Sweet HomeComming in my dreams!

It gave me a joy so sweet, which I probably have not felt for over 25 years.... A special feeling of belonging to the warm nest called home... to be secured by love and smiles which is innately reciprocative . A true homecomming- happiness - safety - relaxation- bliss- purity....

Even the memory of the dream makes me smile now... The silliness of the theme (though it definitely makes perfect sense now) didnt matter a pinch; compared to the enormous soothing it gave to my parched soul. I smiled all the way on my trains to work and back home. Things felt lighter, happier , easier- I thanked God and myself for this lovley treat.

That morning I had this dream where Sharukh Khan has come to his home... which is our Allahabad home and we all children have gathered around Sharukh- giving and recieving the feeling of home comming and nostalgia- Its the back to those times feeling: though Sharukh is a star for the world- for him and us- he is our big fraternal figure who will always be our elder bro- the first amongst us... . I could see in his eyes and face -the relaxed expression that said 'At last I'm home!' And I could have almost said- 'So good he is back with us'. We delightfully talk of previous times and have the least of the interest of his star status.

Even when I had woke up that morning and felt completely happy , entertained and amused- I had a sincire feeling that probably I was related to Shahrukh khan in an earlier life-? And had wondered if Shahrukh too had this strange dream that morning? I will never know these answers and dont mind that. After all its happiness that one seeks for, and I got some through this beautiful dream.

Jigsaw Piece

Morning of September 8 (or 7 or 6- don’t remember), 2011, Waitara

This morning when I woke up, it was a relief: A kind of relief that you attain after concluding a wearisome emotional turmoil. Probably it this unfinished, no rather undone task that was lingering in my subconscious mind and today I feel it’s completed. Well- this was a dream I had in the early hours of morning. I dreamt that Nana is on his way to abandon his mortal self. There is a sense of loss and grieve, there is also a sense of logic- someone in the background said, “He had been missing Nani a lot after she passed away…” Everyone around is acknowledging the fact that its time to bid him goodbye. I felt remorse, love and the pain of his separation.

Apart from that sole event during Sanjay mama’s marriage, when he covered me with a rough khadi blanket and asked Shree-Narayan mama to get me hot cup of Complan, he was always a figure who inspired discipline and righteousness rather than uncharted fondness or coddling. I do remember playing Chaau- Maau with him, bhaiya , Appu didi -holding ears of each other in a circle, yes that was fun… And the great excitement and curiosity we had when he brandished his walking stick amusingly calling it ‘Samjhavan’; that was fun too. Morning walks with him in the NCC grounds were fun: But most of the memories revolve around his concerning statements regarding self-improvement, hindi-spelling improvement and well-being in general. He was always man with a mission irrespective of his age or relationship and the gravity of his purpose often showed on his face. All the display of affection came under Nani’s profile, so even when he was aging and on his death bed, I probably had a feeling that he was on his usual right way. And I felt vindicated by this fact (even as a child I had heard many times) about the ‘Bhrigusamhita’ reading that this was his last birth and after his death he is to attain Nirvana.

Mummy had immediately left for Jhansi on hearing of his declining health, Bhaiya who was doing his MBA at Indore, rushed to Jhansi and could cater to Nana, I had my BSc. Exams happening soon and hence reached there for the Shanti Havan ,only after Nana’s demise. I tried giving emotional support to Mummy. But other than that, it was all ritualistic. I was supportive, prudent, clear-headed….. but probably had missed on the remorse, love and the pain of his separation.

The dream last night- filled out this missing piece in the jigsaw puzzle on the top. And today is a BEAUTIFUL NEW MORNING, with lots of challenges, efforts, emotions and probably a fewer riddles.

Music of Bhaiya

The poetry recitations from bhaiya still echo in my ears. There was such a genuineness of expression, an inherent feeling of honesty in pursuit of expressing each emotion a phrase brought in. When he loudly stated ‘Patriotism. By Sir Walter Scotttttt!!’, there was an air of indignation – that matched that of a frustrated lawyer of a bollywood movie who would thump his fist and the table would shatter. And then the opening lines ‘Breathes THEERE the MAAN with soul so DEAD who ne’er to himself hath said’ was like a lion roar. And suddenly the following line seemed like a kitten purr ‘This is my own my native land’ and again the voice waxed to a roar ‘Whose hath had ne’er within him BURN’. The highs and lows altered throughout the poem until the finally the dictum came up ‘Living shall forfeit fair renoun and DOUBLY DYING SHALL GO DOWN UNHEARD, UNHONOURED AND UNSUNG!!

The other poem which he loudly recited is a favourite, because his recitation makes it even more rhythmic , jumpy and peppy. It is
Tiger, Tiger Burning bright
In the forest of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ( this line is a sorry break)

What the anvil, what the chain
In what furnace was thy brain
Da-da –da-da daaa
Da- da- da- daa daaa
And ofcourse then there was O Captain ! My Captain our fearful trip is done…
I have a smile as I remember the parabolic eyebrows when he says with all grave concern and surprise ‘O Captain My Captain ??!!??’

There was another poem-the words totally obliterated, but not the concern it carried about how India was once so prosperous and now it was like a hallow tree, deprived of its riches. And the topping of it was that it was written by a Britisher!

Yet not everything about Bhaiya’s recitation was loud or concerning. I would never have the poem’s appreciations until I had heard these lines from Bhaiya ‘ … And all that is best of day and night meet in the and her aaayeees. It seemed that by some amalgamation, all the night and brightness do blend into her aayeees

Hindi poems too had its fervour. Yadi Hota Kinnar Naresh Main – Raaj Mahal mein Rehta, Soney ka Singhasan hota Sarr pe Mukut Chamakta . ( Guess we still don’t know what is a Kinnar). And then from Class One- ‘Amma zara dekh to bahar ………. Deekh raha hai Jal hi Jal’ And how can I forget the highly sanskritised “HImadri tung shringg se prabudhh shudhh bharti, svayam prabha svamujjalla swantantra pukarti. Amartya Veer putra ho – Dridh sakalp soch lo, Prashathh veer panth pe Badhe Chalo Badhe Chalo

His recitations are as a special as he would say in his own ‘Mahendra Kapoor’s’ voice ke ‘PHOOOOLOOOOOOOW ki teraah kitaaab mein SaJAAAAYEEEEe hue rakhnaAAAA’

The speed

As I was looking at my two year old sleeping besides me- my mind drifted as many years it could – to retrace my own image as a baby. And to remember being cradled in my father’s arms, or a faceless ‘badi dadi’ always silently lying on her bed, who would offer me homeopathic medicine as I approached her, or the image of dry chilbils that were in true sense a treasure ; the constant sounds of familiar people who are now either too frail or not there at all; the excitement of the doll house in Primary School: Such images are revolting. For the moment you go so deep in past that the sheer depth is scary. It’s like a fun ride in a theme park and suddenly you realise that you’re all alone in it.
I had a tear in my eye to which I was thankful. Life has run just so fast and I was so unaware of it- It’s a perfect rip-off!
However as practicality would have it, sanity dawned to me soon. I am very much part of my life and there was no way I could see myself growing up. And that’s where the little baby so divinely sleeping completes the picture. Life after all, had given me this chance to enjoy its speed; I enjoyed her random babblings, first words (amma amma), first sentences(Ye ta aye), first poetry (twinkle twinkle little star)and I will equally enjoy all her arguments and disagreements she would have with me.

My father in GHS

My childhood has been enriched with people- not too many but effective people. People who in their own few and many words and actions have left a unique,imprint in my mind.
Papa has always been a rich man- filled with stories of courage, hope, determination and success. Even little episodes of his childhood- to me seem like a thrilling novel or an exciting scene of a movie. So let me flip through the images that keep flashing in my mind. These pictures are simply the scenes I have drawn after feeling the past of his life.

It was 1950 a 7 year old, petite boy took charge of a 24 inchi gent’s bicycle and made his way to ‘Girls High School’. His face was well powdered with Nycil because ‘Mem log vaha padhati hai’, his mother had said. Bystanders laughed , but gathering all his self respect, he simply ignored them. Once inside the school and class, somebody told Miss that Baljeet is sikh and so he was absent. That was weird?
And then a day came when Tillu as well became sikh and Amma said no to school. It was a pity – he missed his friends Ballu and Robin. He did not miss the big girls Sheila and Dorothy who would push him off the swing. Lying on bed Tillu was evaluating what all would be going on in school, and suddenly out of no-where- emerged Ballu and Robin – Amma was behind them. “Ooh! They saw me lying down like a tweaky-weaky, they saw my house, they will see Amma doting over me! OH NOooo !”
“How come you both are here?” asked Tillu.
“ You did not come to school today, and I had once seen your house so we came” replied Ballu innocently. Tillu felt ashamed.
Amma did not dote over him but dispatched three bowls of Dalia. And surprisingly Robin ate all his share and had later confessed ‘It was a nice porridge your mother gave that day.”
At the annual concert – he played the role of ninth nigger doll; had his face painted black and lips red and he sang his part loud and clear. The principal gave him a ball as a prize. But Mamaji jeered and laughed ‘Ashok- show me how u sing and dance- c’mon Show me , SHOW MEE!! Show me how you sing and dance in Girls High School!”. Tillu was black with humiliation and stopped talking to mamaji Whenever mamaji came home- he would run away and play with neighbours. When forced to stay- he had his face turned away from the treacherous uncle. The year was close to end when he heard uncle sadly confiding to his sister “I have just one sister and just one nephew and he too doesn’t speak with me”. On Christmas day Tillu forgave him and even accompanied uncle on a Rickshaw to wish Mrs Gomes, Miss Bonafacious, a merry Christmas. No body asked him to sing and dance.
But that wasn’t the end of distress. If not uncle it was his eldest son who created a scene this time. During the recess Tillu was happily enjoying the swing when as always Dorothy and Sheila came and demanded him out from it. He protested and clung to the chains tightly as M K Gandhi would have clung to his train seat in South Africa before being thrown out. There was a certain smirk on Dorothy’s face that made him very very angry but could not comprehend at that age. Dorothy didn’t enjoy swing as the fun to flaunt her age and size infront of him and to snatch him by his collar and push him out of the swing. After few verbal exchanges like ‘Out’, ‘NO’ ,‘I say Out’ ,‘NO!’; Tillu was down on the dusty ground. Friends always fly off in such situations. But fixated on the ground, he did see something familiar- boots – yes boots of Veeru dada- his uncle’s eldest son- the 15 year Raj Kapoor fan all clad in Awara bush-shirt Awara pants. Veeru dada was looking at his befallen brother with a queer expression of guilt and fear. Nevertheless Tillu’s confidence was restored , but as he stood up Veeru had vanished completely. Wonder how could he enter and leave Girls High School that easily?
On his return home- he was greeted by Babuji with a rather stern and angry look- a look Tillu thought he could copy and would give to Dorothy tomorrow! But his thoughts were snapped off with the Babuji’s loud voice
‘Ashok! You little boy – you think you are in girls school so you could have all liberties? You dare joke and sweet talk with big girls at school? This is all what you are learning in an Anglo-Indian school! – I am so ashamed of you- you are disgusting!!’ This was far too much for him to comprehend . Babuji had often been ballistic but the reasons were always traceable except for this time. He laid on the bed motionless and thoughtless. Then Munni came up and confided that not long back Veeru dada had come and told Babuji “ Phupha ji I am sorry but I must warn you- Ashok’s ‘chal chalan’ are not good in Girls High School- I have a friend there who says that the little boy enjoys companies of girls – he talks and teases girls. Too smart for his age, he is not in the right path – I must say this Phuphaji” “And since then Babuji had been restless and waiting for you to be back from school”, concluded his sister.

Beyond Phone Call

Dear All who love me –unconditionally- beyond time and circumstances- I am missing your love- I know I can just dial your number and talk to you. Mummy will probably ask atleast 4 times about my health, and ask why am I awake so late- am I all right… Bhabhi and I will exchange how our day went. But I will not call any one. Because I cant get what I want through a telecon. I want to be with you- to talk of little and big things- talk heart to heart- and laugh at the most trivial things. I want to see the sparkle in your eyes when you hear my stories. I want to massage Bhaiya’s head and feel his pain go away and see his eyes closed in pure bliss. I want to hear the same stories of my childhood from papa and to see him again swell in pride. I cant get these pleasures through a phone call. Conversation is but just one and the most obvious form of communication. But the connections felt are the ones that actually gratify the soul. I don’t know when will I be able to feel the effects of unrestrained love- Till then I have beautiful memories that warm my heart- and ensures I am one of the lucky ones who have had this wonderful experience. And it gives me the confidence to pass this legacy to my child.