatre shall be had!

Many plays have been attended & enjoyed since, and a great many talents congratulated & admired. The plethora of talent in theatre is tremendous, and they're surely some of the finest in the country! Many actors, directors & plays have left an indelible mark (Nasseeruddin Shah being right up there with his voice, poise & inimitable pauses!)

Theatre for me, has always been far more gratifying than other forms of entertainment, including music & the movies. I wonder if some day, I'd graduate from my comfort zone within the audience and on to the spotlight & solitude of the stage. I have been on stage before but this will be different. To be absorbed within that circle of light as you animate what you inhabit, with agitation & stillness, silence & loquacity . It could be new & exciting, and change the way I think, and exist.

*****

At a fairly young age, I'd tell people that I fear becoming a loner in my old age. I've always been a decently happy person & they'd be taken aback by my pessimism. Now, many years later, I realize that my premonition wasn't wrong, only incorrectly worded. A loner is cut-off from civilization, and rues that isolation. I'm not one & will hopefully never be. What I could become however, is a modern-age hermit who chooses to keep his own company than that of others. I say this because of late, I find it increasingly tedious to make small talk, back-slap and spend pointless hours in the name of bonding. When you walk into a room full of people you know well & do not want to stay for long, you know it's a sign!

I'm not an antisocial person; I just don't think socializing is all there is to my life. My alone time is just as divine & important. I'm sure many of you would agree. I also believe there's a higher purpose to my life than to spend partying or mingling more than is necessary. Time spent learning, reading, traveling is time well spent. Time with the 'right' people, although difficult to define & quantify, is a blessing. Work is worship & if you do what you love, then that itself is a better investment than hollow conversations borne out of boredom or an obligation to strike a conversation.

I may think differently in a few years. However, the idea of becoming a modern hermit doesn't seem all that far-fetched.

That reminds me; as a child I'd also tell people I'd never get married. Hmmmmm.....

WHAT WOULD WE DO?

2014-05-12T21:44:00.000+05:30

As I sat across the table with someone who'd once been much more than a friend & had then drifted apart owing to an acrimonious split , I couldn't help but smile. Here we were; friends again, talking for hours. Older. Wiser. Behaving like mature adults, who've (hopefully) put the rough times behind them. The serenity & unmarred beauty of that moment got me thinking....

When we look back at our younger, sometimes reckless & immature selves, do we wish we had the wisdom that we possess now to tackle the situations better, choose the right friends & lovers, make the correct decisions, be more successful, perhaps hurt lesser? Or would we rather we made all the mistakes we did to learn as we went and earned that wisdom through experience, even at the cost of heartbreak, deceit & disappointment? Would one be full of regret or would they see the silver lining and grow old in the knowledge that their's was a rich life full of myriad experiences?

If we could really time travel, would we change our past (and therefore our future), or would we live it again, exactly the way it was, with its' pretty imperfections?

What would we do?

Think about it. And answer this one very, very carefully.

GRANNY'S TEA-TIME STORIES - RATIONING & THE UNFORTUNATE AFTERMATH OF THE INDO-CHINA WAR OF 1962

2014-05-01T02:14:00.000+05:30

My grandmother (that smiling, kind force of nature) has an interesting tale to tell of her younger days. She doesn't remember the when of the story, hence I'm unable to put a date to it. Those were times of government imposed sanctions on food & basic necessities when one had to wait in protracted queues for a limited ration of rice, jowar, wheat, bread and the like. Hers' was a big joint family, and there were many mouths to feed.

In those rationed times, she often made the long sojourn from Bombay Central to Virar (a mean distance to cover at that time) & bought 20 Kgs of rice from a discreet individual. Now such a big distribution of grain to a single person was prohibited back then, but it was too good an opportunity to pass. Picture her with a 10 kg sack over her shoulders & two 5 kg sacks in her free hand on the local train, perpetually worried about cops & confiscation and yet, determined to get the family that extra ration. Imagine her changing trains at the massive Dadar station, which back then would have only about 5-6 people around, with barely a woman in sight; thus making her all the more conspicuous! Such an era of scarcity will never be understood by the like of us, who, true to our elders' aphorisms, have been spoilt rotten.

In the same breath & timeline, she recounts a tale of a grand Chinese wedding party held at Kam-ling restaurant, which stands to this day in Churchgate. It was a time when a party for more than 50 people was not permitted, wherein only cold drinks & frugal snacks could be served. Any public show of gastronomic grandeur was frowned upon & penalized. Apparently, an envious soul (a competitor perhaps?) tipped off the authorities to ensure that this particular party faced a rude interruption. When the hosts realised a raid was imminent, they hid all the food & alcohol in the toilets! The cops returned empty handed, the party was declared over and the food discreetly distributed amongst the guests to take back. Talk about breaking the law to enjoy an evening! One can easily draw parallels between this incident of the distant past & the moral policing of current times.

On the one hand where she relates such stories with a chuckle, her face clouds over when she speaks about the Indo-China war of 1962. We all know how badly that ended for India but are probably unaware of the fate of the Indian-Chinese population, who in spite of being Indian by birth & loyalty but Chinese by blood, were treated with suspicion, misplaced hatred, harassment, arrests & even deportation. In its' wake, the war & the ensuing paranoia forced a large scale migration of that population, leading to a depletion of the Indian Chinese community. Mom & Granny tell me how they'd keep small bags with basic necessities for each family member, to be taken along were they to be given marching orders at the shortest notice. Everything else in the house was to be left behind, with little hope of returning. Fortunately, that notice never came for my family.

I'll be honest; when I heard that last tidbit, I was saddened by the thought that such a painful time existed and I'm grateful for the acceptance we enjoy now. We are as Indian as the next person, but who's to say that the xenophobia won't rear it's ugly head again if something were to go wrong? Because I remember well the number of times when, in a heated situation, I've been exhorted to return to Bhutan, Nepal, China or wherever I come from. And I have to remind them that India is my land, and I'm not going anywhere.

Nevertheless, let's end this post on an optimistic note and hope that I get to listen to more of Granny's tales and reproduce them here on the blog. They often occupy an enlightening spot in our conversations, and I get to learn more about my roots over meals & cups of tea :)

THE BUDDHA SOLILOQUIES by Meiyang Chang

PRASHANT: MERO BHAI

SMALL TOWN MAGIC

THE SEEDS OF ACTING

A THOUSAND THOUGHTS...

QUESTIONABLE BEHAVIOUR

COURSE CORRECTION

THE EARLIEST BIRTHDAY MEMORIES

YE KYA HUA: HAPPY BIRTHDAY KISHORE DA!

Because it's your birthday & no one can ever match your mad brilliance ❤❤❤ Happy Birthday Kishore da!#YeKyaHua #KishoreKumar #Legend

ONE HELLUVA RIDE!

PUNJAB KI BAAT HI KUCH AUR HAI :)

GRANNY'S TEA-TIME STORIES: OF KITES & DENTISTRY & WHAT I LEARNT FROM TWO LITTLE GIRLS

THE HAPPIEST NEW YEAR!

LUCKNOW: GANJING AND TUNDAY KABABI

VARANASI: SWEET CHAOS

दुनिया इधर की उधर हो जाए लेकिन गुलकंद में कंजूसी मत कीजिएगा! Cue song

Saying cheers with कुल्हड़ वाली चाय!

ANGRY INDIAN GODDESSES

RISE

आज एक कवि से मुलाक़ात हुई

CONVOLUTED REALITY... OR IS IT?

RISE AGAIN

QUESTIONS

THAT BEAST CALLED FITNESS

THE MUMBAI DILEMMA

THEATRE THERAPY + THE MAN WHO THOUGHT HE'D BE A LONER

WHAT WOULD WE DO?

GRANNY'S TEA-TIME STORIES - RATIONING & THE UNFORTUNATE AFTERMATH OF THE INDO-CHINA WAR OF 1962

Because it's your birthday & no one can ever match your mad brilliance ❤❤❤ Happy Birthday Kishore da!

#YeKyaHua #KishoreKumar #Legend