Father's Day- Greatest Gifts

When the Sens with some  Sensibilities started writing their first blog on 1^st February 2015, who knew one day they will do the first hundred in less than two years and then the going got slow but they did not stop it completely. Here we are today, after almost seven plus years, sharing our 250^th page with our readers. Thank you for being such encouraging and appreciative folks whose heartwarming comments kept us going on and on. So, today, I present to you a bit from the past, something I have written earlier and to it have added a second part which has never been shared before with anyone other than the trio of MSD.

Image Courtesy: Joseph Joseph

Part 1

“How did you do in your final exams this year, young man?” I looked up at my father’s friend who, instead of worrying about the prices of hilsa and rohu in the fish market, seemed more concerned about my scores. With complete confidence, I replied, “62 percent, Uncle, fourth in class.” My father just kept quiet even though his ten year old son had just propelled himself from almost the bottom of the class to fourth at the top.

My father had always been biased towards me. He put me in one of the best schools in Delhi but kept my sister in Kendriya Vidyalaya. He put his money on me even though my sister was a much brighter student. At eight years of age, I had been caught copying my dad’s signature by none other than my mother; I had often lied about stomach ache and headaches just to stay at home on days when I had not done my homework; I had stolen coins from his pockets ….none of this stopped my father from believing that his son had some bright spark and would turn around in life someday. Everyone, including my mother, had given up on me but my father would tell everyone, “One day my son will do well. You just wait and see.” 

I managed to get History Honours in college and told my father that I would join the Civil Services. My father was pleased but I spent the next five years in college more on the football field than in classrooms prompting my friends to joke that I would walk into IFS- Indian Football Service. My father paid a king’s ransom for my admission to special classes for Civil Service preparation but the best I could clear were the first two hurdles of written exams(Prelims and Mains) but missed clearing the interviews a couple of times. 

My father passed away in the year 2000, still nursing the hope that his son would do well. He never said anything to me but I always felt that somewhere deep inside there was a tinge of sadness for the son who never shone. 

Nearly 10 years had passed when my wife and I got an invitation to preside over the Annual Day Celebrations of my daughter’s school as she had topped the nation in the All India CBSE Examination in the science stream. Every year the school used to invite the topper’s parents to address the audience consisting of students, teachers and parents as part of the celebrations. As I walked towards the podium, just could not help remembering my father as I spoke… 

“Today as I stand here, I am reminded of my father, 35 years ago.

My father would get a letter from the school almost every year just as we got one this year.

Each year the letter would be signed by the principal of the school, as it is today.

Every year he was asked to come to the school, as we have today.

Every year my father would go to the school auditorium, as we have come here today.

This is where the similarities end. In my dad’s letter would be written that his son had to get this much of additional marks in Hindi, Mathematics and Science in the final examination if he wished to get promoted to the next class. Not here today.

My father would be a sad man on those days….not here today.

I am however certain that wherever my dad is today, he will be looking down as a happy and proud man, as I am today.

My daughter has given me the greatest gift in the world by repaying my debt to my Dad.”

The audience stood up to applaud the speech and I looked at my daughter once and then skywards and smiled.

Part 2

Now what could the father do for the daughter who had made him so happy and proud? He thought and thought…and thought even more. He walked through the stores in the malls where expensive objects of beauty were on display but nothing seemed to strike the right note. Everything there had a price tag and he was looking for something that was priceless and no money could ever buy. He would lie restless at night till an idea stuck him for a gift….the greatest gift for the best daughter in the world. He kept the idea to himself but started working towards it. A couple of mails and reminders led to meeting with a few people, some pleas and persistence followed. From initial outright denial to later agreeing to try to agree to send the request message to the right person was a journey the father endured anxiously. An uneventful fortnight followed and soon the waiting gave way to giving up of hope...I am possibly asking too much! Then out of nowhere came a telephone call….

Hello Mr. Sen. Your letter is ready. Should we post it at your address or will you pick it up?

Please keep it with you Ma’am. I will come and collect it myself…

There was no way he was going to let the postal service play hide and seek with his fortune. So at the appointed date and much ahead of time, he reached the iconic office where a call from the reception gave him an entrance to the visitor’s lounge where he saw the history of India’s most trusted brand unfold on the screen there. In some time, a bearer in white overalls walked in, called out his name and handed him an envelope that was sealed. The father touched his forehead with the envelope in obeisance and put it away safely in his bag and rushed home immediately. The daughter had just returned from her college and was chatting with her mother when the father entered the scene and handed the sealed envelope to his daughter…

Here’s my gift for you, my darling.

The excited daughter opened the envelope with care and found a letter inside. She opened the folds of the letter and was completely speechless…..it was a congratulatory note to her by a person revered and respected by all…..

Happy Father’s Day…My daughter made her father happy and, unknowingly, made her father’s father happy and then the father gave her a gift that hopefully will never fade, never  lose value and be ranked among her most precious gifts.

SS

गुस्सा - तीन पीढ़ी का

पहली पीढ़ी 

तू  मुझसे  क्यों  नाराज़  है  बेटा 

उम्र  हो  गयी  है  मेरी 

गलती  कर  बैठती  हूँ  मैं बेटा

दवाई  खाना  भी भूल  जाती  हूँ 

कभी  कपड़ों को गन्दा  कर देती  हूँ 

टीवी  का  चैनल  बदलने  में  आलस  आता  है 

इसी  लिए  तुझे  बुला  लेती  हूँ  बेटा 

इसी  बहाने  तुझसे  थोड़ी  मुलाकात  हो  जाती  है 

मैं  जानती  हूँ  की  बहुत  सताती  हूँ  तुझे मैं 

पर  अब  दिन  ही  कितने  रह  गए  मेरे 

अस्सी  अब  पार  करने  वाली  हूँ 

जब  न  रहूंगी, तू  किसपे  गुस्सा  करेगा  बेटा 

याद  तुझे  मैं  आउंगी 

रोता  तुझे  मैं  पाऊँगी 

खुद  को  कोसेगा  की  क्यों  गुस्सा  किया  करता था  मैं 

आज अगर  तू  गुस्सा  थूक डालेगा 

प्यार  मुझसे  तू  और  बढ़ाएगा 

खुश  तुझको  मैं  पाऊँगी 

अच्छी  यादों  में  खोया  पाऊँगी 

गुस्सा  न  कर  मुझपे  बेटा

आ  बैठ  मेरे  पास तू 

दोनों दो  बातें  कहें इक दूजे से 

दोनों दो  बातें  सुने इक दूजे की 

एक  साथ  हँसे  ज़ोर  से  

एक  बार  नहीं , बार  बार 

गुस्सा  ना कर  मुझपे  बेटा.

दूसरी पीढ़ी 

तू  मुझसे  क्यों  नाराज़  है  दिलबर 

उम्र  बढ़ती  जा  रही  है  मेरी 

गलती  पे गलती कर  बैठता  हूँ  दिलबर 

कभी  चाबी  खो  जाती  है  मुझसे 

कभी  बिल  भरना  भूल  जाता  हूँ 

कभी  मेथी  की  जगह  सरसों  का  साग  ले  आता  हूँ 

और जाने क्या क्या कर जाता हूँ 

क्या  करूँ  गलती  मेरा  दूजा  नाम  जो  ठहरा 

तेरी  सूरत  देख  के  समझ  जाता  हूँ 

की  मैंने  फिर  कोई  भूल  कर  दी  है 

अब छोड़ ना  गुस्सा  दिलबर 

अब  ना  तेरी  माँ  है , ना  मेरी 

कल  अपना  भी  टाइम  आएगा 

याद  तुझे  मैं  आऊंगा 

तब  सोचेगी , शायद  रोयेगी 

बंदा  बुरा  ना  था …शायद  अच्छा  ही  था 

थोड़ा  कम  चिल्लाती , थोड़ा  कम  रूठती 

थोड़ी  सी  मिठास बढ़ाती  ….हाय ! 

तो आज  फिर  काहे  का  गुस्सा , काहे  की  नाराज़गी 

गुस्सा  ना  कर  मुझ  पे  दिलबर 

आ  बैठ  मेरे  पास  तू

दो  मीठी  बातें  आज  कर  लें हम संग 

मुस्कुराते हुए दो  बातें  सुन  एक दूजे  की 

एक  साथ  हँसे  ज़ोर  से  

एक  बार  नहीं , बार  बार 

गुस्सा  ना  कर  मुझ  पे  दिलबर.

तीसरी पीढ़ी 

अरे  क्यों  मुझसे  नाराज़  रहती  हो  माँ 

बच्ची  हूँ , सीख  जाउंगी  जल्द 

गलती  कर  बैठती  हूँ  माँ 

कभी  बोतल, कभी  किताब  भूल  आती  हूँ 

कभी  घर  देर  से  लौटती   हूँ  मैं  माँ 

और  कभी  कुछ  लेने  की  हट्ट  कर  बैठती  हूँ 

क्या  करूँ  माँ , जान  के  नहीं  करती  हूँ 

तुझे  नाराज़  करने  के  लिए  भी  नहीं 

गलती  पे  गलती  हो  जाती  है  मुझसे 

अब  छोड़  ना  गुस्सा  मेरी  प्यारी  माँ 

लाडली  हूँ  मैं  तेरी 

जब  दूर  कहीं  पड़ने  चली  जाउंगी 

फिर  एक  दिन  डोली  में  चढ़ जाउंगी 

याद  तुझे  मैं  बहुत  आउंगी 

तब  सोचेगी , शायद  रोयेगी 

मेरी लाडो , मेरा  बच्चा 

थोड़ा  कम  चिल्लाती , थोड़ा  कम  हाथ उठाती  

थोड़ी  उसकी  गलतियों  पे  हंस  देती …हाय !

यादें आज  मीठी  होती  और  हम  दोनों  मुस्कुराते 

तो आज  फिर  काहे  का  गुस्सा , काहे  की  नाराज़गी  माँ 

आ बैठ  मेरे  पास  तू  प्यारी माँ 

मिलके  कोई  गीत  हम  गायें 

साथ  निकल  पड़ें किसी  नये सफर  पे 

एक  साथ  हँसे  ज़ोर  से  

एक  बार  नहीं , बार  बार 

गुस्सा  ना  कर  मुझ  पे  माँ.

सारांश 

चलो  अपनों  को  अपना  बनाएं 

छोटी मोटी गलतियों को  करें  अनदेखा 

कल  की  यादों  में  आज ही मिठास  भरें 

कोई  खेद  न  रहे,  न कोई  रहे  अनकही  बात  

कोई  रहे  न  गिला,  न कोई  शिकवा 

जो  हमारे  करीब  है, जो  आज  हमारे  साथ  है  

उन्हें  प्यार  के  धागों  में  पिरोहें 

चलो  अपनों  को और अपना  बनाएं.

SS

WHEN YOU SAY NOTHING AT ALL

This weekend I was sitting and watching a Bengali movie on Amazon Prime. The protagonist’s role was being played by one of my favourite actors, Soumitra Chatterjee. This was probably one of the thespian’s last performances. It hardly seemed like he was acting, it was all too natural.  A simple story about friendship, integrity, principles and some values lost in time. A cynical, old man, for whom self respect is everything, gets on with only three people and they happen to be his bedridden wife, who soon leaves him alone in the world, his old school friend and his youngest grandson. His three children feel that their father never used his contacts or else each of them would have climbed the social ladder much further, their father’s strong principles and integrity had got them nowhere. Their prime accusation against him was that he neither made use of his position and contacts to go places nor did he use them for furthering the cause of his children or grandchildren. There was nothing great about the story centred on this middle class family but somehow it rang a bell somewhere and certain words and expressions the protagonist used reminded me of my own father. But what really came out beautifully was the friendship between the two octogenarians who had been friends since their schooldays and there again I was reminded of another such devoted friend.

Kanai Kaku (Kaku being the Bengali word for paternal uncle) is what we called him. As far as my memory goes, I can still see him reclining in an armchair next to my father. One of them is following a match on the television while the other is scanning the newspaper.  I asked my mother, “Don’t they talk to each other?” Ma replied, “Of course they do, but they can also sit for hours without exchanging a single word.” Being a chatterbox schoolgirl at that time, this was truly incomprehensible to me. Every evening, after office, Kanai Kaku would come to our house overlooking the River Hooghly in Garden Reach. Whether Baba was early or late in returning, whether he was on tour or not, it did not matter, he would wait patiently for him. Together they would enjoy their cups of tea and evening snacks, watch a match, exchange views on some headlines of the day, sometimes argue or simply sit quietly without saying a word. Kanai was his old school friend from the Government School they attended together. Baba was a self made man, having lost his father at four. His grandfather had said that with his meager pension he would be able to take care of the education of his eldest grandson. So the younger grandson knew from an early age that he would have to make his way in life through scholarships and hard work. So working and studying simultaneously from the age of sixteen, he completed his post-graduation and then went on to become a Chartered Accountant and, finally, after clearing the UPSC examination, he joined the Indian Railway Accounts Service (IRAS). His friend Kanai, who also had his own cross to bear, was by then working for the Indian Railways too.

Kanai Kaku was tall and thin, with a fast receding hairline, always dressed in his spotless white dhoti and crisp cotton or khadi kurta. Kanai Kaku was a bachelor, who never married as he was asthmatic, and lived with his elder brother and his family. He helped raise his nieces and nephews, who took good care of him in his later years too. My mother always spoke very highly of this family and told me how Kanai Kaku’s elder brother and his wife had taken her under their wings when she first set up her marital home. Kanai Kaku’s nieces and nephews, two of whom were studying Medicine and Dentistry, were closer to her in age and were her first friends in the Railway Colony in Garden Reach.

My father’s job took him all over India while Kanai Kaku remained in Calcutta but their friendship survived all the transfers and travels. 

Kanai Kaku visited us in many of the places where Baba was posted. Once he came to stay with us for a few days in Durgapur where Baba had shifted on a deputation. Kanai Kaku had his own quirks and idiosyncrasies and as we grew older we came to be quite familiar with them and often laughed about them behind the two friends’ backs. My mother was a good cook and generally her culinary skills were appreciated by all and even the cooks working under her supervision served mouthwatering platter to the guests. So at a Sunday lunch, Ma asked him, “Did you enjoy the mutton dish? Would you like some more?” Kanai Kaku’s reply came, “No it’s not cooked well- too bland.” We were quite taken aback and both my brother and I tried hard to stifle our giggles on seeing the expression on Ma’s face and anticipating the explosion that would follow. As luck would have it, the next morning Ma found a carelessly thrown cash memo, in the corner of the verandah, which turned out to be a bill for a plate of mutton cutlet from a local eatery! He must have tried their bestseller on his way back from the evening walk. I leave the rest to the imagination of my readers for, as is well known, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Anyway, these minor setbacks never came in the way of the two friends and Kanai Kaku kept up his visits the frequency depending upon the proximity of the place of my father’s postings to Calcutta. Once, when my mother was hospitalized and had to undergo surgery, one of the most regular visitors, apart from the family, was Kanai Kaku . Every evening as soon as the doors opened for the visitors he would reach with  a tiny box containing two diabetic sandesh ( sugar-free or made with some sugar substitute) as in the course of the hospital investigations she had been tested to be borderline diabetic. He was so punctual that the nurse in charge asked, “That man, in white dhoti kurta, who comes to visit you every day…is he your elder brother?” And my mother’s reply was, “You couldn’t have been more right.” That was Kanai Kaku… not one to land up with expensive gifts or fancy stuff… but suddenly he would appear with a bunch of rajnigandhas  on my parents’ anniversary, or may be a pot of rosogollas to celebrate my passing high school, or piping hot pakoras wrapped in newspaper on a rainy day. I can recall so many evenings when we would go off to a movie or go shopping leaving the two friends glued to the TV screens watching a football match or each doing his own reading without bothering to exchange a word. Many a times the whole family would go off to attend some social event and Kanai Kaku would not mind being attended to by our Man Friday, Bhola or Shankar or even being left alone. Now I realize we were his family, not his friend’s family.

He was there beside us when our father suffered his first heart attack. He was there sitting beside my father when we lost our grandmother.  He was there when my father built his house, post his retirement, in the same ancestral town from where the two boys had begun their journey. By then Kanai Kaku’s nephews had also shifted back there and he had moved in with them. One day I returned from the university to find my father sitting with his head bowed down in the verandah of our house while the evening darkness crept in. He had not turned on the lights. I asked my mother what had happened. She replied, “Kanaida is no more. He just came back from there.”

I remember my father always wore trousers and shirts, occasionally formal suits and the Jodhpuri bandhgala when officialdom demanded, and kurta-pyjamas while at home. We rarely saw him in dhoti- kurta except for family weddings, that too of very close ones. But on the day he passed away he put on a dhoti-kurta early morning to attend a Tagore birth anniversary celebration organized by his old school. Everyone who saw him that day commented that he looked good, for he was a truly handsome man. And within a few hours he was gone. The doctor who certified his death was his friend Kanai’s nephew. I never got a chance to say goodbye, none of us did. Perhaps he had dressed that way specially to meet his friend up there.

DS 

Stupid Cupid

Hello! Is this the IT Helpdesk?

Yes. How can I help you?

Listen I have got my laptop delivered today. I need someone to configure it so that I can use it.

Ok. Please let me know your name and desk number and someone will contact you soon.

I am Subodh Sahai and I am on workstation number 559.

He kept the phone down and was feeling elated. A laptop bag slung from the shoulder and a visiting card with manager designated of a multi-national company was something big for Subodh who had moved into the company a couple of days ago from his hometown at Patna. Here he was in the city of dreams where sky was the limit for his aspirations and with a laptop to boast, he knew he had taken the first step. All he now wanted was the black pearl of a machine to start working and he would get going with his work day and night and make his mark before his boss and others in the company. He waited for almost an hour watching others working on their desk tops…listening to the clickety click clickety click of the keyboards.

Hello…Helpdesk!! Please send someone quickly. I have been waiting patiently like an idiot.

Sorry Sir. I will come immediately said the soft voice from the other end.

In no time a petite lass came over wearing a nice flowery dress. She did not look anything more than eighteen or nineteen. Subodh looked at her and kept looking. Suddenly realizing his folly, he quickly spoke.…I am sorry for being so rude over the phone. It is just that I was feeling somewhat upset that I was not being able to work despite being in office.

Don’t worry, Sir. Let me get your machine working.

She picked up the laptop and was taking it elsewhere but Subodh insisted that she sit on his chair rather than go elsewhere.  He refused to listen to her protests and ensured she sat down before him and opened up the machine. While the girl was working on the laptop, Subodh tried to look away and was making all efforts to ignore her but something was happening to him as he found himself glancing at the girl often with a smile on his face.

What’s your name? He found the courage to ask her.

I am Leah Menezes.

I am Subodh. I am the Manager in the Purchase Department.

After working for over an hour, Leah handed over the working laptop to Subodh….It is all yours now.  Let me know if you have any trouble operating it.

Subodh thanked her and for the next thirty seconds watched the girl walking away and, as she disappeared into the big hall, he turned his attention to the magic screen before him. He started working and worked till late and then neatly packed the machine in the new bag and drove his small car to the paying guest accommodation, not too far from the office. After dinner, he opened up the laptop and started working again….now he could impress his boss who was a hard task master.  He worked till late and hit the bed. He switched off the light but soon realized that sleep was eluding him.The pretty face of Leah hovered in his thoughts….Leah smiling…her lovely teeth glistening and dimples on both her cheeks, lovely legs….Subodh shifted the pillow from under his head and held it tight close to his chest….sometime later he must have fallen happily asleep.

Subodh was an early riser and went to office early. He wanted to impress his boss who too would come in early but today Subodh beat him to work. The boss looked at his understudy working alone in the hall early and went into his cabin. After working for an hour or so, Subodh went to have a round of coffee. It was now time for the other staff to come to work. While having coffee, he was hoping to get a glimpse of Leah….he waited at the coffee station which overlooked the entrance for a while and was about to go back to his work place when he saw Leah entering. She was chatting with a couple of other girls. She did not notice Subodh whose eyes were glued on to her and her alone.

Uff…she’s so pretty….my day is made….he felt elated as he watched her go towards her work station…he saw her take her seat….aaha…so that’s where I can go and see her if required….he thought and went back to work. He then got engrossed in his work which he found very interesting. A couple of times he went to the vending machine and tried to look in the direction of Leah’s seat but, unfortunately, was not able to see her again.

Next morning, Subodh waited at the same time to keep a watch on the entrance and once again saw Leah walk in. This became routine. He saw her couple of times walking past his seat as she moved from seat to seat fixing any hardware related issues. Subodh wished his laptop would give some trouble and he would call for her but then the damned machine was too good and worked without any complaints for days together and then, one day, the screen went blank. At last his wish came true!

Helpdesk…kindly send someone to seat 559. My laptop has suddenly gone blank. It is an emergency.

Yes Sir…said a voice that Subodh recognized for he had been listening to it almost every night.

He was happy that his laptop had shut. I will once again get to meet Leah and talk to her….he waited with his heart thumping.

You are Subodh Sir…let me check the machine….said a young man who got down to work.

This was double disappointment…first the laptop had gone bad and now instead of Leah some other technician had come. The young lad tried hard for long but could not re-start the laptop.

Why don’t you ask someone else to come and help you? Said Subodh.

Ok Sir.

In came Leah to the rescue of both the machine and our man from Patna. A smile dawned on Subodh’s face as he saw Leah get down to work and he got the opportunity to chat with her. He did not want the machine to start working early even though work was piling on. Leah finally got the machine working and he thanked her profusely.….. .I owe you a treat Leah. If it were not for you, my laptop would have never re-started.

No Sir, this is my work. You can at best give a good feedback when the mail comes to your inbox from our department. Based on customer feedback, our annual performance is rated.

Surely…I will give you a five star rating and if there is anything higher, will give that to you.

Thanks so much Sir….and she left for another customer call.

Subodh kept looking at the girl walking away into the crowd...his heart was thumping…Uff..she’s so so pretty…he said to himself.

Subodh kept meeting Leah once in a while and also gave her a knowing smile whenever she looked at him. She too reciprocated which made our hero feel on top of the world. He would now take a walk around the hall to look at her casually. He even got to speak to her at the cafeteria and came to know she lived not too far from his place. Subodh, however, never missed Leah at night, for the instant he would shut his eyes she appeared without fail and stayed with him.

The office New Year party date and venue had been announced and everyone was excited. Employees were free to invite their partners and spouses. People told Subodh that this was a big day when there would be a big bash with lots of spirits flowing, great music playing and people dancing together. On the day of the party, the employees were allowed to go home early to change into their party wear and also bring their partners. Subodh saw Leah leaving. He quickly shut his work and started his car hoping to give her a lift…this was his big chance! As his car moved out of the basement parking, he saw Leah standing across the street hailing for an auto-rickshaw. The usually calm and composed driver Subodh suddenly pressed the accelerator and, in no time, reached the place where his lady love was standing but then instead of stopping, rolling down the window and asking her if he could drop her home, he drove ahead and then stopped. She was still there….should I reverse the car and ask her…what will she think of me….she is much too younger than me and what will other office people standing on the road close to her say….so many questions and doubts were rushing through his head. He kept looking at her from the rear view mirror and saw an auto-rickshaw stop and Leah stepping into it. The rick passed his stationary car and all he saw were her pretty legs and a part of her dress at the knee. He banged his palm on the steering wheel in anger and frustration….what a chance I had and I missed it! Idiot!!

Subodh went home, changed into casual clothes and headed towards the hotel and passed the street where he knew Leah lived. He was hoping she would again be waiting to catch a ride to go to the party but, alas, she was not to be seen. As usual, Subodh reached the venue early and met with a couple of people who were there. Soon the hall started filling up and the music began to play. Subodh stationed himself near the entrance, this time determined to greet Leah whenever she came in. Some people had taken to the floor and there was a big crowd at the bar. Subodh kept looking at his watch….why isn’t she here…is she at all coming? He said a silent prayer asking her to appear and lo there she was….oh how pretty she looked in a black dress. Subodh took a deep breath, flexed his smile a bit and was about to step in front of Leah when he saw her walking in with a tall young man who was holding her hand. Subodh turned around and disappeared in the party crowd.

The party was in full swing and Subodh refused to join his colleagues on the dance floor. He was in no mood for merriment. Subodh…get me a drink….Teacher’s large with no ice….shouted his boss from the floor. Subodh promptly went to the bar to get the drink where he met Leah.

Hello Sir…Having fun? Meet Xavi here.

Hello Leah…Hi Xavi…said Subodh shaking hands with the man who had taken away all his happiness.

Xavi is working at Infosys and plays football.

Hmmm football……Play football where for some club?

No…for the office team.

Enjoy the evening….said Subodh and moved closer to the bar for placing his order. After a bit of pushing around he managed to get the drink ordered by his boss. With the drink in hand, he stood alone for a while… He plays football…she never asked me ever whether I played or not? I too can play and have played at school, college, university and clubs….I can beat Xavi any day. I will dribble around him for six days without letting him touch the ball and then give him the ball to play on Sunday which would be my day of rest. Football at Infosyss…what a joke!!

He started drinking from the glass in his hand and soon gulped it down and walked out of the party. He drove his car to his residence, stopped a little ahead of the entrance to the society and got off. He went to a pay phone booth and dialed….

Hello Renu

Hello Subodh…how was the party?

Good…is Chumki awake?

No…she waited for your call and has just gone to sleep.

Ok…I just wanted to speak to you.

Why what happened…hope all’s well at work?

No…all is fine. It is just that I was feeling a bit lonely here. Why don’t Chumki and you shift quickly to Mumbai….I am missing the two of you…said Subodh with a voice that was cracking….aa jao jaldi bass…

SS 

Creatures of the Night

Delhi 1995

There is no place like Delhi in winters. It is the time to dress, enjoy your food and get together with your friends and family just to have good fun. It is also the time for weddings when all the goodness of spirits comes together. We were invited to the wedding of the daughter of our Bengali boss to a Punjabi groom. We read the card several times and landed up five minutes before 7pm, the time that was printed for the first of the ceremonies. We entered the pandal and did not find anyone inside. We must have come to the wrong place, my wife exclaimed. She took out the big four page invitation card and read the address again and walked up to the security fellow at the gate who confirmed that we had indeed come to the right place but far too early….after all this was a Punjabi baaraat coming and it seemed all the other guests knew, including the bride’s parents, and hence were in no hurry to reach the venue. Since the place was not too far from India Gate, with a baby in tow, we took an auto rickshaw and went over to the lawns there for a stroll.

After half an hour, we once again reached the venue and to our utter delight we found the bride’s dad around….arrey D, S…esho esho….Our attendance was marked. We sat down waiting for some nice hot kebabs and snacks to be served but it was a little too early for that. I even took a walk behind the screen to see the place where the dinner would be laid but that space seemed bereft of any activity. They had just begun to light the fire in the mud oven….and my heart said, tandoori kebabs will shortly follow! We saw some other guests trickling in and D was amazed to see the women folk who, in the middle of January, were wearing sleeveless blouses and no winter clothing to protect while she had a pure wool cardigan and a Kashmiri shawl wrapped around her. I made a gesture to her with my thumb pointing towards my mouth in the most elementary code language that they must have taken a good number of shots of alcohol before entering the marriage venue. Nothing protects like a good spirit down your throat. I said try that and you can also show off your sari and jewellery.

We waited patiently for the baaraat and the kebabs to arrive but no one other than us was in any hurry for now the bar was open and people seemed to have just started enjoying the evening. One good thing about the bar having opened was that some nice, hot kebabs started circulating and I made sure anyone who passed by our seat with a tray was stopped once, asked what he was carrying and, more often than not, a couple of pieces were picked up and passed on to the much embarrassed wife who, after a while, threatened to walk out if I did not stop my shameful antics. Till this day, I have not understood why eating what you liked was seen as shameful…if I did not eat, someone else would and I was hungry too. After the afternoon lunch, I had not touched a morsel and the barbecue food was manna from the heaven. Anyway, after a while, saw some of the dinner trays had a small fire lit under them signalling that anyone in hurry could eat. This was the opportunity we were waiting for. We walked up to our Boss and handed him an envelope and asked him to give it to his daughter who was now busy getting married. I told him that we had to reach home early as our little girl had school the next morning. The gentleman man agreed and asked us to eat well before we left- you must try out all the fish delicacies! So the plates were filled along with the near divine jalebi with rabdi combo which, according to me, is the best dessert on a winter night. Next we hailed our three-wheeled chariot to go home. By now it was almost 10pm and the temperature had dropped drastically. D covered our girl with her shawl to stop the gust of cold air beating on her tender cheeks.

The auto fellow dropped us about five hundred metres away from our house and we started walking. All the houses seemed shut and no one was outside….no, not all were inside. There was one bungalow where there was a light in the portico and, as we approached nearer, saw an old man in a checked lungi with a woollen cap, a heavy sweater, a muffler round his neck pacing slowly up and down. It was my father who was out alone in the winter night and he quickly opened the gate as he saw us approach.

How many times do I have to tell you that I am not a kid anymore? Why do you have to wait for us outside? If you do this, we will never be able to go out anywhere at night.

The old man did not argue but I knew, he would keep doing this as always. I had seen him since childhood when he would ask me to return home after sunset. It didn’t matter how early I left the house, even if it was before sunrise, but I necessarily had to be back at a good time. When in my teens, I returned home late, I always found him waiting for me outside the house…anxiously and patiently. It never mattered whether it was the middle of a scorching summer or ice cold winter….he would be walking up and down, never to stop till the last of the people of the household had come into the comfort and safety of the home.

Mumbai 2005

My flight landed at Mumbai after 11pm. It would have landed at least thirty minutes earlier but for the congestion in the sky. I loaded my suitcase in a kali-peeli taxi and headed home. The only time you can have a smooth ride in Mumbai is before 7am. After that it did not matter what the time was, mid-afternoon or mid-night, you were bound to be caught up in traffic snarls on the dug up roads of the so called Economic Capital of India. By the time I stepped out of the cab, it was well past mid-night but, fortunately, I had the keys to the house and wouldn’t have to ring the bell to wake up the people inside. I slowly turned the key and opened the main door just enough for me to squeeze inside. It was completely dark inside with all the lights out except for a small green night lamp which I could faintly see illuminating my mother’s room facing the main entrance. Like a stealthy thief I felt I had entered without anyone noticing and had started to walk towards the master bedroom when a stuttering faint voice spoke up…

Eshey geshish Shibu…you’ve come Shibu?

She had suffered a stroke about fifteen days ago and was not keeping well at all. Her health was going downhill and almost every day the decline was becoming apparent. She had to be given sedatives at night to make her go to sleep and here she was awake when the whole world slept.

Hain Ma…yes mother. Why are you awake so late, Ma?

I walked into her room. She tried to shift her body slightly to make room for me to sit but wasn’t successful. I helped her a bit and sat down next to her, holding her hand. She smiled and held my hand as tight as she could. I patted her forehead with my other hand. We spoke a little but were together for quite some time. I offered her some water to sip and helped her go to the toilet. After she returned to her bed, I asked her to go off to sleep. She nodded her head. I went to my room, changed and before hitting the bed returned to do one last check on her. She was now sound asleep like a baby. I said a little prayer…she had been suffering for long and may the lord heal her or relieve her of her pain.

Mumbai 2022

It was the end of a hectic month when business pressures were at their peak. Travelling to cities, meeting clients and brokers, going through a deluge of mails and crunching data, reviewing the preparations and progress on a daily basis ended that night of 31^st March with the news pouring in from all locations about businesses retained and new accounts acquired. The mood was upbeat and after all reports of the day’s collections were done, we all went out to celebrate at a nice place not far from the office. I had already told D that my dinner surely would not be at home that night and that she should go off to sleep as I would be very late in returning home.

No business celebrations are ever complete without the spirits flowing out of the bottles and flowing into the veins of the men. This inevitably leads to the food getting much delayed for you cannot tell these spirited men and women that it is getting late guys….you will be mocked to the world’s end for being a sissy. At the earliest possible opportunity, I walked up to pick up a little food as my tummy was almost full eating the finger foods that were getting served while I gulped a couple of fresh line sodas and virgin mojitos. Finally, excused myself at around 1am, as if the Cinderella’s time to stay at the ball was over, and walked out. Drove down home and at around 1.30am, slowly unlocked the first of the two entrance doors. Before I could even put the key into the hole, the door swung open with D standing there. I did not know whether to get angry or not. I still asked….

Why are you awake? I had told you that I would be late in coming home. Why don’t you ever listen to me?

I just couldn’t sleep.

I realized it was April One now…All Fool’s Day and here was a Fool Number One waiting endlessly.

Epilogue

I wonder why in all our stories since childhood they spoke about bad and evil creatures stepping out in the darkness of the night. These creatures would wait to pounce upon the good men and suck up their blood. In life I have been amazed by these night creatures instead who have stayed awake till I came back home in the deep of night. What kept them up in the cold winter’s night when all had shut themselves in the comfort of their homes; why do they stay up and awake when their bodies are failing just to get a glimpse of their hale and hearty sons walk into the house; to be waiting alone without any fuss just to make sure I returned home in good shape having driven late in the night after a long day ….it feels so blessed to be waited upon. I don’t like the hanging bats but I do love these Batmen and Batwomen in flesh and bones in my life.

SS

The Rainbow

I do not like the sound of the hooting ambulance. It scares me when I am on the road driving. I start steering my vehicle to the right and left in the thick of Mumbai’s traffic because I want the ambulance to pass and give me relief. So, when it is my turn to be in the ambulance, no matter how urgent it may be for me to reach my family to the safety of the hospital, I ask the driver to put the lights on but to keep the hooter on silent mode.  On one such ride, about five years ago, when we were taking my mother-in -law to the hospital, somewhere near Mumbai Central, I made the same request to the driver who seemed quite surprised considering the fact that the distance to be covered was quite a lot and the patient did not look good at all. Good that my wife stood by my decision and we had it our way.

As we reached the hospital, the staff was ready and immediately took the patient for some quick tests which were explained by the resident on duty after consulting the Head of Department that my mother-in-law had to be immediately admitted to the ICU. We were asked to fill up a number of forms and make a handsome advance payment. One of us had to stay back with the patient and the daughter said that she would be there for as long as it was required. Wonder why in our mythological stories and in our society, till this very day, people seek divine help for a son to be born to them when a daughter often does much more for them when the time comes?

Next morning, when I reached the hospital, with a change of clothes for D, the waiting area of the ICU was brimming with activity with many people. This is one place which is completely cut off from the rest of the world. People here may look sad and down but there is a strange camaraderie among the in-mates, if I may call them, with each trying to their bit for their own people and also going out of the way to help others. Only they understand each other. The outside world does not exist for them, nor does this place exist for the outside world. Each has its own pulse, each moves in its own rhythm. Here people exist in the present, for every moment is precious here, every moment brings hope, comfort and even loss.  It is my personal opinion that this is the holiest place on earth for all Gods, Goddesses are remembered irrespective of caste, creed or religion and they surely descend to give their divine boon of life to many.

I went and sat next to D and enquired about her mother. She said that the senior doctor attending was doing the rounds and post that he would let her know what course of action would be initiated. In that crowd of sad people, I could see a few of them were different…..when I say they were different, they truly were different. I walked up to the water cooler trying to pour myself a glass of water but actually wanting to take a closer look at these folks. They seemed pre-occupied with their own talk and one of them even gave me a knowing smile. I had to reciprocate and quickly made my way back to where D was sitting and waiting for the doctor to come and talk to her.

After a while, I left for work and then returned at mid-day to relieve D for a couple of hours so that she could go back home, freshen up and then return again. By now we knew that the patient had to undergo surgery the next day and the doctor had told us about the dangers of the procedure in view of the patient’s age and condition. D was upset and she had every reason to be. There was a sense of fear and helplessness. When D was gone, the waiting room was relatively less crowded. My eyes once again fell on the three people in sarees who were now sitting quite close to where I was seated. One of them looked at me and folded her hands…I was forced to reciprocate by making the namaskar gesture.

Mataji kaisi hain…..How is Mataji?….she asked in her deep and husky voice.

The doctor has said that she will need to undergo surgery tomorrow.

Don’t worry. She will be fine. This is a good hospital and the doctors are dedicated here. Everything will be fine….Saying this she raised her hands towards the roof as if saying Allah will take care of her.

Thank you. Who in your family is unwell that you’re here?

Hamari Appa…Our mother. She is here for the last eight days.

I am sure she will get well soon.

I started reading the newspaper after turning my head away from her. I was wondering as to what had come over me that I was talking to them? All my life I have made fun of these folks. As a kid, I would rush to the homes where a baby was born or someone had got married to watch them. These people would inevitably land up in colourful sarees and clap their hands in a typical fashion, showering blessings and seeking money or gifts. When they were not given clothes of their choice or enough money, the scenes could turn ugly. Then, when I grew up, I would often come across them on local trains and crossings on the road where they would once again clap in their style and seek money. In all my over fifty years, I had never spoken to one of them, apart from a few monosyllables, and here I was chatting, as if with an old friend, both trying to pep the other up in the face of trying times.

After a while, D returned and we had coffee in the cafeteria. We spoke on a lot of things but I did not tell her about my conversation in the waiting room. Was I ashamed? Maybe…maybe not…for I was not sure how it would be understood. No matter how much I tried to convince my better half that we could take turns to stay at the hospital at night, she was firm and I agreed.  She wanted to do everything possible for her mother and I was not going to deny it to her. As I was leaving D, one of them spoke up…

Don’t worry. We are here. If she needs anything, we will help her.

Thank you….and I left with a feeling that D was not alone in the hospital. Strange it may seem but that’s how I felt…reassured by people I never considered as my own, people who I always made fun of and people who were objects of sneer and shame for most of us.

Next day, I had an important meeting that I could not abstain from and the brave daughter sat through the operation procedure all alone…..maybe not. I prayed that she would get some company and help of others whose fathers, mothers, brothers, husbands and children were no better than her mother….terribly unwell and needing intensive care. I reached the hospital as soon as my meeting got over and by then the surgery was done. The doctor said that the operation had gone off well and the patient would now take some time for recovery but we had to wait for next forty eight hours before anything could be said with certainty. After a while, D left for home and I stayed back in the waiting room. 

We were now being allowed, one by one, to go into the ICU to see our respective patients. As I entered, I was given the direction of the bed where my mother-in-law was lying. I tip-toed to her and saw her head was bandaged and she had tubes attached all over. Her eyes were closed but she looked at peace. Surely the operation would have gone off well or else the pain would have reflected on the patient’s face? I spoke to the attending nurse there who also reassured me that the patient was responding well to the medication. I felt somewhat relieved and as I was going out of the ICU, I peeped behind the curtains where Appa was lying….I knew her bed number well for my new found friends had told me about it.

Hmmmm….she looked exactly like my mother- in- law….old…eyes shut…tubes attached all over and machines ticking all around….there was just no difference….I felt like saying…

Bhagwaan ka ghar ho (In the House of God)
Ya aspataal ka dar ho (Or the doorstep of the hospital)
Yahaan sab ek (Everyone’s the same here)
And when we step out of these two places, we start drawing lines.

I asked Shanti….Who is Appa and how are you related?

Appa is our mother in this world. She picks up children who are abandoned by their parents and gives them shelter. She even tried sending us to schools but they would not allow us in. She then tried to help us with teachers who would come to our locality to teach the kids but somehow our struggle for survival and basic needs of food and clothing made us skip the classes after a while and venture out in the world where we could make ends meet. If the police harassed us, as they often did, she would help us. She took care of us when we were unwell. She is now very old and sick, so all of us contribute a small sum daily to make sure she gets the best treatment. It is not easy for us to sustain a patient in such a big hospital but with God’s grace, our daily collections outstrip our requirements. Help is pouring in for Appa from everywhere. She is not just a mother to us but our God Mother.

I was speechless and for the first time felt a sense of guilt and remorse for how indifferent I had been all my life to this segment of people.

The next day when I came back in the afternoon, I noticed that Shanti and her mates were not there. Even before I asked D about her mother, I asked….Where Shanti and the others today?

The old lady died this morning. About ten of them came and they took her away quietly. They all had tears in their eyes and they disturbed no one as they took turns to go in and pay their respects to Appa and later they all gently rolled her stretcher towards the lift. One of them even came and put her hand over my head in a gesture of blessing and then left. I will miss them.

We went to the cafeteria and ordered for a coffee each and some sandwiches. While eating, D started talking about Appa and her children on how much of help and support they were during her night stays from fetching water, talking to her and giving her company. I nodded my head….I know…..

I didn’t know earlier but now I surely know…

The sky is blue
The sea is green
And the world is a rainbow
With a colour and place for all.

Picture courtesy: Internet

SS

Movie Time

“Life is a play that does not allow testing. So, sing, cry, dance, laugh and live intensely, before the curtain closes and the piece ends with no applause”- Charles Chaplin

Like most people, I have been sitting at home the last couple of years watching endless movies and shows on Amazon Prime, Netflix and Disney Hotstar. Actually, watching a movie on a big screen in a theatre, fingers moving in slow motion from the tub overflowing with tri-flavoured popcorns to the mouth, tugging at the tub one last time before allowing it to get snatched away by the one sitting next to you, all seem to belong to a distant past. While I sit reminiscing my movie watching days in the good old theatres or sometimes  even in  makeshift ones , not the ones with super- posh velvety seats in sub-zero temperatures and super-reclining seats where you have to be careful to not doze off and waste a couple of thousands, some happy memories  take the field. So my warning to all my Gen X, Y, Z readers is to stay away from this post as it will sound all Greek to you or may even read like the not-always-fathomable ramblings of an idle, aging mind.

Like most people born in the mid-sixties and brought up in Bengali middle class homes, I began my tryst with films with the all-time favourite Satayjit Ray’s Goopy Gyne , Bagha Byne. Undoubtedly, one of the best movies to begin with and over the years I have learnt to appreciate it more and more at different levels with every re-watch. Obviously, I have no memory of the theatre in Calcutta where we went to watch it but it definitely was a big family event.

Most of the theatres where I grew up watching  movies in Calcutta, Bombay or Delhi (I still prefer the old names since I am at the moment transported back in time) have either metamorphosed into the wonderlands called ‘malls’ or have simply closed shop or have changed hands to transform into multiplexes or are in the process of doing so. In a little railway town called Chittaranjan of the locomotives fame (on the Bihar-Bengal border) there were no movie theatres or at least I wasn’t aware of any at that time. This was the town I spent the first few years of my life in, where the Railway Officers’ Club was the only known place to me where films were screened for the members and their families. This was our go-to place for any form of entertainment- swimming, sports, dinner, pot parties, comics, housie(tambola), Fanta, Coca-cola or Kwality ice-creams….period.  Entertaiment ended there!  Friday nights were movie nights followed by dinners to which all families in the colony looked forward in eager anticipation. Mostly English movies- the war and old classics kind or the Westerns- were screened. But at that kindergarten age the orange drink and vanilla ice-creams served in glass cups were the major draws for me rather than well dressed people in hats and coats moving about on the white screen talking endlessly in an alien language.

My earliest memory goes back to watching my first ever Hindi movie – Sawan Bhadon- with our bungalow peon and Man Friday, Bhola. He was going to watch it at a screening in some mela or exhibition ground where they used to arrange movie shows for the staff and workers from time to time. I had thrown such a tantrum that the poor guy had no way out but to take me there and also return early with me, without watching the whole of it, so as to make it in time before the curfew hours, imposed by my mom, set in. For me it was a nice piggy ride on the bicycle, back and forth to the mela ground (full of stalls, giant wheels and carrousels), with the bonus of watching a movie, projected on a makeshift screen, over the heads of a multitude of people squatting on the ground, from the vantage point of Bhola’s shoulders with a candy floss in hand. Much later, I came to know that the rather plump heroine, singing and dancing in the film (though at that time I thought they were all real people moving behind  the screens) with  huge jhumkas, bindi and thick, well oiled , plaited hair, was to do a Cinderella like act in the coming years and turn into the diva Rekha.  I guess I had started on the right note. Her Umrao Jaan and Khubsoorat have always been on the top of my charts.

My family’s moving from a small town to Bombay in the 70s meant an altogether different experience for me. In those days Eros, the iconic theatre built in the Art Deco architectural style in Churchgate, used to screen beautiful Sunday morning shows for the kids.  A whole world of films kind of opened up for me here-David Copperfield (the characters still remain etched in my mind and the opening scene with a terribly handsome, young David brooding on a deserted beach and his life’s story is unraveled in a flashback), the world of Charlie Chaplin, the inimitable Laurel and Hardy shows, Tom Sawyer, Born Free, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang – to just name a few of the fabulous films that I watched here. Alas, the curtains have come down on  Eros. Also, I wonder if today’s kids , with the amount of exposure they have to screen time, will even step out of the house on a crisp, clear Sunday morning and walk down from Cuffe Parade to Eros, holding daddy’s hand, to watch a morning show. In those days, for us, it was a very big treat. Baba also took us to watch much acclaimed Bengali and Hindi movies to the little auditorium inside Akashwani like Garm Hava, Rajnigandha, Pather Panchali and Ashani Sanket. And then there was always Bollywood. Though Baba took us to watch Sholay in Maratha Mandir, he wasn’t a Hindi movie fan. There Ma intervened. But I still have notforgiven her for not taking me to watch Khel Khel Mein, Julie and Kabhi Kabhie   (I had to be satisfied seeing all my favourite stars on the huge hand painted posters all over the city and listening to the superhit songs on the radio). For that matter even Bobby was out of bounds. Naturally, though, I made sure I watched them all on television many years later.

Kolkata was my home for the next few years- high school, college, university, work, love, marriage, motherhood. Hindi movies were a big taboo in Bengali homes in those days. Not so much in our home but definitely amongst the extended family. In that way my mother was quite a rebel. Despite taunts from many family members she took the youngsters in the family to see many Hindi Movies- Deewar, Hum Kissi Se Kum Nahi, Muqaddar ka Sikandar, Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyun Ata Hai, Aakrosh, Masoom , to name just a few from a very long list. Once, in between my tenth board theory and practical exams, I wanted to see the newly released Hum Paanch (at that time I was having a big crush on the angry young man Naseeruddin Shah).  And on our way home, whom do we bump into? None other than the most disliked of all my maternal uncles. I still remember him sniggering-Khoob Hindi cinema dekha hoy na? Parikkha cholchhe na? (You watch too many Hindi movies. Aren’t your board exams on?). Another time, mom and I were back from seeing Sanjay Dutt’s  Johny I Love You. The moment we entered home we got the news of the passing away of one of our very close elderly relatives who had been ailing for a while. Everyone was hounding my mother regarding her whereabouts that afternoon and how they had all been calling her up on the landline for the past few hours. I saw mom hesitating to say we had been out watching Johny I love You (would  have sounded a little weird considering the circumstances), so I quickly said we had gone to watch Akaler Sandhane , hoping that a Mrinal Sen directorial would save her from further grilling.

Schooldays gave little access to films and many a times I had to be content hearing the plots narrated by college going brothers and cousins. This is how I first came to know about Saturday Night Fever, Grease, Rosemary’s Baby, Omen, The Day of the Jackal, though, of course, I made sure to catch up with them in  later years. In our convent, the highest form of entertainment was the annual inter-house acting competition where we ourselves acted in highly censored plays (exchange of romantic dialogues between the hero and heroine were often left for the imagination),  the taller girls getting the men’s roles and the shorter or more beautiful ones getting the women’s parts. So you can imagine what happened when Far from the Madding Crowd (being part of the curriculum) was projected, after a few technical hiccups, on a temporary screen in a large hall packed with teenage girls. Some girls, probably, remained for a week in a trance imagining they were Bathsheba while others spent hours swooning over the charms of the irresistible Sergeant Troy or the loyalty of the stoic Gabriel Oak. Television did throw up the Saturday Bengali movies and Sunday Hindi movies with occasional marathon movie shows during election time. I had a college going cousin – the jholawala pseudo-intellectual type found in all Bong families- who would watch only the Satyajit Ray- Mrinal Sen - Shyam Benegal kinds and had a disdain for all others- and I remember getting into endless arguments with him over the merits of a film like Teesri Kasam or the appeal of a Soumitra-Suchitra hit like Saat Paake Bandha.

Our regular movie haunt with friends was Lindsay Street- Globe, Lighthouse, New Empire. These theatres once hosted Italian operas and theatrical performers from England and other parts of the West. This was where elite Indians rubbed shoulders with the Europeans in colonial Calcutta. Later, they were converted to screen celluloid but the seating arrangement still had that opera like aura. It is indeed sad that these theatres, which once entertained the entire European community and later the English cine goers, had to see very bad days before being sold off to new owners who gave them new look or transformed them to malls and cineplex. They were very much a part of our childhood and youth and it is indeed sad to see them gone.  In those days, a friend’s birthday treat always meant a movie followed by a kebab roll or an ice-cream treat. And what better place for that than Globe or Lighthouse on Lindsay Street ? A balcony or dress circle ticket would cost anything between 4-7 bucks in the best of theatres. Other seats you could get for much less. My male cousins regaled us with stories of the bug ridden 75 paise seats in some cinema halls though we girls seldom ventured there. I can still recall watching Sound Of Music (an old release) and then running all the way down the arcade in Esplanade to catch the just missed minibus back to Lady Brabourne College so that our hostel friends could be inside the campus within the stipulated time .Fortunately, in those days we still tried to abide by the rules as much as possible and ‘Pinjda tod’ had not been heard of yet.

Another time, during the Presidency College festival, I remember watching Ingmar Bergman’s So Close to Life in the morning at the Derozio Hall, followed by Mehboob Khan’s Nargis-Sunil Dutt starrer Mother India at Hind Cinema later during the day, and then returning to Presidency auditorium again in the evening to round off the day with De Sica’s Bicycle Thieves. One of my friends’ mothers had commented, “Your repertoire of films seems to be highly varied for one day. With so much in your head it is a wonder you all found your way back home.”

“Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way
La la la la……”

Life moved on. Met S and got married. With M joining us soon after, we were caught up in the cycle of office-home-office for days and it was the end of romance and movies for us. One day we got a couple of days off for the insurance Licentiate examinations. On the first day we sat through the paper diligently. On the second day, we left home for the examination centre but when the bus was going past Metro we saw the poster of Nana Patekar’s Prahaar, exchanged guilty looks and quickly got off. Prahaar was worth playing truant for and we comforted ourselves that in any case we would have had to re-take the second paper since, with a baby at home, preparation had been next to nothing. So let second paper be shelved for another year!!

Life always comes full circle. Soon it was time to take my daughter for her first movie. Hum Aapke Hain Kaun had been running for months at Savitri Cinema close to our Delhi home. By now little M had been watching television and had picked up some of the catchy numbers from the film. Savitri was one of those theatres where you had to jostle your entry through a pushing, prodding crowd before you could manage to finally plant yourselves on your assigned seats. M was so delighted seeing her favourite Sallu- bhai dancing and singing that she entertained the audience by standing up on the seat and breaking into a song every time the known numbers would come up on screen. Fortunately for us, the audience there was watching the film for the second or third time so they were amused rather than being annoyed.

Savitri closed down a long while back. So did the shop that sold such awesome shammi kebabs near it. I do not know which I missed more. Recently, Savitri Cinema has risen from the ashes in its new avatar- Cinepolis Savitri. Nowadays, to enter theatres you do not have to shove your way through. Rather, beautifully decorated and well lit foyers welcome you. Cinemas have become an altogether exhilarating experience where more than the films other experiences like gourmet food and play areas attract movie goers. Though I still miss those ushers or torch men whom we would look for in the dark and who would focus the beam on our seats. There was a certain charm about finding the nearest torch man, tripping your way up those mould ridden , worn-out, carpeted steps, invariably getting yelled at by an old person for stepping on her toes and, finally, managing to find your seat only to realize that it is too rickety and every time that you tried to recline, it creaked. Nowadays, we enter the auditoriums loaded with magnum sized popcorns packets and nachos or much more. During interval Italian or Thai or Mexican cuisine is delivered at your seats. Not too long ago, the maximum that men could do to impress their partners would be to buy wafers or peanuts in thin plastic packs from the guy who entered the hall during interval with a huge tray swung around his neck. Now the options are endless.

My reverie soon ends as someone has switched on the television in the room and I am jolted back to reality - Republic’s Arnab Goswami screaming on television about who pelted stones at whom during a religious procession and Rahul Shivshankar from Times Now assaulting our minds incessantly with the delusional theory of being the first channel to show the most horrific images of a war.

May be it is time to go to the cinemas after all!

DS

PS.Pics downloaded from internet.