(Today is my Grandmother's (Dadima) 5th barsi. I wrote this shortly after her death. I don't know what made me post this today. But just posting it. P.S- I dont remember what actually was the "it" that follows)
It brought flushing inside me memories of my own grandmother, dadima to us. Sometimes it seems that she is just beside me , sometimes it seems it had been ages since she called my name . The funy thing death is , gives every moment of introspection a dual personality.
Dadima was a deeply religious person , as all the woman of her age generally are. She never had a very happy life- getting widowed at an age of 29. But still she had a amajing rock of belief in almighty. But what amazes me even more is that why I was able to see these things only after she died. She was so religious that once we tried to tell her that man has reached moon , she said that god lives there and flatly refused to believe that any mortal can intrude his abode. Life was going on and she was just like any other member of my family like my parents or my sister. I did not share any special bonding with her as a lot of people do with their grandparents. But then , she died. Dadima just passed away.
Is was not as if she died all of a sudden . She had been suffering from cancer for 2 years . But somehow it made the inevitability of death strike me . And ironically , life around me changed its meaning for me . Life around me became special from being routine. Earlier, my parents were too by the way for me , they were there because they were meant to be there, but now they are a gift , because ther are with me . Funnily enough it took a death to realise me that. Earlier a seat in bus was too precious ; Now every lady is like dadima. Earlier if a friend broke my heart, I wouldn’t have given a damn , now it cries for reversal of time . Probably, that feeling of loss is etched upon. Saying sorry has become easier , because I have realised that there are far more important things in life than one’s ego and certainly far worse thngs than having it damaged. Earlier friends were routine , they were there because they probably needed me. Now every moment with them is to be cherished , because at some other time , they might not be there. The feeling of being with loved ones has changed its complexion , because tomorrow I might be far away , left with only memories and , memories never suffice. Loss is inevitable , just that notion of bidding adieu has changed. And I thank my dadima for that.
Sonetimes , I think that how crass I have been for a death to make me realise that. But come to think of it, if instead my neighbour’s aunt would have died , would that have made any difference to me ? Never , though I would readily pray hundred times a day for my dadima to make her come back if I could. It just makes me realise that though I never stopped to think of whether I loved her , I probably did, a lot actually, enough to make me love everyone with life . If she is reading this somehow, from any where Dadima, probably , she would understand a lot of things left unsaid. Because that was what she always was. Ethereal in life , larger than life in death . My Dadima.
My father was recently transferred to a place called Hajipur. I visited my family recently during vacations. Now when you are at home and friends call you, there is a standard question which goes like," Kya Kar Raha hai?" . To which there is a standard answer, " Kuch Nahi."
As a thumb rule, you generally know inside out about the place you live in. More so , if you grow to like the place. And if you are an outgoing person, the knowledge is even more exhaustive. I am from Bihar. So, naturally I am supposed to know a lot about Bihar. Or at least about the capital city, Patna . But I have never lived there, never loved it and to add to that , I am not an outgoing person. So , whatever I am going to write might be a grotesque piece of imagination, rather than being a candid assessment. But then this is my blog. My space, my rules and my wishes. As simple as that.
Thank you, Ms Ramani for reminding me that I am an Indian. You know , the world cup is going on and I did not at all follow the Asia Cup . Actually I have not been following cricket since the World T20 started. This disinterest started to make me feel if I am cent per cent Indian still. But thanks to your article- and I am being polite and Indian enough to call it just an article- I now know that I am still an Indian . Cent per cent, or may be more.
No, I don’t spit in public, haven’t ever tried to watch any Indian soap let alone trying to like or understand them, don’t like mangoes either and only if necessary start the conversation with remark, “How slim you have become!!” instead of going other way around. Heck , I have even resisted the temptation to ask Harsha Bhogle on his timeline as to how he got his crop of new hair, in spite of the fact that I am going to be completely hairless in two years. But yes, my father likes mangoes. And he is an Indian. And as a public servant done more for the Indian people than you ever will through your journalistic duties. And yes, he does his work as dutifully as ever and in fact loves his work. So technically in your eyes , he is not an Indian. Indian bureaucrats don’t do that, do they? But paradoxically for you he still calls himself Indian. And so do a lot of other people who continuously strive to make India the “greatest place on earth” that you so frown about despite of numerous hurdles and cynics. People like Mr. Kalam, Mr E. Sreedharan, my father, me if I do my work well, and even you Ms Ramani , if you aspire to bring about some change through your writings and try to write well.
Ms Ramani I celebrate all my festivals the way the way they are meant to be celebrated coz I think the person who invented festivals must have been the greatest psychologist out there , ever. And he did not tell us that we should not be up on Christmas as people are supposed to sleep in night or that we should all turn vegetarian as it is so cruel for the poor turkey to lose its life for us to celebrate on thanksgiving or that we should not get spongy drunk and get all brash and loud on the new year’s eve. Likewise he did not tell me that I ought not burst crackers on Diwali night coz it disturbs the dogs and the people who are old or that I should refrain from pouring colours on Holi just because I think colours are more ‘colourful’ than being bland. Tell you what Ms Ramani, if I do not care about the Turkey, I might as well not care about the dogs and those old people must have done the same when they were of my age i.e. burst a lot of crackers and throw colours. But then you might choose to disagree with the shrink or with me. Bloody well, you can – I am not going to burst crackers in your house or throw colours on you. Because it is in India you are. You can easily say screw off without the danger of being screwed yourself.
You curse a politician and well, any one should for what he has done. But I really don’t think that a major chunk of our politicians are Indians at all. They are Hindus, Muslims, or Yadavs, Brahmins , or from any other caste before being an Indian. Or else they are Biharis, Bengalis, form Telengana, or south Indians, or Marathis . Or in this case they are simply being males than being Indians. May be you have been looking in wrong places Ms Ramani. Indians are not like Politicians that they have. It is the other way around. Politicians are not like the Indians they represent.
Yes, I too don’t think that India is the greatest country around. But still I am Indian because as long I try to work to make it the greatest country , I will be Indian I guess. Most of the chest thumping on Jai Ho came from the NRI community who for all there ‘Indian-ness’reside In their USA and Canada for the ‘standard of living’ they get there and have scantly done anything for their INDIA. If you think that they are Indians , may be you have been using wrong frames as well. For most of the Indians, Slumdog Millionaire was an overstretched tale of the notion West has about India. That while we are no more a country of snakes and elephants, all we have is abject poverty, software professionals, and riots. It only interested us because it won us two Oscars. Did you find Slumdog Millionaire insightful? Watch Bawarchi - a Rajesh Khanna movie. It will tell you more about Indian values than any Danny Boyle America can bring here. Danny Boyle would never tell you that India is the only country where you will get away with calling the national God “A Loser” as you call Ram or publicly bashing the very existence of the major festivals being held here. It is not that we don’t care. It is because we know how to keep quiet when someone disagrees. How to make the other person feel acknowledged in the peaceful terms even if he says ‘no’ in the most blasphemous and ridiculous manner. We are not going to tell you to buzz off in the manner Joel Stein does. He is an American you know. But still if you think that his version is more respectable, then you are still welcome. It is India, after all.
Or, maybe you tried to inject some humour or to use a better word, some ‘sarcasm’ in your piece, and maybe I didn’t get that. But I have always believed that it is not your readers fault if he doesn’t get your sarcasm, it is yours. You were not subtle enough or maybe you were not revealing enough. What do you think? You may choose to disagree and say that I am not intellectual enough to understand you ‘intended’ humour. And I am okay with it. I give you the right to disagree because I am an Indian. I have seen a lot of people crying hoarse on a lot of matters like region and religion. People who tend to think that people do not have the right to think otherwise in their so called ‘jurisdiction’. Ms Ramani, did somebody attack your office or your car or your house for writing what you did? I would think not. Maybe you will reckon the reason for that is that more people watch My Name Is Khan in India than those who read an English newspaper- a business one at that. But I think that it is because there are more people in India who are Indian than those who are merely Hindu, Muslim or Marathi . So while you say that my fellow Indian lot is deeply unaware of the existence of anybody other than his own , he is wild, uncouth, uncultured, do not respect women, eats mangoes(!!!!!), watches dumb shows etc etc, I am just going to smile at you and politely say that while I do not agree with your views, and so will millions of my fellow Indians whom you so conveniently choose to keep out of the definition of being ‘Indian’, I will not vandalise either your home or your office, will not try to get you to leave the country, or to get a fatwa issued against you or try to get a hefty bounty placed on your head. Because you are in India, does not matter whether you think yourself as an Indian or not . And by the virtue of being in India, you have the right to disagree. And if Ms Ramani, by any chance you somehow read this post where I disagree with your views, and still you do not flag this blog for having difference of opinion, Ms Ramani, sorry to say, but you are still an Indian.
I would not hide the fact that I am afraid to sleep alone at nights. When I was young, I used to spin the yarn that I am afraid of cats. That from somewhere a cat will suddenly jump over me at night. My Mummy used to try her best to placate me, but if I had the knack of listening to advices, wouldn’t I have been better man than what I am? She used to know that it was not the cats I was afraid of but the ghosts . The one I used to see in shows like Aahat and Alif Laila. But still she did not used to spill the beans. Never figured out why? May be coz then I would have been lost for words and in no position to argue further and she did not want to put me in such an embarrassing position. So, then finally, my Mummy used to sleep besides me, at least till the time I used to fall asleep. Such a day was a Mother’s Day for me.
And then a few days back a friend of mine whose name I do not want to mention here, told me about the experiences he had when he had a trip to his village in vacations. Sinister experiences all, like he had scary but factual dreams no one could explain about. He used to have strange hallucinations about stuff he had never seen , but others in his family knew about. After he recounted the tale to me, the mouse inside me woke up, and I found it impossible to gather even a wink that night. A boy who used to lose sleep even on the memories of laughable ghosts from even more laughable shows, one can imagine what was the state of my mind on hearing what were apparently true ghastly tales. Disturbed as I was, I called my Mummy and had a chat. It was 12:30 in night and she was fast asleep. But , still she talked to me as if it were morning. She once asked me what was the matter that I was calling up so late? To which I simply managed to gloss over. I never told her about those stories. But, still after that surprisingly, all disturbances evaporated from my mind and I was able to sleep calmly though besides a friend which seemed almost impossible 15 minutes back. I could never explain what happened. Guess it was the Mummy effect which was fully operating even though she was more than 1200 km away from me. That was a Mother’s day for me.
Every time I used to leave home at the end of the vacations, she used to almost cry. She does not cry anymore, but I know she still does. Somewhere. As I do. Those are the Mother’s Day for me.
A week before I leave home after vacations, she starts asking me what snacks I want to take to hostel. She perfectly knows that they will be consumed by my friends instead of me and for that reason, I do not take any of those snacks, but she keeps persisting. In the end she finally manages to convince me to take along at least a cake- a full big homemade cake instructing that it should be finished while I am in train only, knowing fully that it is a next to impossible task for me but still hoping that I would. For that hope, every one of those days is Mother’s Day for me.
Every time she calls , she asks about my studies. And I reply that I study, “Thoda Bahut” . To which she first replies that she does not believe me that I do not study. And then goes on a minute long monologue that why I should study, knowing deep within that I have been surely kidding that I do not study well. For that innocence and ignorance every one of those days are Mother’s Day for me.
Every time I pull my sister’s hair when she irritates me (Yes, I do it even now) she comes and with her hands on hips, wonders what she is going to do with me and warns that she will report us to Daddy even though we have become slightly older now – a threat she never carries out. For those empty threats, every one of those days is Mother’s Day for me.
Any day I love her and any day she cares for me is a Mother’s day. And that is every day.
Somebody told me that today is Mother’s Day. Yes, today it is......one of those Mother's Days.
(This was written around 3 years back- a few months after my grandmother passed away. This is probably my only post I will not fuss about if it is not read-it is a bit too personal. It is just that one of reasons I am posting it here is that I do not want to lose this piece. Frequent breaking down of my laptop has brought about a sense of loss which acquired a entirely new perspective when I somehow came across this piece.)
It brought flushing inside me memories of my own grandmother, dadima to us. Sometimes it seems that she is just beside me , sometimes it seems it had been ages since she called my name . The funny thing that death is , gives every moment of introspection a dual personality.
Dadima was a deeply religious person , as all the woman of her age generally are. She never had a very happy life- getting widowed at an age of 29. But still she had an amazing rock of belief in Almighty. But what amazes me even more is that why I was able to see these things only after she died. She was so religious that once we tried to tell her that man has reached moon , she said that God lives there and flatly refused to believe that any mortal can intrude his abode. Life was going on and she was just like any other member of my family like my parents or my sister. I did not share any special bonding with her as a lot of people do with their grandparents. But then , she died. Dadima just passed away.
Is was not as if she died all of a sudden . She had been suffering from cancer for 2 years . But somehow it made the inevitability of death strike me . And ironically , life around me changed its meaning for me . The notion of having life around me became special from being routine. Earlier, my parents were too by the way for me , they were there because they were meant to be there, but now they are a gift , because they are with me . Funnily enough it took a death to realise me that. Earlier a seat in bus was too precious ; Now every lady is like dadima. Earlier if a friend broke my heart, I wouldn’t have given a damn , now it cries for reversal of time . Probably, that feeling of loss is etched upon. Saying sorry has become easier , because I have realised that there are far more important things in life than one’s ego and certainly far worse thngs than having it damaged. Earlier friends were routine , they were there because they probably needed me. Now every moment with them is to be cherished , because at some other time , they might not be there. The feeling of being with loved ones has changed its complexion , because tomorrow I might be far away , left with only memories and , memories never suffice. Loss is inevitable , just that notion of bidding adieu has changed. And I thank my dadima for that.
Sonetimes , I think that how crass I have been for a death to make me realise that. But come to think of it, if instead my neighbour’s aunt would have died , would that have made any difference to me ? Never , though I would readily pray hundred times a day for my dadima to make her come back if I could. It just makes me realise that though I never stopped to think of whether I loved her , I probably did, a lot actually, enough to make me love everyone with life . If she is reading this somehow, from any where Dadima, probably , she would understand a lot of things left unsaid. Because that was what she always was. Ethereal in life , larger than life in death . My Dadima.
(I do not remember what it was. There have been so many events which remind me of her, that it is difficult to pinpoint one. Moreover, I have changed a lot since, but trying to change back to those days.)
A few days back, it was in news that Shahid Kapoor was miffed at Utv for refusing to promote the movie citing the no-brand value of Shahid and Genelia “brand” . Shahid was going something like, “ Fab kaminey hain, Faale fab ke fab.” I saw it yesterday and half an hour into the movie, you realise that actually Ronnie Screwala is quite a businessman. He obviously had seen the movie and then wanted to save money and also wanted to earn money and he did not want to turn his viewers away so he did that whatever he did. Well, I started reading a business newspaper today and realized that it is as complicated a stuff as my last sentence, and Ronnie Srewvala is quite a businessman. So he tricked Shahid and me and my friends to do what he wanted. So, I went to watch the movie and quite soon realised that had Shahid actually seen the movie after acting in it, he might have saved his spleen for the scriptwriter and the music director instead of Ronnie. And this is supposed to be a musical . Kambakht Ishq was a better "musical", and considering it was from Anu "bebo main bebo" Malik, that is saying something. Shahid tries his best, hams as Srk does , dances as he usually does, but the people in charge contrive against him rather painfully. Reminds me of another bright talent Ranbir Kapoor who in my opinion is still waiting for the script to justify his abilities. Shahid has had Kaminey and Jab we met, but they have been disconcertingly interspersed with a kismat konnection , fool and final and now this. The last movie I watched before this was 3 Idiots and that was only 4 days back . Chance pe Dance doesn’t even tempts comparisons in even the remotest of the senses. I was called an idiot for about 15 days for having not seen 3 Idiots yet. I am again in danger of being called an idiot for having watched Chance pe Dance.
Last few days have been a bit interesting for me . Of course new year arrived , I came back to college, we played Sri Lanka again, and lost or won , I don’t know. Domestic cricket has been more interesting. Mumbai won while I wanted Karnataka to prevail , but importantly BCCI lost as well . And they say IPL is reviving domestic cricket. And also I watched these two movies. And talking of movies, these days there is a lot of autism and Khan on T.V. They have been promoting it all right. But to me it started in all earnest on 15th August 2009 . If I remember correctly, a certain soul was detained a few months back at an airport in US and he cried hoarsely for everyone to listen,” My name is Khan. My name is Khan”. And dear me, did everyone oblige . For me, that was the first look, and the first step. Anyways, by the looks of it, by the end of February it seems that I am going to have a enormously huge punching bag. But, sigh... I will have to wait for that. And by looking at the attempt of SRK to play both Darsheel and Hrithik of KMG rolled into one sprinkled with shades of New York, I know that the wait is going to be an impatient one. Just one doubt for now, no disrespect intended but can autistic people get it up to produce children?
I also watched 3 Idiots , finally. But even before it was released, I knew that I would love it . Coz, one I am also an engineering student.. And two, I am also not doing engineering coz I love nuts and bolts, but because it provides me with the best chance to reserve a secure future for myself. And since I don’t want my college to hand me over a college leaving certificate before I am eligible to have one in case they come across this post, I will like to state that to study in a good college like mine , also gives me the luxury and leisure to pursue my hobbies which in my case happen to be only sleeping. Coming back to the movie, it was what I had expected. Hilarious, well scripted, superb , with punching dialogues, but still a bit jingoistic and melodramatic at places . But essentially the best thing about the movie is that it has its heart in place which is important for a flick like 3 Idoits which basically tries to be a heartwarming tale. There have been criticisms like the movie is far from reality and all that . But remember DCH? That was a movie which was far from reality. College is not all about fests, chicks , love stories , which is even more true in the case of an engineering college. But didn’t we all love DCH ? And who knows, If one has nothing to lose as in case of Rancho, one might end up giving a lecture to a professor as well. Criticisms remind me that the people who created this education system which is nothing but essentially an examination system were also human beings like us likes of which still exist.
Moving on, I returned to my college and also to Delhi in the process. It was cold in Bihar as well, my native place, but coming here makes me feel as if Delhi has never known summer. I have forgotten how it feels like to wear a thin shirt with a thin jeans and a pair of chappals. And everyday my classes start at 9 . Maybe my professor saw 3 Idiots and they felt it was high time to show that they are the one still in charge. Reverse inspiration, you see.
Back home , . I had a trip to my father's in laws, my naanighar that is. When on vacation, if you are married, a trip to your in-laws is mandatory, and if otherwise, a trip to your father's in-laws is mandatory. HaHa kanoon(law) ke haath bahut lambe hote hain. Sorry for the suicidal PJ. The trip was quite eventful as I met some quite quirky characters, quirkier than even me , so they stuck in memory. While I was there, they had another guest. He was a student who had come to give a scholarship test by Brilliant Tutorials, a coaching institute for IIT training. I had a chat with him
“To Bhai, kis class mein padhte ho?”( In Bihar, that is the standard line when you start a conversation with a young child. No wonder Patna has almost 1000 coaching institutes for IIT preparation. )
“ Eight going to Nine” Pat came the reply. Wonder why he was in such a hurry to grow up.
“ To IIt karna hai”
“Haan.”
“Kyun?”
A pregnant pause followed . Just that I thought that it was pregnant but it was followed by another long pause and then another till I realised it is not an artistic pregnant pause but just a detrimental, confused one. Had I seen 3 Idiots then , I might have tried playing Baba Ranchoddas, but I hadn’t . Maybe even if I had seen the flick, I still would not have tried coz I later came to know that the guy has been preparing for IIT since class VI and had already qualified in another scholarship test taken by Fiitjee , another factory for IIT students. His father was visibly proud of him. I just wondered whether the child is intelligent belying his age or his parents are foolish belying their ages. Class VI !!! Are they serious? When I was in one, only thing that was there was Science. Physics and Chemistry were when one slipped his tongue saying Patna and Calcutta. And a child there is trying for IIT!!! Don’t know whether expectations have gone up, competition has gone up, population has gone up or simply stupidity has gone up. I would much rather prefer somebody like my mausi’s daughter. She is also in VIII, and is quite vivacious, likes to talk and importantly behaves like her age and thinks that that father-son duo is nothing more than a walking hoarding for FIITJEE.
Another quirk I met was one astrologer. My uncle has great belief in him and took me there. He has predicted for one of my cousins that she will get into civil services. But there is a catch- she wants to get into engineering. So, being a highly knowledgeable person, he promptly replied that ok then, she might get into civil engineering. And my uncle took him word for word. Now even before she has passed her XIth examination she is told to study chapters like solid and fluid mechanics which might be beneficial for her “civil engineering.” He had also “examined” many other persons from my family as well like my father and my uncle as well.
I felt whatever shreds of belief I had evaporating when the man took out my kundali from a computer software. Then also I had a surge of hope that if not anything , I can at least be an astrologer. And I will definitely not be a dumb one like this . He had a look at that and declared that I will be a businessman when what I am doing is engineering. The amusement continued when he declared that as I grow up, my attachment towards my family will fade away. I had had enough and decided to get back at him . I asked, “You also examined my father. Was it there in his future that his son will leave him?”
He was stumped and tried his best to wriggle out which he eventually did with a little help from my uncle. But I decided not to give up so easily. He had told my Dad that in life everything he wishes comes true and things come easily to him. Now, this statement is as much an eyewash as the death in Ekta Kapoor’s serials is. So I tried to bounce back, “You said that my Father gets everything he wishes for. He won’t wish for his only son to leave him? Now. Will he ?”
By this point I was sure that in the next few minutes I was going to be murdered by either my uncle or by jyotishi baba. May be even he would have not envisaged such a swift end for me . Possibly to keep the sanctity of his predictions intact, he refrained from doing so. Anyways I had already realised that it is time to choose between my spite and my life and in spite of everything , the decision was not overly tough. So I decided to purse my lips for the next hour or so.
One more thing happened in the last few days. I became a member of Indibloggies where I registered my blog as a personal one. So I wrote such a long personal post in case they come checking. Though going by the frequency of visits my blog records by somebody other than me surely no one will bother.
P.S.- First day back in college I had a lab of metallurgy , the teacher asked us , “What is brittleness?”
“Sir, it is the property by which a metal breaks easily.” Almost everyone answered coz this has been standard question in every semester since the time I entered this college.
“Par definition kya hai definition?” He mocked us.
As usual a silence prevailed. And then he replied.
“ It is the property by the virtue of which , a material has got an appreciable length between its yield point and the facture point in its stress-strain graph.” He replied with a mixture of a winning and mocking smile.
So much for the breaking . Clearly somebody has not seen something which he should have.
