A Year After Baba

One year has passed by since the time that Baba is not with us physically. He led a calm and quiet life and went away equally calmly and quietly...just as he had wished. Let us celebrate his life by recalling some of his sterling qualities.

Willingness to learn new things 

Cheerful disposition

Non-judgemental attitude

Acceptance of physical ailments and limitations without complaining

No expectations from anyone 

Being a trustworthy and reliable friend to many

Ability to communicate meaningfully with people across generations

Regular practice of Sudarshan Kriya and breathing exercises

Staying up to date with current events

Always open to trying out and appreciating different foods without prejudice

Enjoying music, films, plays...

He remained young at heart until his last breath and will continue to live on in our memory in the same way.

My earlier post on him: A Portrait Of My Father!

आठवणीतली मोठीआई !

बाबांच्या आईला आम्ही मोठीआई म्हणत असू. गव्हाळ वर्णाची ठेंगणी-ठुसकी मोठीआई नऊवारी लुगडे नेसत असे. कानात मोत्याच्या कुड्या, गळ्यात सोन्याची साखळी, हातात सोन्याच्या पाटलीवजा बांगड्या, अशी तिची राहणी त्या काळानुसारच होती. लक्षात राहण्यासारखे काही वेगळे होते तर तिचे लांबसडक केस. ती आपल्या केसांची खूप काळजी घेत असे. तेल लावून रोज मोठ्ठा जाडजूड आणि गोल आंबाडा घालत असे. तिच्या केसांना चुकून आमचा हात लागला तर ते तिला खपत नसे.

आमची आजी म्हणून तिची ओळख श्रीमती लक्ष्मीबाई जोशी अशी असली तरी तिचे माहेरचे नांव तारा करजगीर होते. तिचा जन्म अंदाजे १९०५-१९१०च्या दरम्यान झाला असावा. राजस्थान मधील निंबाहेडा हे तिचे माहेर होते. पण ती आणि तिच्या माहेरचे लोक त्याला "लिंभाडा " म्हणत असत. तिच्याबरोबर लहानपणी "लिंभाड्याला" गेल्याचे मला आठवते. पण ती आठवण पुसटच आहे. तीन बहिणी आणि दोन भाऊ अश्या भावंडांपैकी मोठीआई मधली बहीण होती. तिची मोठी बहीण इंदूरलाच असे, आणि धाकटी इंदूरच्या जवळ धारला. तिच्या भावाच्या मुलांपैकी खूपजण इंदूरला होते, आणि ते सगळे त्यांच्या "जिजीआत्या" ला भेटायला वरचेवर आमच्या घरी येत असत.

मी आणि माझी बहीण लहानपणीपासून नेहमीच मोठीआई जवळ झोपायचो. झोपता-झोपता तिच्याकडून ऐकलेल्या रामायण-महाभारतातील गोष्टी अजूनही आठवणीत आहे. ती शाळेत गेली नाही, पण तिला लिहिता-वाचता येत होते. ती पत्रव्यवहार करायची, वर्तमानपत्र वाचायची, हिशेब लिहायची, पोथ्या वाचायची, वहीत भजने आणि पदे लिहायची. दासबोध, हरिविजय तिच्या संग्रही होते. हरिविजय तर बाइंडिंग नसलेली पोथी होती. तिची सुटी पानें कापडी आवरणात व्यवस्थित ठेवलेली असायची.  

आमच्या मालकीचे एक घर इंदूरच्या जवळ बडवाहला होते. तिथे काही कुटुंब भाड्याने रहात असत. आम्ही इंदूरला होतो. भाडेकऱ्यांसाठी सगळी दृष्टीआड सृष्टीच होती. खूप लोक भाडे बुडवून निघून जायचे आणि आम्हाला पत्ताही लागायचा नाही. कधीमधी भाड्याची मनी ऑर्डर यायची. पोस्टकार्डवर कुणाकुणाची पत्रें देखील यायची. तो सगळा व्यवहार मोठीआईच बघायची. मी तिच्या बरोबर एक-दोनवेळा बडवाहला गेल्याचे आठवते. नागेश्वरपट्टीतल्या त्या घराचीही अंधुकशी आठवण आहे.

 माझ्या लहानपणीच माझ्या आजोबांचे निधन झाले त्यामुळे मोठीआई आणि आजोबांना बरोबर पाहिलेले मला आठवत नाही. मोठीआई आजोबांची दुसरी पत्नी होती. आजोबा महाराणी इंदिराबाई होळकरांकडे खाजगीत मोठ्या हुद्द्यावर होते. ते महाराणी साहेबांबरोबर युरोपला जाऊन आले होते. आजोबा चांगलेच उंच होते. दोघांच्या उंचीत आणि वयात बऱ्यापैकी अंतर होते.

मोठीआई श्रीमती भागीरथीबाई वैद्य नांवाच्या आध्यात्मिक गुरूंची शिष्या होती. त्यांचे सर्व शिष्य त्यांना गुरुमहाराज आणि त्यांच्या जागेला बंगला म्हणायचे. बंगल्यावर दर रविवारी कीर्तन असायचे. कीर्तनाला तिथे कथा म्हणत असत. सर्व शिष्य आळीपाळीने कथा करत. मोठीआई देखील कथा करायची. गुरूपौर्णिमेला मोठा उत्सव असायचा. बंगल्यावरचा कुठलाही कार्यक्रम मोठीआई कधी चुकवत नसे. तिचे गुरुबंधू आणि गुरुभगिनी तिला जोशीवहिनी म्हणून संबोधत. लहानपणी आम्हीपण बरेच वेळा मोठीआई सोबत बंगल्यावर कथेला जायचो. शिवाय गुरुपौर्णिमेला तिथे शेकडो शिष्य आपापल्या कुटुंबासकट जेवायला जायचे. श्लोकांच्या गजरात पत्रावळींवरच्या जेवणाच्या पंगती उठत.

आमच्या घरी गुरु महाराजांची मोठी तसबीर भिंतीवर लागलेली होती. शाळेत जातांना त्या तसबिरीला नमस्कार करून जायचे असे मोठीआईने सांगितले होते आणि ते आमच्या अंगवळणी पडले होते. आमच्याकडच्या चमेलीच्या वेलीला त्यावेळी खूप फुले येत असत. मोठीआई अर्धोन्मिलित कळ्यांचा हार करून त्या तसबिरीला घालत असे. त्या उमलल्या की त्यांचा घमघमाट घरात पसरे. मोठीआई सकाळी उठून देवघरात बसून काही पदे गुणगुणायची. त्यातील "वाकुनी टाक सडा राधिके वाकुनी टाक सडा", "चित्ती तुमचे पाय डोळा रूपाचे ध्यान" आणि "लिजो रे कन्हैया बिडी पानन की लिजो लिजो रे" अजूनही माझ्या आठवणीत आहेत.

मोठीआई बरेच सोवळेओवळे पाळायची. सगळे कुळधर्म कुळाचार व्यवस्थितरित्या पाळले गेले पाहिजेत ह्याकडे तिचा कटाक्ष असायचा. मोठीआई आणि आई दोघी मिळून दरवर्षी सगळे सणवार आणि कुळाचार साग्रसंगीतरित्या करायच्या. बरेच उपाससुद्धा असायचे. आम्ही लहान होतो त्यामुळे आम्ही रोजच्यासारखे जेवायचो पण मोठीआई तिच्या फराळातल्या थालीपिठाचा तुकडा किंवा साबुदाणा खिचडीचा घास न चुकता आम्हाला द्यायची आणि ते फार चविष्ट असायचे. कधी-कधी जेवतांना पोळ्या कमी पडायच्या. मग मोठीआई भरपूर तूप घालून जाड्या कणिकेचा पानगा करायची. तो इतका छान लागायचा की चार घास जास्तच खाल्ले जायचे. तिच्या हातच्या घडीच्या पोळ्या किंवा बाट्या अप्रतिम असायच्या.

गाडीवर विकायला येणाऱ्या फळांपैकी मोठीआई जवळ-जवळ रोज काहीतरी विकत घ्यायची. आणि त्याचे तीन भाग करून आम्हा तिघांसाठी काढून ठेवायची. घरी यायला कुणाला उशीर झाला तर स्वयंपाकघराच्या दारात उंबऱ्यावर पाणी पिण्याचे भांडे पालथे घालायची. कुठल्याही वस्तूला विशेषतः पुस्तकाला किंवा कागदाला चुकून पाय लागला तर नमस्कार करायला सांगायची. त्याची इतकी सवय झाली की तो आता आपोआपच केला जातो. पितृपक्षात नवे कपडे विकत घ्यायचे नाहीत, चातुर्मासात कांदे खायचे नाहीत असे तिचे नियम होते. दरवर्षी पितृपक्ष संपल्याबरोबर आम्ही दिवाळीसाठी नव्या कपड्यांची खरेदी करायचो.

मोठीआई आपल्या जुन्या झालेल्या लुगड्यांना मशीनवर शिवून त्यांच्या चौघड्या तयार करायची. त्या खूप ऊबदार आणि मऊ असायच्या. मी कितीतरी वर्षें त्या चौघड्याच पांघरून झोपत असे. कुठल्याही चादरीला चौघडीची सर येत नाही. १२ सप्टेंबर १९९५ला वृद्धापकाळाने मोठीआईला देवाज्ञा झाली. तिच्या चौघड्यांप्रमाणे तिच्या आठवणींची ऊब इतक्या वर्षांनंतर अजूनही मनात आहे. 

Welcome Home Sunil!

My cousin Sunil. Last month he returned home to Burhanpur on retiring from a long and successful stint in Kuwait as Specialist Asset Integrity at an oil refinery. Life has come a full circle for him. As pictures of his homecoming appeared on the family WhatsApp group, my mind went back to the time when Sunil had left home as a 16-year-old lad to get admitted to a premier engineering institute in Indore. He was staying close to our house in Indore, and would often drop by. He made several friends at the institute quickly. He would share updates about his life at the institute with us. He became a member of Maharashtra Engineers, a students' wing of Marathi-speaking people at the institute. We used to get invited to social and cultural events organised by them. Those evenings were very enjoyable, with music, dance, and theatre performed by enthusiastic students.

Time flew, and Sunil passed his engineering with flying colours. He spent about a year with private companies in Mumbai, and then got a good job at the Indian Oil Corporation (IOC). He moved to their refinery in Haldia, roughly 124 kilometres from Kolkata. He adapted to the lifestyle of that new place, and started settling into his profession. He met his life partner Jolly, an accomplished gynaecologist and obstetrician, also working at the IOC in Haldia. They settled into their family life with the arrival of their baby boy, at the same time both contributing wholeheartedly to their careers at the refinery.

Sunil has always been very energetic, adventurous, active, and hardworking. As life presented him with an opportunity to move to Kuwait, he accepted it heartily. Supported by Jolly, they made Kuwait their home. Both of them had challenging careers, and they gave their best to their work. They made many long-lasting friendships there, and took part in social, cultural, and religious activities of Maharashtrian as well as Bengali communities enthusiastically. Of course, Marathi and Bangla are Sunil and Jolly's respective mother tongues, but with exposure to different communities, and a cosmopolitan lifestyle, they are world citizens really!

Photos courtesy Sunil

An avid traveller, Sunil along with Jolly has travelled far and wide to interesting destinations across the globe. He is also a keen golfer, having spent many enjoyable hours at the sprawling greens and desert golf courses in Kuwait. He has a good knowledge of rituals, and he made proper use of his knowledge by officiating at pujas and religious events regularly. He is a people's person, always bubbling with energy. He likes to remain in touch and maintain contact with his friends, relatives and acquaintances, sometimes going out of his way to make efforts to meet someone.

He is very down to earth, and adapts to any condition quickly without any complaints. I remember, once he and Jolly visited us in Bangalore for a couple of days. We had moved to Bangalore just a few days before their visit, and had not even unpacked all our stuff. The apartment was strewn with boxes, and was far from being ready to welcome anyone. They are close family, and there is no formality with them. But still I felt bad that I could not make things more comfortable for them. But both of them made me completely at ease with their natural, easygoing and simple demeanour, not only taking things as they were, but also finding enjoyment in them!

Similarly, they played great hosts when I made trips to their homes in Haldia, Kuwait, and Kolkata. When you are with them, time passes by with chatter and laughter. I wish the same laughter fills their lives as they make India their base now. Wishing both of them many more years of adventure, fun, travel, and good times with family and friends!

A Portrait Of My Father!

It is not easy to write on people who are close to you. They could be your family or friends, but penning a sketch is equally difficult. I have been mulling over the thought of writing on my father for the past few months, but never quite got around to doing it. Finally, gathered some courage to attempt it today.

My father, Baba as we call him, defies stereotypes in many ways. In his eighties. he is as techno-savvy as can be. Ever willing to learn and adapt to new stuff, he uses modern gadgets and devices with ease. He is enthusiastic and doesn't shy away from asking help from his grandchildren whether they are with him or away. He communicates with them with ease on social media and keeps himself updated with the newest trends.

He worked in the textile industry and later in the industrial chemicals business. His work took him to Iran for four long years, away from his family and away from his young children. More than four decades ago, Iran seemed to be a distant place. Communication was not easy, modest aerogrammes being the only mode of keeping in touch. The thin blue letter would take a couple of weeks to reach us, and it used to be the most awaited item from the postman's bag.

Brought up in a traditional vegetarian household by his parents, he made the necessary changes in his diet while living in a remote textile town in Iran, eating the bland, unfamiliar food day in and day out without complaining. Even now he is quite adventurous in trying out new foods, unlike some of us who have reservations about experimenting with different cuisines. The town offered hardly any recreation, and spending weekends used to be a torture. He occupied himself with reading, swimming and listening to music.

Talking of music, he is a trained violinist in the Hindustani style. He used to perform regularly on the All India Radio before going to Iran.The fact that he pursued this interest without having any musical background in the family makes it more creditable. He was a part of the regular music circle in the city and I remember informal recitals taking place in our living room, with music lovers enjoying the offerings by fellow musicians followed by cups of coffee brought out by my mother from the kitchen.

Baba took driving lessons at a very young age and drove his father's Austin regularly with ease. Much later, he got his own Ambassador and then a Fiat. He does not drive anymore, but was an expert driver who understood the working of a car almost as well as a mechanic does. He loved his cars, took good care of them and was always ready to take friends and family where they wished to go in his car. When we used to arrive from Delhi to Indore by train, he would be waiting at the platform in the hot summer afternoon, his car parked outside, eager to take us home.

These days, taking pictures has become very easy. Anybody who has a reasonably good mobile phone takes pictures. Baba was a proud owner of a Minolta and took great pictures. I remember seeing wonderful slides from my parents' Europe trip projected on our living room wall using a slide projector. An early black and white masterpiece from him featured me as a little girl enacting the three monkeys of Gandhiji in a single frame!

Another of Baba's remarkable interests is his expertise in fixing things. Be it an electrical or a mechanical appliance, if it is not working well, he would open it up and tinker with it until it got back into shape. Acquaintances, friends and relatives would often leave their damaged radios, tape recorders, mixers or toasters with him and he would bring them back to life again. Now when everything is disposable, this skill is on its way to becoming obsolete, but still comes in handy while using several household items like a water purifier, a telephone instrument or a water pump.

Baba is blessed with a large circle of close friends. They have known one another for decades and share a great bond. In spite of some age-related issues, he maintains a cheerful disposition, keeping himself occupied with a regular exercise routine in the morning, followed by breakfast, bath and offering pooja to family deities at home. He enjoys going to a play or a concert in the city, though of late his movement is a bit restricted. Well-wishers and friends routinely drop by at home and he loves catching up with them.

He can keep up with present day life and can easily relate to people much younger than him in age. This is possible because he has not allowed himself to "feel" old. It is easier said than done. A big round of applause to him for that!

A Small Sankranti Souvenir!

The phone started beeping incessantly a day earlier with notifications. Messages were pouring in from enthusiastic well-wishers who wanted to be the first to wish you on  Makar Sankranti. There were lovely images of kites, til and gud laddoos (traditional sweets made with sesame seeds and jaggery on Sankranti), haldi-kumkum, flowers, sugarcane, and other related items associated with this festival. On the day of the festival, there was a tsunami of much more of the same. 

Notwithstanding the frenetic activity on the phone, my mind wandered back to the time when Sankranti meant visiting relatives and friends on a cool January day, touching the feet of elders and receiving til-gud laddoos or barfis from them along with the friendly refrain: til gul ghya, goad goad bola (take til gul and talk sweetly).

If a family had had a wedding or the birth of a baby in the months preceding this festival, then the new bride or the new baby would be adorned with jewellery made using halwa (small spiky balls made by coating sesame seeds with sugar syrup on low heat for a long time, a laborious process as the stirring is done using one's fingers). The whiter and spikier the halwa, the better. The bride would usually wear a black saree--otherwise taboo on auspicious occasions--and the white ornaments would stand out beautifully on that.

Sometimes, a kind relative living in a distant town would send a few balls of halwa sealed in a plastic bag kept inside a postal envelope. What fun it was to open that envelope, read the hand-written letter and relish the sweet!

Neighbourhood ladies used to exchange clay pots filled with fresh green peas, sugarcane pieces, ber, and other seasonal fruits and vegetables. It was wonderful to lay your hands on one of these and enjoy the winter goodies. Ladies would also exchange small items of personal or household use as gifts. Bangles, combs, soaps, hair clips, safety pins, pens, postage stamps, inland letters. There used to be a great deal of excitement and anticipation surrounding these gifts.

Such simple times! What makes these memories precious are the personal interactions when wishing someone on an auspicious day. There is always space for these memories. No need to delete them, unlike the ones we keep deleting from our phones every now and then lest their storage space is full!

An Evening With "Haathi Mere Saathi"!

I stumbled upon a hit film of yesteryears "Haathi Mere Saathi" (1971) on the telly last night. I have vague memories of having seen it in my childhood. I remember it to be a popular entertainer that most parents took their children to. It was an attractive combo of a circus and a movie rolled into one. Good music, superstar Rajesh Khanna (this is one of his 17 hit films between 1969 and 1971) and the lovely Tanuja added to its appeal.

I watched the film with today's eye that is used to generous doses of technical gimmickry and virtual reality. None of that here. This must have been an ambitious project to undertake at that time because of the extensive use of animals during its making. It is amazing how the numerous scenes have been shot in real time with the four elephants dominating the frames (pun intended!).  In fact, in some scenes you wonder if they were emoting! They walk, run, dance, push and pull a car, cry, perform Ganesha pooja, summon a doctor, engage in amusing tricks and stunts during road shows with their master, and above all; try to save his marriage! Earlier, at the time of his wedding, the feast for the animals was a treat to watch and had me wondering how long it must have taken them to shoot that scene. The elephants, the big cats and others come, take their seats on neatly arranged chairs and enjoy the food served lovingly by their master and his new bride. How cool is that!

I like noticing the actors' makeup, hair and clothes while watching old films. Tanuja with her tight pants and short tops doesn't look outdated at all. In fact, her wardrobe fits well with the current trends. Her hair is another story though. Her makeup could have been better too. Rajesh Khanna wears his trademark guru kurta in some scenes, while in others he wears shirts with a round collar, two rows of buttons and long sleeves without cuffs. Sometimes the shirts are matched with the trousers in bright feminine colours. In one scene he sports a black guru kurta with pink trousers! One can only cringe in horror looking at his wardrobe. In some shots, his shirts are unable to hide his paunch and give away its clear outline showing behind them, a distinct difference from today's actors with well-toned bodies and six-pack abs. The crinkling of the eyes, the bending of the head to one side and shaking it are all very much there. The pimples are unmistakeable (remember the old joke Mummy Dimple, Baby Twinkle, Papa Pimple?) and together with the mannerisms and the wardrobe, make the persona of the much adored superstar.

The film is laced with the usual fare of those days. There is a wicked Munimji, an evil villain, an upright hero with his unusual four-legged friends, a doting dad, and a darling daughter who addresses her father affectionately as "daddy" and asks the hero angrily to "shut up" in their first meeting. The story by producer Sandow M M A Chinnappa Thevar is very predictable, at times jumpy and having loopholes in places. But watching the film more than four decades later, I realize that I didn't notice any of this when I first saw it in a huge cinema hall. I guess, the lure of the big screen, the life-like images of the stars, the dialogue, the music and the ambience of the place was too overwhelming to notice such small details. Also, generally you saw a film only once, so there was no chance of looking at such things later.

The celebrated pair of Salim Javed wrote the screenplay (their first collaboration) but the spark in their talent was yet to appear. Inder Raj Anand's work as dialogue writer is pretty ordinary. Wonder if Salim Javed could have done a better job had they written the dialogue. Laxmikant Pyarelal's music is a winner. All the three duets are sweet and with a lilting tune. For Sun ja aa thandi hawa, they put the lead pair in two hammocks for the entire duration of the song. A novel idea saving them the trouble and the monotony of running around trees. Solos are good too, two happy and a sad one, the evergreen Chal chal chal mere haathi being kids' favourite.

A story has it that Rajesh Khanna used the signing amount that he received for this film to complete the transaction of buying his bungalow "Ashirwad". He did set up his pyaar ki duniya (world of love, also happens to be the name of his zoo in the film) with his family in that bungalow. All those are things of the past now. What remain are such moments that have the power to transport you back to those days!

Of School Reunions and Bachpan At Pachpan!

An excited bunch of men and women in their mid-fifties descend on their school for a long-awaited reunion. A lifetime has passed since they left the portals of their alma mater for what lay ahead: namely college/university, job, profession, marriage, kids and so on and on. When they left, they had dreams in their eyes and a little sorrow in their heart for the wonderful life they were leaving behind.

A life of sharing little secrets with school buddies. Of seeing an errant student being made to stand outside the classroom by a disciplinarian teacher. Of sitting on the hard bench with a classmate during classes. Of enjoying meals during the lunch break. Of getting toffees from the one celebrating his or her birthday. Of spending nervous moments before the annual exams. Of eagerly awaiting the sound of the bell announcing the recess. Of going on picnics under the watchful eyes of the accompanying teachers. Of singing prayers during the morning assembly everyday. Of small fights over things that seem so insignificant now.

The school had witnessed all this and more. Several generations of boys and girls had spent their formative years in these premises. They had transformed from innocent little children to somewhat awkward adolescents in this very place. When they parted, they had no idea if they were going to see each other ever again. Messages of love and friendship scribbled hurriedly in diaries or autograph books on the last day of school were to be some of the few links that they would have with one another in the years to come. With the modest means of communication available in those times, it was going to be very difficult to stay in touch.

Fast forward to four decades later. Thanks to modern communication systems, long lost friends found each other. And what a joy it was to be able to have a conversation with your chums at the click of a button. Or to be able to see what he or she looks like, on the small screen in your hands! Contacts quickly established, whereabouts found, everyone was now longing to see their classmates in person. After months of meticulous planning, when the day finally arrived; all of them became young boys and girls again...standing in the school compound greeting and hugging their friends amidst shrieks of hysteric laughter.

The awkward teenagers had metamorphosed into elegant ladies and suave gentlemen. Days of struggle to get established in their chosen careers were way behind them. They had found their path, their life partners, and had successfully discharged their duties as parents. Why, some of them were even grandparents now! And then suddenly they had found their childhood once again. 

How comforting it was to be in one another's company! It was as if the decades of separation just evaporated or melted away. There was banter, food, singing, dancing, photo sessions and a lot of catching up. And promises to meet again soon. Everybody realized what fun it was to let out the child hidden in you. Yes, bachpan at pachpan is simply awesome! 

यादों के आँगन में

पुराने मकानों को धराशायी कर वहाँ नई इमारतें खड़ी करना आजकल आम बात है. इसीसे जुड़ा एक सुन्दर लघुलेख मैंने पिछले दिनों अंग्रेज़ी में पढ़ा. बहुत ही तरल और हृदयस्पर्शी! न्यू इण्डियन एक्सप्रेस में २८ सितम्बर, २०११ को प्रकाशित रवि शंकर की यह रचना चंद शब्दों में अपनी बात कहती है. यह देखने के लिए कि क्या हिन्दी में भी वह बात बन पाती है, मैंने उसका तर्जुमा हिन्दी में किया है. मूल लेख की लिंक भी साथ है. पढ़ें और बताएँ!

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अतीत की यादें किसी पुराने रिकॉर्ड की तरह होती हैं, जिसे छोटे बच्चों के कपड़ों या पुराने प्रेमपत्रों की तरह घर के कबाड़ख़ाने में सहेज कर रखा जाता है. उस रिकॉर्ड को बजाओ तो पता चलता है कि उसमें कई खरोंचें आ चुकी हैं और आवाज़ बार-बार टूट रही है; वह आवाज़ दिल को कचोटती है. लेकिन मन में गीत की वह धुन अब भी अच्छी तरह से बजती है...एक लम्बा अरसा गुज़र जाने के बावजूद!

अपने बचपन के घर में लौटकर उसे कुछ अजीब-सा लगा, जैसे वह एक परिचित अजनबी हो. वह घर जल्द ही बिकनेवाला था. पीली पड़ चुकी दीवारों पर आँगन के पेड़ की छाया ऐसे दिख रही थी जैसे किसी दैत्य के हाथ हों, बचपन की रातों में हिलते हुए वह हाथ बहुत डरावने लगते थे. फिर वह उन इबारतों को खोजने लगा जो बचपन में उन्होंने गुप्त जगहों पर चोरी-छिपे लिखी थीं. शायद बाद में पुताई करनेवालों की नज़रों से वे बच गई हों, क्योंकि उन जगहों तक वही पहुँच सकते थे जिन्हें उनके बारे में जानकारी हो. वह एक छोटी लड़की की धुँधली हो चुकी तस्वीर उठाने के लिए नीचे झुका. शायद साथ ही पड़ी अस्त-व्यस्त पन्नों वाली अभ्यास-पुस्तिका में से यह तस्वीर नीचे गिर पड़ी थी. एक मुस्कुराते हुए चेहरे के दोनों तरफ लाल फीते के फूलों से सजी दो चोटियाँ, काजल से गहराई आँखें जो धूप की वजह से बंद हो रही थीं; एक पल के लिए हवा का झोंका कहीं से चमेली के फूलों की खुशबू लेकर आया और यादों के खज़ाने में से हँसी की आवाज़ गूँज उठी.

वह खाली कमरों में चहलकदमी करने लगा. जहाँ कभी चित्र टँगे होते थे, वहाँ अब ख़ाली चौकोर थे. छत में बड़े-बड़े छेद थे जिनमें से दिखनेवाले आकाश को छत की बल्लियाँ चिढ़ा रही थीं. चटके हुए फर्श पर फैले कूड़े के बीच पड़े चिड़ी के इक्के पर उसकी नज़र पड़ी. वह ऐसे मुस्कुराया जैसे किसीने कई बार सुना हुआ लतीफ़ा दोहराया हो. लतीफ़ा तो अब मजेदार नहीं रहा, महज उसे सुनाए जाने की याद से चेहरे पर मुस्कुराहट छा गई. इसी घर के बरामदे में दोस्तों के साथ ताश खेलते हुए सुना लतीफ़ा. अब तो उन दोस्तों की कोई ख़बर ही नहीं है.

अनवर हुसैन की शृंखला "नॉस्टेलजिया" से साभार  

लकड़ी के जिन खम्भों पर ढलाऊँ छत टिकी हुई है, वह जल्द ही उखड़ जाएँगे. उसने गहरे रंग की उस लकड़ी को छुआ. उसकी उँगलियों ने वहाँ उसके पूर्वजों के स्पर्श को महसूस किया. मगन होकर नाचनेवाले फ़कीर की तरह अपनी बाँहें आकाश में फैलाकर सूरज ढल रहा था. उसने मलाबार का वह सूर्यास्त देखा, जहाँ कई-कई रंग बिखर रहे थे, ठीक उसके गीत के सुरों की तरह. उसे लगा उसने घर के अन्दर से अपनी माँ की पुकार सुनी. माँ के हाथों की बनी कॉफ़ी की विशिष्ट तेज़ सुगंध भी उस तक पहुँची. उसने एक झटके के साथ मुड़ कर पीछे देखा, लेकिन घर में कोई नहीं था.

बगीचे में पौधे बेतरतीब-से बढ़े हुए थे. आँगन में कई दिनों से झाड़ू नहीं लगी थी और यहाँ-वहाँ कूड़ा फैला हुआ था. लेकिन वहीं पर तुलसी वृन्दावन ऐसे खड़ा था जैसे इस बीच इतने वर्षों का अंतराल गुज़रा ही न हो. सफ़ेदी किया हुआ ईंटों का चौकोर चबूतरा, जिसमें दीया रखने के लिए छोटे-छोटे आले बने हुए थे ताकि दीये को हवा न लगे. पौधा हरा-भरा था. उसके पत्तों की भीनी खुशबू उस शाम को महका रही थी. उसने तुलसी के एक पत्ते को अपनी उँगलियों के बीच दबाया. उसके सुगन्धित स्पर्श से उसे सुकून मिला. जब उसने देखा कि पौधे के नीचे की मिट्टी नम है, तो उसे बहुत अचरज हुआ. पिछले कई दिनों से बारिश नहीं हुई थी. उसने नीचे झुककर आले की ओर देखा तो वहाँ रखा मिट्टी का एक दीया उसे दिखा. उस दीये में तेल के धब्बे थे. किसीने यह दीया पिछले दिनों जलाया था.

वह मुस्कुराया. उसकी जेब में रखा फ़ोन बज उठा. घर के खरीदारों की तरफ़ से उनके एजेंट का फ़ोन था. शायद पता करना चाहता था कि वह कितनी जल्दी घर के कागज़ात पर दस्तख़त कर सकते हैं. उसने फ़ोन नहीं उठाया.

मूल अंग्रेज़ी रचना: रवि शंकर , न्यू  इण्डियन एक्सप्रेस, २८ सितम्बर २०११

A Slice Of My Childhood Summer

Summer in my childhood. Think of it and you see a kaleidoscope of memories. Two months of carefree holidays when you were not really compelled to do anything. A welcome break from school routine, it was a time when the boundaries between morning, afternoon, evening and night melted into a soft interval of nothingness. Oh,what a happy and colourful nothingness it was...filled with fun, recreation, your favourite books and food. Of course, there was an occasional film to watch and a mandatory visit to your maternal grandparents' place.

But most of the holidays were spent at home in Indore and you looked forward to sleeping on the terrace.The mattresses and sheets that were cool and comfortable at night under a starlit sky, turned dusty and warm as soon as early rays of the rising sun touched them. Sleeping any longer was no option, unless you went indoors and slept under the monotonous drone of a ceiling fan, that is, if you had one. In most houses, the ceiling fan adorned only the living room. You could make up for the lack of sleep by dozing off in the afternoon. The long, languorous afternoons were ideal for a siesta. If you slept on the terrace at night, you needed these midday naps, for your nighttime sleep was often punctuated by the buzzing of a rare mosquito, noisy wedding bands playing late into the night, sounds from a transistor radio coming from your neighbour's terrace, howling of stray dogs or an unexpected rain shower. And then koels' shrill calls pierced the stillness of the skies at daybreak.

Summertime was busy time for the elders. Wheat for the whole year had to be bought and stored safely. One of the rooms at home would be converted into a makeshift granary where quintals of wheat was cleaned before storing it away. A woman was employed especially for this purpose. She would descend with several of her daughters to free the wheat from any impurities like small pebbles and other things. This went on for three or four days. Then the wheat would be filled in sun-dried drums, treated with herbal pesticides and kept in the storeroom.

Raw mangoes appeared in the market which were duly brought home, made into pickles and stored in ceramic jars. The harder and sourer the mangoes, the better suited they were for making pickles. Some were boiled and their extract taken out to make panna, the refreshing, energy-giving drink. Some others were grated or cut into pieces to make murabba, a sweet and sour jam that went well with rotis. All of these were exchanged with the neighbours. The recipe for making these varies in each family, and as a result they taste different.

Then there were papads, stuffed chillies and kurdais to be made and dried in the sun. Kurdais are jalebi-like spirals made from fermented wheat. The process requires hard work, skill and expertise. All this sun-dried stuff is fried and served with a meal to make it spicy..

And then there was sugarcane juice. Temporary sheds were made in each neighbourhood where freshly squeezed sugarcane juice was served with additives like ginger and lemon. A visit to these sheds made for a nice evening outing. Not only was the juice refreshing on a hot summer day, but it was also affordable. Some of the sheds sported private enclosures called family rooms, separate from the common area. Both were furnished with cheap metal or plastic tables and chairs or benches.  One could order a big glass or a small glass. The big glass was often represented by a crude drawing of Amitabh Bachchan on the walls of the shed, while Jaya Bachchan stood there for the small glass. This imagery appeared year after year.

We had fun swinging on the swing in our veranda, playing the simple board game that has been permanently carved on the cement floor at home, eating mangoes, playing in the park behind our house, and reading and listening to stories. A trip to Burhanpur--my maternal grandparents' place--and the prospect of meeting cousins there was a highlight of the holidays. More on Burhanpur in a later post!

A Tale Of Two Houses

Most of us love visiting our childhood. Be it in the form of food, books, people, places, music, movies...anything, just anything that connects us with that wonderful period in our lives. Something that may seem to be very ordinary to others, is significant and very dear to us, because it takes us back to the time when we were kids. I do not know whether our fascination lies in the simple, uncomplicated lifestyle of the yesteryears, or the age of innocence we were in at that time. I guess, it is a combination of these.

I relived a little bit of my childhood during a recent trip to Dhar. Now, Dhar is one of those places that were important centuries ago, but lost all their glory somewhere along the way, and are reduced to being nondescript, small towns today. The history of Dhar is synonymous with that of Raja Bhoj, under whose rule Dhar prospered and became an important centre of learning in the 11th century. Today, it is a dusty little place, overshadowed by its much bigger neighbour, Indore.

Growing up in Indore, I used to go to Dhar often, to visit my paternal grandmother's sister and her family. It was a joint family, living in two houses. One of the houses was called 'old house' and the other,'new house'. The houses had an old-world charm about them. And for someone like me, who did not have much experience with rural or small-town life, they held a great appeal. They had wells and cow-sheds and the floors in the rooms had to be smeared with cow-dung every now and then. I remember spending some happy days in those houses. Later, when I got married and moved on, I did not get a chance to visit Dhar. It was not far, only about 70 kilometres from Indore, but it went very far back in my memory.

A few months ago, when I was in Indore with my parents, we decided to go to Dhar, just for old times' sake. My grandmother and her sister passed away years ago, but their families have maintained a close bond. I was looking forward to checking out the two houses, and of course, meeting my relatives who lived in them. Three of my father's cousins with their wives, children and grandchildren live there now. When I checked with my uncles about the age of the houses, they estimated the 'new' house to be about 100 years old, while the 'old' one, anywhere between 150 and 175 years old.


We go to the 'old house' first. It is in a small alley, standing in a row of houses that are tightly packed, with no gap in between. It looks exactly the same as it did decades ago, when I had seen it last. The front door is unusually short. One has to bend to pass through it. 'You have to be polite, otherwise you can't enter!', someone jokes. The house looks smallish from outside, but is quite spread out inside. There are rooms of different shapes and sizes, connected to each other like coaches in a train. Many of the connecting doors are quite short.

There is a festive atmosphere in the house. Folks who live in the 'new house' are here too, so that we can meet the whole family at the same time. The lady of the house is busy in the kitchen, preparing a traditional meal for us. I am meeting most of them after years, but they are all very warm and genuinely happy to have us. There is laughter and bonhomie around the dining table where we relish the delicious lunch, taking turns in batches of six. They have acquired gadgets like a fridge, television set and even a computer. But they have chosen to live in the house that their ancestors built. Sure, they don't have conveniences like attached bathrooms and modular kitchens. Why, even answering the door while working in the kitchen is a challenge, as the front door and the kitchen are miles apart. But they are taking it in their stride. They have seen the outside world...the adults work in banks and schools, the children go to school, they travel...but what they call home is this. And the best part is that they seem to be very comfortable here.

photos by Prateek

Later in the afternoon, we go to the other house for tea. It is a three-storied house, with balconies on the outside. But the toilets are downstairs, in the backyard! And going up and down the steep, narrow staircase isn't a piece of cake either. But life goes on... has been going on all these years. I became a little girl again...seeing these homes. Most of the other old houses that I visited in my childhood have either been demolished or renovated beyond recognition. That makes these houses unique. And looking at the people who reside in them, I wonder if they are so incredibly warm, loving and simple because they are living in premises blessed by their forefathers. Or they are happy in these old-fashioned places because they are intrinsically unpretentious and down-to-earth. Whatever it is, I wish them even more happiness than they already have.