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 उम्र  बढ़ती  जा  रही  है 

दिन  बीतते  जा  रहे  हैं

हम  अपनी  अपनी  दुनिया  में  खोये  हैं 

मुलाकातें  होती  ही  नहीं  हैं 

बातें  किये  बरसों बीत  गए  हैं 

चल  दोस्त , दो  बातें  करते  हैं 

पहले  ही  अच्छा  था 

एक  शहर  में  रहते  थे 

स्कूल  में  हर  रोज़  मिलते  थे 

शैतानियां  साथ  हुआ  करती  थी 

टीचर  की  मार  भी  साथ  साथ  होती  थी 

पर  आज  न  स्कूल  रहा  न  शहर 

ख़ामोशी  ने  शैतानियां  की  ले  ली  है  जगह 

चल  दोस्त  दो  बातें  करते  हैं

दूरियां  रिश्तों  की  कभी  न  थी 

दोस्ती  आज  भी  ज़िंदा  हैं  सीने  में 

तो   फिर  ये  ख़ामोशी  कैसी 

तो फिर यह चुप्पी कैसी 

तुम   बोलोगे  कि 

कैसी  दूरी  दोस्त 

कल  ही  तो  व्हाट्सप्प  में  भेजा  था  स्कूल  ग्रुप    में 

न्योता  बेटी  की  शादी  का 

सब  आना 

क्या  दोस्त  ये  मेसेजिंग   को  बात  करना  कहते  हो 

उसमें  वो  बात  नहीं  जो  बातों  में  हैं 

वह अपनापन नहीं जो बातों में हैं 

चल  दोस्त  दो  बातें  करते  हैं 

पहले  पहले  जब  दूर  जाते 

तो  एक  दूजे  को  खत  लिख  देते  थे  कभी 

आज  तो  पोस्ट  ऑफिस  से  पोस्ट  कार्ड  और  इनलैंड  लेते  ही  नहीं 

मेल  मेल  आज  बदल  गया  हैं 

अब वह मेल, मेल  ना  रहा 

कंप्यूटर  पे  लिखी  लाइन  आज  मेल  बन  गयी  हैं 

पोस्ट  ऑफिस  की  शकल  बरसों  देखी  नहीं  हमने 

पोस्ट  कार्ड  और  इनलैंड  जाने  कहाँ  खो  गये  हैं 

कुछ  अपनों  के  पुराने  ख़त आज  भी  संभल के  रखे  हैं

घर  में  जब  अकेला  होता  हूँ 

उनको  पढ़ लेता  हूँ 

दोस्तों  को  याद  कर  लेता  हूँ 

चल  दोस्त दो  बातें  करते  हैं 

उम्र  बढ़ती  जा  रही  हैं 

अपने  दूर  होते  जा  रहे  हैं

हम  कहाँ , तुम  कहाँ 

कुछ  अपने  साथी  खो  गये  हैं  जीवन सफर में 

जो  हैं  आज  भी , चल  उन्हें  संभल  के  रखते  हैं 

मिलना  तो  मुश्किल  हो  सकता  हैं 

पर  बात  करने  में  क्या    मुश्किल  है 

बात  करते  उसी  फ़ोन  से 

जिससे  करते  हैं  दिन  में  सैकड़ों  मैसेज 

बात  करते  हैं  उसी  फ़ोन  से 

जिससे  भेजते  हैं  रोज़ कई  इ-मेल 

चल  दोस्त , दो  बातें  करते  हैं 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

एक  दूजे  को  जन्मदिन  पे 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

नए  साल  की  मुबारकबाद  पे 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

एक  दूजे  की  साल  गिरह  पे 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

घर  में  कोई  ख़ुशख़बरी  पे 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

घर  में  किसी  के  जाने  पे 

बस  एक  फ़ोन 

कभी  बकवास  करने  के  लिए 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

कभी  गुस्से  में  गाली  देने  के  लिए 

चल  दोस्त , दो  बातें  करते  हैं 

बेटी  की  शादी  का  न्योता  भेजा  हैं तूने 

चल  सब  बचपन  के  दोस्तों  को 

लगा  एक एक  कर  सकबो  फ़ोन 

बोल , शादी  पे  ज़रूर  आना 

देखना  वानर  सेना लपक-झपक के  पहुँच  जाएंगी

चालीस  नहीं  तो  तीस तो  ज़रूर  आ  जायेंगे 

बस  तेरे  एक  फ़ोन  पे 

पचास  साल  की  दोस्ती  जाग  उठेगी 

तेरा  फ़ोन, हमलीन के पाइड   पाइपर  की  तरह  बजेगा 

और  हम  चूहों  की  तरह 

तेरे  वहां  आ  पहुंचेंगे 

चल  दोस्त , तुझे दोस्ती की कसम 

चल  दोस्त , दो  बातें  करते  हैं

SS

No Dolls from Daddy

My Father got me everything that I have ever wanted and 90% of the times it was without me asking for it. Like all dads, he got me all sorts of toys, and games. But last night I started thinking and I realized that he has never got me a doll. I have got dolls as gifts from my friends on my birthday, but I have again never really played with them. I have never slept with them, dressed them up or taken them anywhere with me. They used to sit in a corner in their pretty dresses, pink lips, blue eyes and golden crops of head, keeping themselves company. 

So, what did he get me?

 

Kaku and Bahadur

My first friends, a brown squishy teddy bear and a snowy white polar bear. I do not know how their names came to be. Bahadur was my pal from the beginning but for the longest time I used to be afraid of Kaku until he started helping me with potty training! He would sit on the small baby pot till I finally had the courage to approach both of them. 

 

Chhotu

A brown puppy who came on my 2^nd birthday. Chhotu would come with me everywhere. He soon had a collar stitched by my mother and my old belts would be used as his leash. His favourite food was freshly baked cookies aka my collection of tazos which he used to nibble of a frisbee plate. He was formally renamed Timmy once I was introduced to The Famous Five. One summer evening at Chittaranjan Park he was sitting obediently by the side of the street while I was playing with my friends when the street dog actually carried him away. The poor fellow couldn’t even bark out for help. But that must have eventually worked in his favour because the bigger dog soon returned him home, realizing that Tim preferred to be carried around everywhere rather than follow with his tail wagging!

Kaku, Chhotu and Bahadur

As time passed, I stopped being around for Kaku, Bahadur and Chhotu. In May 2020, when I was in Hyderabad, I got a call from my mother, “I cannot find Kaku, Bahadur and Chhotu. I have searched for them everywhere. I am so sorry. I am sure I have never given them away with your old clothes and toys, but I just cannot remember. I must have had a lapse of judgement.” Since then, we have all searched the house, suitcases, the storage places, cupboards but did not find them. Of course, I was sad but I do think my mother was sadder because she thought she had given them away to someone. 

 

February 2023, our house was getting painted and in the midst of all the chaos, an old duffel bag was taken down from the storage above the kitchen to clear the space. “Why did we keep this bag?” wondered D as she unzipped it and lo behold, the three of them came out looking as though time had simply forgotten about them and passed them by without changing them even a bit. They are back, not to be forgotten again!

 

Pontu

1998, Dad went to Switzerland. He literally got me a bag full of Lindt but more importantly, he got me Pontu, a chubby baby boy with a mop of dark black hair. Pontu became my baby brother. On his naming ceremony I named him Rahul, after Rahul Dravid of course, but we all preferred to call him by his daak naam, Pontu. He did not miss the Swiss Alps and was most at home in both Delhi and Mumbai. For years, his birthday was celebrated but my baby brother did not grow up and preferred to continue living with Chhotu and Anduril, a much bigger dog who came in later on my 11^th birthday, while I moved out.

Pontu with Anduril

Olly

A calico elephant from Sri Lanka was my companion in AIIMS, Delhi. Whether it was 3 am in the morning when I returned from night duties, midnight studies before exams or early morning mayhem to get ready on time, Olly was around to witness some of the most turbulent yet fun three years of my life.

 

Giru and Rudi

A German Giraffe and a Canadian Moose made the unlikeliest duo to stick with me in Hyderabad. They were either sprawled on one side of my double bed or, on days that I cleaned my room, made their way to my windowsill.

 

Ootoo

He came from Dubai. The one with the most cheerful disposition, he was also the one who almost got away. There was only one of the brown camels left in the stall, the others were all of different colours. The shopkeeper at the stall refused to bargain and bring down the price for the unassuming tourists. Dad, unwillingly, said no to him. But he brought all his office colleagues on the desert safari with him to the stall to get the headgear fitted by the young apprentice at the shop. At the end of the day when they were all leaving after the safari and dinner, and the stalls were being dismantled, this apprentice ran after my mother with Ootoo, “Madam, your husband is a very good man, he got me so many clients. Take this for your daughter at the price you wanted.” 

 

Paddy

Wearing a red bush hat and a pair of red Wellingtons, a blue duffle coat with wooden toggles and a hood with tweed lining, Paddington came from the shop outside Westminster Abbey in London. Like the original character created by Michael Bond, he too has a label around his neck, “Please Look After This Bear. Thank You.” Paddy did not come to me from the Queen, but my King got him, maybe to keep my mementoes, scrapbook entries of my adventure and postcards in Paddy’s leather suitcase.

Olly, Giru, Rudi, Ootoo and Paddy

I still remember the winter mornings in Delhi

How you used to wake me up and wrap me, all warm and cuddly

You still wake me up every day

And your smile tells me, it will be a good day.

 

I still remember how you used to carry me to the bus stop

And tell me stories about my adventures non-stop

You still pick me up without thinking twice

Even if it means a stiff back, heat pads and pack of ice.

 

I still remember the Christmas presents under my pillow

A diary, a book, a Rubik cube, a marshmallow

And you still like to play my Santa yearly

Even though I guess you are up to something a little early.

 

I still remember you kicking the ball into the goal

Leading the team to victory, medals and drum roll

You still come back early to catch a Man-U match today

And sulk like a kid when we beg you not to play.

 

I still remember you dressing me up for a fancy dress party

Mera Naam Joker, Munna Doodhwala, a Wizard or even Vajpayee

You still skip away to Colaba Causeway in the Sun

‘Cause I want to be Sherlock just for fun.

 

I still remember you flying to meet me in a jiffy

No matter what, a sari wearing event or feeling a little nippy

One phone call was all it took

For you to be there, to take care and even cook.

 

You are still my one and only stress buster

You are ready with a message for courage to muster

You are my partner from ‘Taken’ to ‘Malamal Weekly’

From ‘Harry Potter’ and ‘Speed’ to ‘Hera Pheri’.

 

Okay, so there may be a small bald patch on that dome

But you still stay up till I come back home

Now I must borrow a line, “When I’m feeling blue,

All I have to do, is take a look at you’.

 

So as another Father’s Day you complete

I raise my bat for you, let the drums beat

Announcing the winner of the Coolest Dad in Town

I present thee with the Crown!

 

No Daddy, I am never going to complain that you never got me dolls because you brought me the World!

MS

My Sky is Shrinking

In the suburbs of Mumbai, it is difficult to find a house with a view. So what drew us to this apartment of ours was that all three sides - the north, the south and the west- were completely open with hardly any high-rise around to obstruct the view. Sunlight entered from all sides and the cross ventilation was exhilarating. We could have taken the flat opposite which had the east on one side but all you could see from there were the tops of other buildings in the same complex. Despite knowing that the western windows would let in the piercing, hot rays of the evening sun from late afternoon till sunset, we chose this one. That was eighteen years ago.

Gold Rush

Leap of Faith

Every evening when the sun bid adieu and its harsh rays softened while taking the final bow, the hands of an invisible artist would take up the palette and the paintbrush. What colours, what shades and what myriad and wondrous hues this painter with his master strokes would splash on this vast canvas of his cannot really be put into words. Every sunset was a visual treat that we never tired of seeing. It was a new painting every day and every minute threw up a new riot of colours.

Alien Invasion

Orange is the New Black

Myriad hues

Smoulder

The night sky, too, would never disappoint. As night progressed and the moon journeyed across the sky to stop by our bedroom window, we would once again be left speechless. Sometimes it was just the sliver of a semi -circle in white, while on other days a full moon threw its floodlight and illuminated every object in the room. On those extremely rare occasions, we, too, have seen the red moon slowly fading into the wee hours of early morning. On a clear night a rare shooting star would catch the eye or a falling one urged us to make a wish or the evening star which showed up as the sun went down would send us into a flurry to get a better view.

Steel

Moonstruck

But, perhaps, the southern and western skies are at their best during the monsoon. In the peak of summer, I could literally see the clouds rising every evening and watch them as they grew bigger and darker and more ominous by mid-June. As the meteorological experts kept up their annual cacophony of when the monsoon would hit the coastline, from my vantage point I could actually see the clouds gathering, day after day, till one day the heavily pregnant clouds could no longer hold the water and let it come down as the first showers of monsoon. A parched earth would spring to life.

Curtain Raiser

Curtain Call

Curtain Falls

On clear days, the distant creek came into focus and we could see the horizon where the sky came down to greet its waters. On rainy afternoons, the rain clouds could be seen gathering and moving slowing towards us as the whole sky seemed to drape itself in a slate-grey sheet. The rains falling on the creek could actually be seen advancing slowly and then, suddenly, at great speed towards our building. Every time this happened a quick dash would be made by those at home to shut the French windows and pick up the clothes left to dry on the clotheslines outside. The strong monsoon winds had the capacity to turn everything upside down in a fraction of a second if they could find a little vent anywhere.

Monsoon Monochrome

On a nice cloudy morning, when the rains stopped but the sun was still not ready to come out, some guests could be heard and seen. The parrots, or probably what the ornithologists would prefer to call as rose-ringed parakeets, would come out in large flocks. At a time, you could hear and see as many as eight to ten of them who would fly away from the windows ledges and sunshades as soon as you approached them. You needed to have very sharp ears to know exactly which window they had flocked to. The parrots have had their homes for years in the ever-reducing big trees in our neighborhood, some of which, fortunately, can still be seen standing in our compound. At such moments, I would leave everything to just catch a glimpse of them as they flew away in perfect triangle-formation every time that I ventured near them. Much as I loved seeing their long green tails and perfectly shaped bodies, the reddish black rings round their necks and their well -sculpted red beaks, the Resident Evils of this building were never too fond of them. I mean the pigeons- those grey-blue, grey-black, brown and white spotted ones - who would huddle together on the side opposite to where the parrots were, eyeing them suspiciously with a touch of envy. Probably, they wondered why these pretty creatures were gathering at their favourite spots and screeching to their hearts content?

Perching Parrot

Over the years the skyline kept changing. The picturesque hills of Powai disappeared from view and, gradually, the crimson patch of the sky, which we could see from the south eastern corner in the wee hours of the mornings, was obliterated too. One by one the building blocks seemed to come up, almost overnight, on the southern and the northern sides. We were cowered down by heights of various names and proportions- celestial, monumental, galactic, imperial. Our only consolation was that the western side was still open. While under house arrest during Covid times, when the air was free from all man-made pollution, and friends in other parts of the country were sending pictures of Nanda Devi and Kanchenjunga peaks seen from their home-towns, we were happy to see the buildings across the creek- till then we had seen the creek but never beyond it.

The Lockdown Views...oops Blues

And then one day the gigantic cranes- not birds but monstrosities in iron – and excavators and cement mixers started arriving. Suddenly the Prem Nagar, which we had seen all these years as a conglomerate of shanties and chawls, was replaced by a plethora of buildings of odd shapes and sizes with no sense of symmetry or beauty. I believe it is just the beginning. More such buildings are in the process of coming up as soon as the present inhabitants of the remaining slums are accommodated elsewhere and the politicians and builders are ready to wave the green flag. Another round of trees and shanties will go down; the marshy land will be completely concretized so that not a drop of water can seep through to make way for more vertical blocks to come up in one congested cluster.

The view is gone and so has the sky. I have to run from one window to another and look over the jutting cranes to catch a patch of the sky. Not much is left. I still see the big orange ball of fire go down as it silently sinks into the horizon, but the artist’s canvas has shrunk to the size of one small window in which the changes in colours can still be observed but shorn of its magnificence. Just a matter of time before another concrete monster comes to stand in front of this window too.

The Last Ray

But there is one thing that haunts me every single day and every single night. It is the koel which keeps coo-ing, day and night, perhaps perched on its solitary nest somewhere in a branch of some very old tree still holding its place in this parade of urbanization. I have never seen this little bird; I have only heard it. Wonder what it keeps trying to say, trapped in this man-made concrete jungle?

“Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:”
(Ode to a Nightingale-John Keats)

DS

Pictures and captions: MS

The Mother

What’s happening? Who are you?

Tauseef was completely taken aback as his face was covered with a cloth bag, moments after he heard a gun fire outside his plush office in Srinagar.

Before he even realised what was happening, he was pushed by his captors onto what seemed to be a big car or van which sped away the moment he heard the doors shut. He could feel surrounded by men who spoke Pushto and smelt of clothes that had not been washed for a long time.

The vehicle moved at a great speed initially and then the speed dropped drastically as Tauseef felt the ride getting extremely bumpy. The vehicle was making noises as if it would break open any moment but, after over an hour, the car came to a screeching halt. The door opened and Tauseef felt rough hands on his neck and shoulders as he was pulled out and then dragged like a carcass over some distance before the ordeal came to a stop.

Halku, call his family and make our demands clear to them.

Hello, is that Dr. Amin speaking?

Yes…Tauseef knew that is what his father would have said on the other side.

We have taken your son captive. You and your family have not been living as stated in Sharia and have also been working with the tyrant Indian government. Now listen carefully, unless the government releases three of our commanders from the central jail, your son will die a slow and painful death.  You have twenty-four hours to hand over our people otherwise you lose your son Tauseef. Would you like to hear him…?

Tauseef was pushed hard and he felt as if someone was stabbing him from behind. He gave out a loud cry and said…Abbu, main hi hoon yahan…I am here.

Please do not harm my son. I will speak to the government to meet your demands but you will have to give me more time. You know how the government machinery works and for such a big request, I will have to get permission from Delhi. Give me ten days please.

So you are acting smart, eh? In ten days the Indian army will find our hideout and try to free your son. Do not even think about it. We will give you no more than seventy-two hours and after that your son dies. Meanwhile, you will get a souvenir from your son’s body every twenty-four hours to remind you of your work and not to take any chances with us. Your only son, your loving son, Tauseef, will have to pay with his life if you make any foolish move. Our people are watching you all the time and we will know of your movements and listen to your conversations with anyone including your wife and your loving daughter-in-law.

Tauseef knew now what was happening. His father and he had been talking to the local people in Srinagar about giving up arms and separation. They spoke about them taking to education and reviving old culture and industry which would benefit all. Lately, Dr. Amin had agreed to Tauseef marrying Maria, a Catholic, and allowed her to continue following her faith and not wear a hijab in public. All this had infuriated the extremists who had now taken him hostage.

The captors now put a chain to his ankles, took off the cloth bag over his face and locked him up in a room that was bare and dirty. He had not eaten for hours but there was no one to ask. In some time, the door opened and a few of them walked in holding their Kalashnikovs. The leader of the pack said, let us give the old doctor a piece of his son today so that he takes us seriously.

Yes yes…all the rest laughed and spoke in unison… let us do it now.

Halku, this infidel has a mole on his back. See if your earlier stab is close to the place… if yes, then tear it away and send it to his home today.”

No no….Tauseef cried and begged but Halku in one swift strike cut off a part of Tauseef’s flesh with the mole, put it in a dirty piece of handkerchief and one of the men took it away to be despatched to the destination.

Tauseef lay there bleeding and crying with no first aid of any sort as the kidnappers banged the door shut behind them. Despite the pain and blood oozing, tired Tauseef slept off and didn’t remember for how long. His sleep was broken by the captors lifting him up and shoving him into a waiting station wagon.

He could barely hear the people sitting around him whispering with each other. From a few words that reached him he could decipher that the person who went to deliver the piece of the infidel was caught by the security forces and it is possible he may have been forced to confess the hideout where they had kept this man.

After a long drive that never seemed to end traversing dusty, hilly terrain, the vehicle reached what appeared to be a village. Tauseef was dragged into one of the houses.

You Indians think you can beat us and win against us? You fool, now we will show your father and the security forces what arresting one more of our men means. Halku, chop off two of his fingers and send them to his father to remind him that the countdown to day two has started and tomorrow he will first get three of his toes and then the whole of his son if our demands are not met fully.

Halku seemed to enjoy the game in which he was being asked to play the main role. Once again he chopped off two of Tauseef’s little fingers, one from each hand, wrapped them in another cloth and sent it for delivery. The man once more lay there bleeding and crying for help. All the men left the house except one, he who appeared to be the big boss among the kidnappers with the largest frame and beard that was bigger than Santa Claus. He seemed to be in his forties and wore black shalwar kameez. He shouted… you will suffer more but for one more day. After that it will be freedom either way…. Freedom from us or freedom from the world… ha ha… and he walked out of the room into the adjoining one where he shouted, get me food… I am very hungry.

Tauseef had once again fallen into a deep slumber after shouting for hours for help… he was woken up later when he found someone trying to nurse his wounds. This was a lady in hijab who asked him with a finger on her lips to stay quiet as she cleaned the bleeding hands with some antiseptic liquid. Tauseef was in intense pain with the medicine giving him a burning sensation. The lady stuffed a dupatta in his mouth to make sure no sound could come out of Tauseef’s mouth.  After all the cleaning, she went out of the room after freeing his mouth and again appeared after a while with food and water in her hands. Tauseef’s hands were free and she let him eat the food that was cold but it did not matter. It was almost two days since he had eaten anything and he was wondering who this saviour was and why was she doing it at all. The lady left Tauseef to once again go off to sleep. When he woke up the morning sun was peeping in through the cracks in the window. He heard the man of the house shout…

I am going out and will return in the afternoon when we will check if the Indian government is acceding to our demands. If not, we will have to chop off three of his toes and by night time will have to kill him if we do not hear about the release of our men.

Listen Ibrahim. You may be the boss of your men and the people fear you and obey you unquestionably, but this is my house and the man inside is a guest for me. He will not be harmed in my house let alone be killed. The moment I see or hear you or any of your thugs come close to the captive, I shall leave your house with Jaan and will never ever return home.

Jaan was Ibrahim’s jaan or life. The nine year old was his most precious thing in the world for whom he could give up anything. The problem with Ibrahim was that while he could get all the things a young boy of nine would need, including the most expensive ones, he could not give him any formal education for he was always on the run with his family. His wife Fatima would curse him always but followed him everywhere as tradition demanded.

As soon as Ibrahim left the house in his van with his people, Fatima went into the room where Tauseef lay with Jaan in tow. She offered the wounded man some hot soup and bread. She even got him a fresh black kameez for the one in which Tauseef was brought in had been splashed with blood and mud. Tauseef felt some life coming back to him and he smiled at the young lad who was trying to hide behind Fatima’s burqa.

Come here...tell me your name?

Jaan…Jaan Mohammad.

What class do you study and what do you like to play?

Jaan nodded no with his head to the first question and then said….I like to play football… I like to see the matches.

I, too, like football. Which is your favourite team?

Manchester United.

Inshallah… I too follow Man U. Do you know they were once the best team but have now fallen in bad times? They are trying to revive but it is not easy. There was a time when they won almost everything.

Fatima was also enjoying the conversation… the two of you talk as much as you can. I have to do some cooking and cleaning…and she left Jaan with Tauseef in conversation about football and their favourite team.

Tauseef was quite impressed with the young boy’s knowledge about the history from Sir Alex Fergusson to legends like Cantona, Van Neestelroy, Rooney, Scholes, Ryan Giggs, Bobby Charlton and George Best. It seemed he had many videos and sports magazines and he never missed the matches on television. Jaan too was enjoying the company of someone who could match his knowledge and also tell him more about the game, techniques and players.

Their conversation went on for long when a loud banging of the door was heard. Jaan ran out of the room and Ibrahim and his cronies walked in.

Your Abba is an idiot and has to be taught a lesson. He has not even made any contact with us leave alone releasing our men. Bakhtiyar, chop off this man’s three toes and send it with love to the old fool. He cannot be ignoring our warnings.

Just as Bakhtiyar took out his long knife, Fatima rushed into the room.

He is our guest and will not be harmed. You must have killed many people today. Take three toes from any of them and send it to his father. How will he know the difference?

Ibrahim stood no chance before the logic and fury of Fatima and went out in a huff saying tomorrow morning this man will be taken out of the house to another hideout where we will chop off his head. Then you will not be able to give me any reason why I cannot do it!

Jaan re-entered the room and this time he brought a small football with him. He started showing his skills with the ball and Tauseef realised that the boy had talent. Fatima was also enjoying the scene when Tauseef said… Jaan must be allowed to play outside and if he is given the right coaching and diet, he can become a player you will be proud of.

He is destined to remain in the hiding and no one will ever see his game. He is the son of a wanted man and his only way ahead is following his father’s footsteps which is what all children in our community do.

Why don’t you take him away from all this bloodshed and tyranny?

I know no life outside. I am an illiterate woman and we will not survive one day in your world. No one, knowing our background, will ever help us. If I were to ask you… will you help… you too will step back.

I would but I cannot do anything and tomorrow I shall be killed. So even giving you any promise and hope is impossible for me.

Fatima then left the room. She served him good clean food and changed his bandages. In the other room Tauseef could hear loud talk going on.

The idiots are watching cricket match being played in India. Some final match happening and they are all excited. They will all be watching the match till the end and I will have to keep serving them food and drinks till the frenzy is over. Listen, I have put some money in your pocket and a phone. There is one number saved. That is my brother’s. You take Jaan with you and call my brother. He will take you to safety. Just promise me that you will take care of Jaan. I do not want him to lead his father’s footsteps. You will have many hours before they discover your absence. If I get a chance someday, I will come and see my Jaan.

Tauseef was completely shocked but saw his chance to escape. How will I recognise you when you come to my home? I have never seen how you look.

Don’t worry…my Jaan will recognize me.

She folded her hands before Tauseef and left the dark room after unlatching the back door to safety.

Tauseef heard the people in the other room shouting and talking about Dhoni, Gill, Sir Jadeja and Hardik as if they were their close friends. Tauseef quietly got up, opened the door and slipped out where he found Jaan waiting. He turned back and from one of the windows he saw a black silhouette with her hands waving to them. They started running…running to escape.

SS

Smell the Coffee

 

Walking in the streets of London, admiring the beauty of the old architecture and history written on every street and statue since early morning, I began to feel exhausted. So I decided to take a little rest and sip some coffee and munch a sandwich. I entered a shop that was decorated tastefully with antique tables, chairs and lights that gave an impression of it being there for centuries. Since the place seemed quite popular, all the seats had been taken. I found myself seated on a table with another man whose dishevelled look and clothes went quite well with the place, archaic and completely out of place. I ordered for my coffee and ham sandwich and waited to be served. The man on the other side spoke up….

No, no. This is not the place I was looking for. It was different and the people who came in were not like this. The coffee smelt strong and different too.

Since he kept on repeating, I had little option but to ask… What place are you looking for?

Looking for my coffee shop and this is not it.

So you own a coffee shop in London and you’re looking for the same.

Yes, yes.

Although I am not from London, maybe Google here on my mobile and this map of the city might help you find your place.

It is a coffee shop on Thames. It is one frequented by ship owners, seafarers and merchants.

Are you referring to Edward Lloyd’s Coffee House in Tower Street where shipowners and captains on return from overseas voyages discussed their future expeditions?

Yes, of course, that was my coffee house. I am Edward Lloyd.

I was taken aback. How can Edward Lloyd of 1680s return today in 2023? Must be a mad man, living in the past. Since I wanted to have some fun in King Charles’ era, I decided to play along with the hallucinating man.

Sir, your Coffee House IS no longer there at Tower Street but has moved to Lime Street.

What…When…Can you take me there?

I can take you there but you can’t enter. You need proper passes there, plus you need to be in perfectly fitted suit and tie. They are very particular about the attire.

Please take me there. I want to see the new coffee house. I can give you some gold shillings if you take me there.

Nothing attracts us Indians more than gold so I agreed to take the madman to 1, Lime Street. We boarded the famous London taxi and reached the place in no time and as we got off, showed the funny steel structure which resembled more like a huge piece of steel art work to the madman.

This is not my coffee house.  

Yes Sir, couldn’t agree more, for this looks more like a coffee percolator than a coffee house. This building on 1, Lime Street is the current home of Lloyd’s, the world’s leading insurance and reinsurance market place. This stainless steel and glass building was designed by the architect Richard Rogers. The building is often referred to as the Oil Rig of Lime Street for its looks. But this is not how it was yesterday and how it will be tomorrow for they keep changing with times and needs. There is a library inside with a nice umbrella shaped background and a closer look under the shade reveals three dates painted… 1688, 1928 and 1986. The current building was built in 1986. Prior to this, the Lloyd’s building was built in 1928 at 12 Leadenhall Street. And 1688 is where it all began at the coffee house started by you Mr. Edward Lloyd.

Let us go in. No one will ever stop me.

No Sir, I will not go inside this building for last time that I visited this place way back in the summer of 2005, tragedy struck my family back home in India. I almost lost them in the Mumbai Floods of 26^th July.

Tell me more about it.

It was midnight and I was sleeping in the hotel in London when a call from my aunt in India woke me up to find out about my family. Till then I had no clue about the happenings in Mumbai. There had been a huge cloud burst and a thousand millimetres of rain had fallen in a span of a few hours and the City of Dreams had turned into the City of Despair. I tried calling my wife but there was no response from the other end. Next, I tried the home land line number and that too was dead… completely dead. Made attempts at reaching out to other colleagues at Mumbai but all in vain. All this while the television channels kept on showing the gory details about people getting washed away, homes getting totally destroyed, people on the streets trying to find their way back home….

After a while, I got a call from the home number. It was my wife on the other side…What a relief knowing all were fine now. She was on board a train returning home from work when the train stopped near Mahim and from there she started walking through knee deep water. After walking for almost five hours, she was stopped from proceeding any further on the flooded and dark road as a little way ahead the snapped overhead electric wires had been the cause of electrocution. The firemen asked all the walkers to stop and take refuge in a nearby school where they were given Parle-G biscuits and hot tea by the people living in the vicinity. Next morning at day break, she took courage and made it home. The kid and my mother were at home waiting anxiously along with the maid and her family who had also come over as their house had been completely inundated. I heaved a sigh of relief and thanked the Almighty.

The fear that something bad may again befall my family back home remains. You may go in and I shall wait outside for your return.

Nothing will happen, son. Come with me….and I followed. I knew we would be turned back immediately but the man spoke to the guard standing outside and handed him a round wooden tablet. The look on the guard’s face was one of awe and amazement. He stepped aside, gave a smart salute to the madman and opened the door with full respect and honour. We walked in holding our hands.

Our sight immediately fell on the picture of Lord Nelson and Edward asked, “What is he doing here in this building.”

Having read some books about the Lloyd’s Building, I started behaving like a tour guide for the man.

Sir, by the 18^th century, Lloyd’s was at the forefront of global shipping industry and developed close links with the British Navy and Lord Nelson for the protection of sea-borne trade. After each of his naval victories including the Battle of Nile, Lloyd’s organised charitable subscriptions to help the wounded and bereaved. Some of the objects associated with Nelson have been exhibited on the floor.

Now Edward’s eyes fell on a pamphlet on the Titanic. And my commentary continued…

Sir, this is copy of the insurance slip of the famous ship Titanic which along with its sistership Olympic had been insured for twelve months for a sum insured of Pound Sterling 1 million each. The broker involved was Willis Faber and Co. and the slip was ‘underwritten’ by about 12 companies and 50 syndicates at Lloyd’s ranging from 75,000 PS to as little as 2000 PS. It has been recorded that Lloyd’s paid for all the Titanic losses within 30 days of the misfortune.

Edward nodded his head and said, “I remember the terms like underwriter and risk. Let me explain this old term ‘underwriter’ that was coined at Lloyd’s Coffee House where each risk undertaker wrote their names under the total amount of risk they were willing to accept at a specified premium.

Sir, do you know who was the underwriter for Mumbai during the great deluge?

No, it was definitely not insured at Lloyd’s.

Sir, the fate of about 19 million people aboard vessel MV Mumbai as it lay marooned in mid-sea had been underwritten by GIC of India…God Insurance Company for God alone could help the helpless people at such juncture. And as far as premium is concerned, surely each of these millions of Indian citizens pay it unknowingly at the temples and homes during pujas.

Edward smiled and we walked on as we saw a diary encased beautifully.

Sir, if you think God is the sole saviour at all times then let me introduce you to Cuthbert Heath. At 5.13am on 18^th April, 1906, a massive earthquake measuring 8.25 on the Richter Scale shook San Francisco. Several thousand people died and the city’s population was rendered homeless. As one of Lloyd’s leading underwriters, it was Cuthbert Heath who instructed his office at SF to “pay all our policyholders in full, irrespective of the terms of their policies. With the government of that time incapable of providing any assistance in such times, was this act any less than that of a saviour? That well preserved diary is Cuthbert Heath’s insurance book where he charged 15 shillings for concrete and steel buildings and 20 shillings for the other risks.

We continued our tour and he spoke again, “I know this place. It must be the underwriting room.”

You are right Edward. “Not a breeze can blow in any latitude, not a storm can burst, not a flag can rise, in any part of the world, without recording its history here.” This is how a journalist described the Underwriting Room at Lloyd’s in 1859.  The Underwriting Room is where all the real action happens and space here is possibly the most expensive of commercial rental anywhere in the world. The syndicates have rented out the place as per their needs. Two Indian companies have their desks- GIC and New India.  A vast majority of insurance risks of all classes including traditional lines of Fire, Marine, Aviation and the more exotic and new age variety definitely comes into this room from all across the globe and anything agreed and accepted here has the highest level of credibility in the insurance world. On any day, The Room sees more than 100 million pounds in premium and more than 82 million pounds are paid out in claims.

Ah…the tables and chairs look funny, son. They do not seem to be uniform.

Sir, these are the boxes where business gets transacted daily. The brokers who come to the underwriting room are made to sit on seats that do not look very comfortable and their seats are at a lower level as compared to the underwriters who command and demand respect. This is quite different from the way we treat our brokers in India. There they are always placed at a much higher pedestal, both literally and physically…the underwriters often kowtow before the broking fraternity here in India.

What is that bell doing here? It should be outside at the entrance for the happy customers to ring it.

That is the Lutine Bell, Sir, and it was placed in the Underwriting Room. In 1799, Hamburg’s economy was in shambles due to Napoleonic Wars. The City of London merchants collected pounds one million in gold and silver bullion to be loaned to Hamburg and was to be delivered by HMS Lutine. The vessel unfortunately met with a gale and ran aground on the Dutch coast and the treasure was all lost. Lloyd’s paid for the claims in full and in 1859 the bell on board the ill-fated ship was recovered and now hangs in the Underwriting Room on the Rostrum which is a mahogany structure designed by Sir Edwin Cooper for the Lloyd’s Building in 1928. Earlier the bell was rung whenever the news came of a ship sinking anywhere in the world. Now, it is only done on ceremonial days. However, next to the bell is the Loss Book which records details of all vessels lost in sea. Everyday someone will write the details of casualties in the book with fine handwriting using a quill pen.

I am happy that they have preserved history well here in this building which otherwise is very modern. They have also decorated the place with some nice paintings. There is something strange about some of the paintings, son. Can you help me decipher them?

Sir, there was an artist called Terence Cuneo (1907-1996) who has some of his famous paintings adorning the walls of Lloyd’s. Each of these paintings is a master class in itself but in each of his artwork he left a distinct mark of his own which later had to be painted out. The story goes that Cuneo had been working on a formal painting on the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II when his Burmese cat came into his studio, toting a field mouse. The artist thought that the tiny fellow would make a good ‘still life’ and found its way into the coronation ceremony. When he showed the still life painting and explained the still life at the Royal Watercolour Society, the attendees loved it and cried for more. That’s when Cuneo decided to sneak a mouse into his finished works and the viewers would search for the same like a puzzle. So this rodent became a trademark of his paintings and many of his paintings at Lloyd’s had his trademark but have later been painted white and removed.

Funny and interesting at the same time. This seems to be a nice big meeting room. Hopefully there is no history about it. Let us take some rest here.

This is the Adam Room, Sir. The representatives of Lloyd’s travelled to an auction in Wiltshire in 1956, where they had intended to purchase a marble fire place for the Chairman’s office at the new Lime Street premises. When they left, they had acquired the entire room surrounding it. Weighing more than 30 tonnes, it had to be cut into 1500 pieces before being relocated to London.

I am impressed with your knowledge, son. It is amazing that someone from a far off country knows so much about my shop here in London. How do you know so much about this place?

I am a Marine Underwriter from India but have now become an Under-rater and soon shall become the Undertaker of the carcass of this beautiful line of business.

Let me take a break and go to the Men’s Room…

He walked away and I waited for his return, sipping a wonderful cuppa of genuine Columbian coffee specially made for us. I kept waiting and waiting but the man never returned. After a while, I went down to exit the building and found the ground floor completely dark and the gate shut. I was stuck in the building at 1, Lime Street and now my prayers to GIC of India was my only option of escaping to safety.

For those who believe that I was sleeping and dreaming up this story, here’s a picture of me standing in the Lloyd’s Library that has no books but bits of Nelson’s ship HMS Victory decorating the walls. This was taken by none other than Ed who refused to be photographed.

SS

Thesaurus Revisited

 A Photo Essay

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is when you see a mother and child deep in the forest just when you have given up all hopes of sightings. 

Voyeurism is when you peep through the dense vegetation to see a bathing beauty in a stream. 

Jackpot is when your search for one rhino leads you into the midst of a crash...the herd. 

Royalty is living in a Swiss Tent House with a huge bath tub and amenities in the middle of a forest (Pobitora Wildlife Sanctuary).

Misnomer is when you name a stork as Greater Adjutant, a designation given to this scavenger bird because of its stiff military gait, locally known as Hargila- one which   swallows (gila) bones (har). 

Irony is driving miles and miles to reach the world’s rainiest place to get sun burnt and find its famed Seven Sisters Falls trickling down the mountainside awaiting the rains to usher in. 

Adventure is to explore the treacherous and slippery mountainous caves like the dwarfs and hobbits in The Lord of the Rings. 

Tranquility is driving through valleys, watching waterfalls, stopping by to admire lakes and gardens.

Cultural Shock is when your search for local authentic Khasi food leads to you to peeling and devouring boiled potatoes with herbs and dried fish paste. 

Peace is when the bars on your mobile phone vanish one by one and the hostess in the hotel says that in this region only BSNL works. You’re incognito! 

Mawlynnong, a little village nestled in the hills of Cherrapunji, is a synonym for cleanliness…Welcome to Asia’s Cleanest Village. .for it is here that Cleanliness meets Godliness. 

Total surrender is when the stray puppy lifts its paws to greet a stranger walking in the streets and both find true friendship.

 

See-through is seeing through the waters the bed of the River Umngot at Dawki, nestled between East Khasi and Jaintia Hills….Lo and behold, across the river is Bangladesh!

Divinity is getting an unplanned darshan of Ma Kamakhya on our third visit to the city. 

Celebration is when friends of over thirty-five years come together…khoob jamega rang! 

Fitness is taking over ten thousand steps each day and yet feeling fresh and raring to do more.

Following the Megh...from Meghalaya to Mumbai...homeward bound.

DS & SS