That special song :)

Have you ever imagined yourself sitting near the window sill of your perfect home, on an amazing evening, relaxing in the arms of your soulmate, at ease, comfortable, and humming your favourite tune of all times? The song should bring back memories and make you want to curl up and go to sleep, a slight smile on your lips. With the hectic schedules we have all come to accept as a way of life, I would think that you have only dreamt of it. I haven’t really gotten around actually relaxing that way, due to the technical problem of not having a perfect home (not considering my Baroda home, obviously), and another non-technical problem of not having a relaxing enough atmosphere in Mumbai.

But when you do get around to it, do you know the tune you will be humming? I do. And I am sharing it here with you, taking the risk of boring you to hell. (What the heck, i reason, it's my blog after all ;))

This song, Iktara, is from one of my favourite movies, Wake up Sid. Both the song and the movie have a special connection in my life, which is another long story altogether. Words do not do justice to the song, as there is the melody, the strings and the soulful voice of the singer Kavitha Seth to consider.

This is my tribute to my soulmate, as this is ‘our’ song :)

O re manva tu to bawra hai,
Tu hi jaane tu kya sochta hai,
Tu hi jaane tu kya sochta hai bawre,
Kyun dikhaye, sapne tu, sotey jaagtey…

Jo barse sapne boond boond,
Naino ko moond moond,
Kaisey main chalun,
Dekh na sakun,
Anjaaney raaste…

Goonja sa hai koi iktara iktara,
Dheeme boley koi iktara iktara,
Goonja sa hai koi iktara iktara…

Sunn rahin hun sudh budh khokey,
Koi main kahaani,
Poori kahaani hai kya, kisey hai pataa…
Main to kisi ki hokey, ye bhi na jaani,
Rut hai ye do pal ki ya, rahegi sadaa,
Kisey hai pataa, kisey hai pataa…

Jo barse sapne boond boond,
Naino ko moond moond,
Kaise main chalun,
Dekh na sakun,
Anjaaney raaste…

Goonja sa hai koi iktara iktara,
Dheeme boley koi iktara iktara,
Goonja sa hai koi iktara iktara…

Oldies smoldies

There is something remarkably fascinating about the elderly, those who are over 65, especially in India. Not only do Indian senior citizens come in all shapes, sizes and colours, they are also distinctly different, based on the culture, upbringing and background they come from. Our world is a more interesting place with the oldies pampering us, giving advice, repeating the stories of their ancestors and how things were while they were growing up. Have you noticed, however, that they have typical characteristics that can be classified distinctly?

The take-me-home-and-look-after-me ones

If there were a competition for this category, my grandmother would be a sure winner. Every time she smiles at me, I am tempted to take her home and use her as a hugsy pillow – which, of course, I refrain from doing! Kind eyes on a wrinkled face, you will feel pampered with merely a look from them. Typically, they love feeding everyone with delectable recipes, which only they can concoct, much to the perplexity of daughter-in-laws and grandchildren. Having unsuccessfully tried my hand at cooking my favourite preparation under her watchful eye with the same vegetables, ingredients and method she uses, I have given up on ever achieving the taste of my grandmother’s cuisine. The unique flavour of her preparations eludes me always. Maybe at the end of the cooking process, she secretly scrunches up her eyes and blows her love on top of the preparation as garnishing. What? Do not judge me as totally nuts, it just may be possible, you know.

The look-at-me-and-I-will-bite-your-head-off ones

The complete opposite of the previous category, this type of crowd consists of the typical irritable elderly you would encounter in a Mumbai local. Ready to pick a fight even if you so much as breathe near them, you are best off leaving them in their miserable state of mind. Say one word, and this frustrated group will leave you spell-bound with a verbal tirade unfit for their age. Senior citizens frustrated with complications like worse halves and finances, and sometimes plain old pessimists form the crux of such a group. If you ever face someone from this category in a boxing ring, concede defeat even before the fight starts, because they WILL tear you apart!

The yes-I-can ones

These are the resolute ones, who insist on living life independently and on their terms. Oldies falling in this category believe that they can handle whatever life throws at them, no matter what. It is this belief that sometimes helps them overcome physical conditions that no medicine in the world can cure. Whereas you and I would have given up years ago, the yes-I-can type of senior citizens fight everything from cancer to arthritis to financial crisis with utmost cheerfulness, emerging victorious most of the time. Hopefully God will endow us with half their strength when we reach their age. Hats off to these oldies I say!

The pesky-nosy-tell-me-everything ones

This category is sort of a mix of the first and second category. While not as rude as the irritable elders and not as cute as the hugsy ones, pesky senior citizens take it upon themselves to find out everything about your life, whether it is their business or not. My neighbour’s grandmother heads this category, faithfully making it a point to inquire with my mother how late I came in last night, who was the ‘boy’ who dropped me home at 11 30 at night and who was making so much noise in a get together at my place. While my neighbour does not, some grandmoms tend to take the sting out of the none-of-my-business-but-I-will-ask-anyways questions with a smile, trying to be cute–unsuccessfully, might I say.

No matter which type you are surrounded by, you have to admit that your life would be dull and incomplete without these grandmoms and grandpops. Here’s to the oldies smoldies that dot our world.

Special bonds

Have you ever had that one special friend you could go to for anything in your life? The one with whom you had an instant bonding like no other. Who you thought was born specifically to support you. To walk you through your lowest periods without losing faith. To give you advice without judging you. Your 3-am friend who was there for you, no matter what. With whom you could laugh, cry, share stories, talk for hours and still be short of time. Who earned your implicit trust and meant more to you than most others you know. Well, you are one of the lucky ones.

If you have a friend like that, do not let misunderstandings and differences gnaw away at your friendship. Once you lose that special bond, no one will ever be able to fill those shoes for you. No one will ever be able to make you feel as safe and secure as that friend did. Even in your most trying and difficult time with him or her, hang on to the relationship. Cause there just won’t be anyone like that person for you in your lifetime.

PS: If you find this post weird, please don’t judge me as crazy, and move on quickly. It’s a thought that popped into my head at a time when I thought I had lost that special person ;)

PPS: That special friend turned out to be my soul mate whom I nearly lost because I didn’t have the courage to act on how I felt. If you have a friend like that, don’t hesitate; the happiness on the other end will make it worth it. :)

Are we really Bindaas?

I know a discussion on the Indian television industry will have most of you lamenting on the many cheesy soaps with tacky names being aired today. Having managed to avoid the hysteria that swept the nation when ‘Mihir’ from ‘Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi’ died—I know it because it’s general knowledge in India; you do not have to be a television enthusiast for it—I have detached myself from daily television shows to the point of ignorance. A discussion regarding the plot of the most popular soap today would have me yawning within minutes of joining the conversation. However, there is a new genre of television shows which makes me want to join the saas-bahu bandwagon gladly.

A channel called Bindass TV has brought out this hateful genre to colour-coded life today. I happened to come across this on one of those rare occasions I was flipping through channels on a weekend at home. The show I came across seemed to be a reality-based one called Emotional Atyachar, with couples taking the so-called ‘loyalty test’ to check whether their partner is faithful or not. The participant is typically someone having trust issues or sometimes simply an incompatible partner. A premonition of something wrong in a very personal relationship makes the participant decide to ‘test’ his or her partner at the risk of total humiliation and heartbreak being witnessed by thousands, if not millions of Indians. There is an elaborate set-up, in which, a 6-year-old relationship may be in tatters at the end of an hour-long show. Wait, so, you are trying to tell the viewers that in 6 years the ‘participant’ didn’t have a clue about her partner’s roving eye and was completely ignorant about the fact that he had absolutely no feelings for her? And all this, the partner discusses with a complete stranger, who, for no apparent reason, comes on to him 10 minutes into a conversation? Yes? Errr… OK! Although I have seen just one episode, I am sure that there has never been a faithful partner who has declared his undying love for his girlfriend or has not been caught cheating in Emotional Atyachar. After all, if there is no ‘atyachar’, how will the TRPs get a boost?

A quick peek at the channel’s website disgusts me even more… “Sell your friends for cash” or “Want a new set of parents?” is the headline that greets visitors on the Bindass television website. It proclaims the channel as ‘India's most loved youth brand’ and boasts that their ‘fundas of Fun, Free, Fearless, Frank and Unexpected have helped capture the imagination of the youth’. I wonder if they have considered capturing our youth’s attention with educational, interactive programs which encourage them to explore, travel and learn something at the end. But again, how will such non-scandalous, simple programs help them earn precious eyeballs which lead to excessive advertising revenue?

The tactlessness of some shows named—pretty offensively, might I add—“Would You Tap That”, “Campus Attack”, “Love Lockup” and “Date Trap” hits you right between your eyes. And in case you didn’t notice, words like ‘tap that’, ‘lockup’, ‘attack’ and ‘trap’ are all negative words alluding to physical aspects which would put even a hardcore optimist off relationships. These are also not words to be ideally associated with human relationships, but who cares about that, right? The popularity of crass shows like Emotional Atyachar among teens today should be worrying us. If I catch my 15-year-old cousin watching this show, he would be grounded for months! That is, if I was allowed to ground him…

My sister and my television time was limited to MTV Bakra, in which Cyrus played harmless pranks on his unsuspecting victims. And while I realise that saying “our television time” makes me sound over 50 years of age, I am talking about a period just 10 years ago, when we were in our mid-teens. MTV was the latest ‘in-thing’, with programs consisting of pranks, funny videos and advice for love problems, all of which were different from the usual soaps dominating the television industry then.

Bindass TV’s popularity may be due to the sheer entertainment it provides. After all, have trouble brewing and most people would be interested in pointing and laughing at the poor sucker suffering on TV. However, for my peace of mind, I would like to believe that emotions like love, respect and affection still exist and have not been turned into physical relations like depicted on those shows. Call me old fashioned, but I like it when someone expresses genuine feelings with a rose or a romantic evening; when one does not have to worry about a hidden camera just waiting to point out the flaws in the relationship; where the so-called better half is not bitching about how the relationship is stifling him; and in case of a break up, it does not become a spectacle with the two people assaulting each other in the middle of the road.

If you haven’t come across these programs, please do not go home and check it out. I do not, in any way, want to be responsible for more people viewing them. I hope this is only a phrase of sleazy entertainment options we are checking out. And I hope it passes sooner rather than later. I do not know how it reflects on us and where we are heading in our personal relationships if such programs form a permanent basis in our lives.

Here’s to emotions as we know it. Here’s wishing we are NOT that BINDAAS.

Arranging a love marriage or loving an arranged marriage?

I bet one of the thoughts that popped into your head when you read the title was ‘Oh no! Not another love versus arranged marriage discussionnnnn!!!’ The issue of love versus arranged marriage has been discussed and contemplated on time and again, and the point of this post is not to highlight the pros and cons of each. ‘Then what is it?!?!’ I can hear at least some of you screaming in your head. Ok, ok calm down, I am getting to it.

As a 29-year-old Gujarati girl, my world today is full of family, relatives, aunties and aunties who are family relatives coming up to me at random community functions and parties saying ‘So, when are you inviting us to your wedding?’ To which I sweetly reply ‘Everything is all set. You just need to find a groom for me.’ I mean it as a rude, diversion-creating comment that somehow never penetrates the foggy heads having that conversation with me. I mean, am I your responsibility? No. Does my getting hitched mean the world to you? No. Do I even know your name? Err… yes, I think… no, wait… do I? Then why would you bother yourself with such details of my life. But I am again deviating from the point here.

First, let’s get the ‘love’ issue sorted, shall we? Falling in love doesn’t come easy. For all of you who have found your soul mate in school, college, office, party, random coffee house or on the road and think you can bear to be with him/her for the rest of your life, go to the temple/church/mosque/gurudwara/any-other-sacred-place and thank God for his mercy. Cause not everyone is that lucky. And whoever said ‘Love truly and it will come back to you’ is an idiot and should be kicked where it hurts the most. True love is not always returned in the kalyug that we have come to live in, and you know it! Taking the time to know someone, accepting their faults and still loving them is a best-case-scenario if you are looking for a life partner. However, I have not been fortunate enough to be graced with such a person because, you know, God just doesn’t do me such favours in life.

Now for the arranged set-up. After millions of meetings with prospective grooms—ok, it was not THAT huge a number, but felt like it anyways—in a typical Gujju setting, which is awkward to say the least, I have still not found Mr. Perfect. Does that mean there is a dearth of decent guys in the so-called matrimonial market? (FYI, I always cringe when matrimony is used with the word ‘market’) Or does it mean that my choice is so specific that no one fits in my definition of perfect? I believe it’s neither. The environment that I was brought up in and the independence I have achieved in life has a lot to do with my decisions in this area of life. I just haven’t come across a person who makes me say ‘Ok, you are my type… Let’s give it a shot’. Well, someone who agrees with me anyways ;). According to me, the decision making process, which is going to affect the coming 50 years of my life—if I manage to live those many years, that is—depends on a varied number of factors. These factors have changed drastically in the past 20 years.

Factors to consider 20 years ago:

Education: check

Job: check

Family: check

DONE DEAL!!

Factors to consider now:

Education: check

Job: check

Family: check

Income: check

Home: check

Looks: check

Religion: check

Caste: check

Background: check

City he lives in: check

Upbringing: check

Nature: check

Whether in joint family: check

32 teeth in his mouth: check

Manglik factor that can kill me: awww… you JUST missed the cut!

Ok. I might have made up the last couple of them.

The jokers who do make the cut turn out to be just that: JOKERS! But the point is, you just have to be sure about ‘the one’. Till now I have not been sure about anyone. Nor do I know the exact process of ensuring that I reach that stage. I am just taking it as it comes. If any of you know how to spot/search for/zoom in on the perfect person, let me know and I will bow to your significant knowledge. If you waste my time with useless ideas, however, you will be suitably punished.

Here’s hoping that all of us clueless souls out here meet our so-called soulmates painlessly and in time. We can then give them pain for not meeting us sooner…

PS - For stomach-crunchingly hilarious stories involving the aforementioned jokers, contact the under-signed.

PPS - This was written quite some months ago. For those who do not know, I have found my Mr. Perfect now, and am paining his happiness suitably, thank you very much :)

Two sides of the same coin

She’s two years younger than me. We have the same DNA handed down to us by our parents. We have grown up in the same environment, with the same set of values. We have had a balanced upbringing in the same home.

However, we cannot be more different, be it temperament, choices, habits or personality. Whereas she likes to express her thoughts freely, I think twice before speaking. While she prefers colourful outfits, I am more conservative in my selection. She is a complete desi when it comes to cuisine, whereas I prefer a western menu. She will preserve a new buy for a special occasion or save an exotic chocolate for sometime later. I, on the other hand, dive right in, whether it is an outfit or a rare treat. She can spend 20 bucks on a taxi everyday, but refuses flat out to spend 600 bucks on a meal. I prefer travelling in a bus so that I can offset the expense of eating out once or twice a month. She is similar to my mom, while I tend to tilt towards my dad in habits. (You may come to the conclusion that my parents are totally contradictory in nature as well. You may probably also be right in that, but that’s a different story altogether.)

These, and a million other habits, choices and characteristic traits mark a remarkable difference between me and my younger sibling. Such marked contrast reminds me sometimes of two sides of a coin straining against each other to go in different directions, unable to do so due to the metal that binds them together.

We must have had a million fights in our 26 years together. Whether we are together or apart, we have the ability to tick each other off without a second’s notice. Constant nagging or difference of opinion on a trivial matter can have us pulling at each other’s hair—literally! A friend of hers was amazed and was left gaping at us when we had such a fight a few years ago while I was visiting her in the US. When we met at the beginning of my trip, we were nothing but love and smiles for each other. Under the heady effect of three years of pent up affection for each other, we exchanged a few pairs of earrings – one of our most sacred possessions that the other was not allowed to even look at, let alone touch. At the end of two months though, our so-called love frayed at the edges when we re-exchanged—I know I coined a new word here—the earrings after a huge fight. The video her friend has taken of the re-exchange has him in splits till this date!

Our childhood has been marked by numerous mini-wars, which my mom diffused sometimes with the help of our high and mighty dad, who rarely interfered, and whose judgement, when asked for, was considered final. At some of the most frustrating points in time, she mockingly regretted having two kids, wondering how households with more than two kids endured the horrors that went on within.

Today, when Ronak is with me day in and day out after a gap of nearly 8 years, the difference in personality is more obvious to me than it was before. However, our opposite temperament is actually helping us balance our work and personal life perfectly. She haggles for the 2 bucks from the vegetable vendor and I arrange for a perfect day out on the weekend. In a get together with friends, she becomes the star of the evening, whereas I balance stuff out by actually listening to conversations ;). I like doing the dishes while she likes cooking. A few years ago we would kill—well, nearly kill—the other for borrowing accessories or clothes without permission. Today, we share stuff willingly, sometimes even buying stuff we think the other will like.

And more prominently than ever before, we realise that no matter how much we haggle among ourselves, our affection and care over-rides everything else. And more than ever before, I am glad that my parents decided to have two kids. I do not know what I would have done as an only child, where the fun in my life would have come from or whom I would have beaten up while growing up. This one’s for Ronak, without whom my life would have been incomplete and boring, to say the least. 

This one goes out to you Rons. Happy birthday sis :)

PS – Do you see the devil sitting in the corner there, smirking that a post has been dedicated to her? Yup, that would be my sister.

Alice in Wonderland

A few months ago, we were asked to contribute an article for our intranet. At that time I was new to Mumbai and still adjusting to the city. I hence chose to write about my experience. And I think it was sheer luck that made it win the best article award. I wanted to share the article with whoever manages to accidentally come across this blog, cause, well, I need to re-affirm whether it is any good. So here it goes.

Unlike Alice, I didn’t accidentally fall into the Wonderland of Mumbai; it was by choice that I moved here from Ahmedabad, accepting a position with Netscribes Mumbai. There is a certain perception of this business capital of India in cities outside of Maharashtra, which makes it look like an exotic land of opportunities. Tales of struggling individuals finding everything ranging from a successful career to money to love are related with great penchant to non-Mumbaikars, which makes the city even more attractive to them. It is with these ideas of non-Mumbaikar that I took my first eager steps here, deciding to find a place of my own and live independently despite having relatives here. You can imagine how easy THAT turned out to be! Having lived in spacious, open places all my life, I was unprepared for the tiny apartments, which were available for paying guest accommodations or rent—some of them smaller than my walk-in wardrobe at home! Rent for the ones that I did like, promised to eat up more than half of my salary, which was not a feasible option. A bout with dengue right after I moved here didn’t help matters much. After struggling for a couple of months, I FINALLY landed an apartment I liked, which I could afford. By this point of time, the stars were, predictably, cleared out of my eyes. I realised that life in Mumbai might not be as easy and perfect as it seemed from afar.

A Mad Tea Party

Not many people realise that there is a score of difference between Mumbaikars and outsiders. Locals have the ability to take the utmost difficult situations in their stride. They live a hectic, paced and organised life day in and day out; hours of travelling to workplaces, financial difficulties, family life, leisure, emotions like angst, happiness and anger are all packed in one tight day. Mumbaikars have this unique ability to handle whatever life throws at them without even realising it. It is this ability, which makes the spirit of Mumbai unbreakable. Perhaps this is the reason behind its resilience in the face of terror attacks and the recent financial pandemonium.

As someone who is used to a leisurely lifestyle—ready-made food, a huge, personal bedroom, ironed clothes, zipping to office on a vehicle and reaching in five minutes flat—I initially found life in Mumbai to be like a mad tea party, with life frantic, overwhelming and disconcerting. I struggled hard to adjust to the pace and energy required for a normal day of work, getting back too drained to do any add-on activities I had planned while moving here. In Mumbai, you barely have time to breath, let alone settle in and spend time for leisure. The most difficult task I found in my first month was travelling in crowded buses or trains. Guess who was pushed to the end of every crowded line and managed only to catch the third bus or train every time she travelled? You guessed it right, it was yours truly.

Nonetheless, friends and family helped me settle in and explore the magic the city is so famous for. The night life of Mumbai made me explore, mouth agape, the grandeur, opulence and luxury present here; on my way back from Taj one night, I rubbed shoulders with none other than… a fisherwoman carrying her smelly, empty basket home J It was a humble reminder of the equality Mumbai brings to its people: a VP of a company, earning lakhs per month most likely takes the same train home as the kachrawala who comes to his home pick up garbageJ

A World of Fantasy

Mumbai comes across as a city which runs like a mammoth machine that never stops. It is only in the wee hours of the morning that this city seems to be resting, when it is calm, peaceful and empty. It is only when you cover a distance of five kilometers in 10 minutes—a task which usually takes you an hour—that you realise the impact of the traffic and crowd on everyday life.

In the three months that I have come to call Mumbai home, I have found beauty as well as ugliness; opulence as well as poverty; love as well as hatred; concern as well as apathy. The people here are fat as well as slim; beautiful as well ugly; beggars as well as millionaires; friendly as well as cold. On bad days, I feel alone in a crowd of thousands, whereas sometimes I am happy just walking on the streets, on my way home.

There are millions like me coming to the city each month to realise a dream. Any dream. And this city gives hope to the millions more who aspire to become someone someday and achieve their goals in life. And unless the MNS aka Raj Thackeray manages to change the spirit of the city, they will keep coming. For whereas there is hardship and struggle, there is also something magnetic about Mumbai that makes it an exciting venture for people like me. So the next time you see someone pushed to the back of the line in a bus or train, you can safely assume that that person has just taken his or her first tentative steps in this world of fantasy.

For those who were… and will always be…

If you have ever lost a loved one to death, you will relate to this post. Although a lot may have been discussed, written and opined about the ultimate end of life, I don’t think anything prepares someone for the death of a loved one. The ones who pass on may go on to the next world, but they leave behind this gut-wrenching emptiness that no one can ever fill. When a loved one loses the battle of life, no matter how long or short, it feels as if someone has torn a piece of your soul and you are expected to deal with it as a way of life.

In my 28 years of life, I had just heard, never been through the horrid effect of death. Although I lost my eldest mami to cancer more than 13 years ago, me and my sister were spared of the emotional farewell as we were too young. But all that changed on 13th September 2009. Our beloved jada mama expired. The second of our three maternal uncles, we had come to call him ‘jada’ mama since our childhood due to his cute round shape, which he came to readily accepted despite protests from my mother.

The impact of his passing was a shock to me and Ronak, mainly because we assumed the surgery was simple; one that would relieve him of the health problems he had been having since a few months. Elders in the family may have realised the seriousness of the procedure due to his deteriorating health, but the possibility of losing him forever never registered with me and Ronak. We lost him to complications related to bypass surgery… a usually simple procedure, which I see thousands of others undergo with ease, even today.

Jada mama was easily the most liked and lovable person in all of our extended family. He pampered young ones, be it my mother, his youngest sister, me and Ronak, his youngest nieces or Dhruvi, his first grand-daughter and the apple of his eye. No one was prepared for his passing… but come to think of it, can anyone ever be? In the two years that he has been gone, the flavour has gone out of alphansoes. I just do not get the same taste today like I used to when he ordered baskets and baskets of them for our visits in the summer breaks.

I came across a piece I had written right after his death, when the pain was too raw to comprehend. I don’t know if this is appropriate to share on this forum, but it brings tears to my eyes even today. I post it here in tribute to the loving memory of a family man loved and missed by all… who makes us feel he was there with us just yesterday, even though it is two years today since he left us forever. Jada mama, here’s to you, who once were and always will be… our jada mama :)

My beloved jada mama passed away today. It was totally unexpected… he was supposed to be home within 10 days and move into a new home with his son and grandkids within a week – something he was looking forward to since quite some time. Instead, he spent his last month battling for his life, attached to god knows how many support systems, trying valiantly to live, to be able to finally spend quality time with his beloved grandchildren. In this lone battle, he lost. And left behind a devastated family: two sons who worshipped him, three grandkids who adored him, and foremost, his wife, who, in their 40-something years of marriage, had never left home without him.

His passing has left a hole in our lives, mostly because we were planning on him getting well soon; we didn’t get to tell him how much we loved him… didn’t get to hold him properly… didn’t get to say goodbye. We were totally unprepared… but come to think of it, who is?

There is this fear now, of never being able to see his lively face again… of never hearing his voice begin his Sunday telephone calls with ‘Jai Shree Krishna’… of never hearing his teasing voice tell us that he is waiting on Vadodara station and to come and get him… of walking into that Mumbai home and not finding him awake at 5 in the morning to welcome us… and most of all, never being able to call him Jada mama again.

The last 2-3 times I saw him were the worst moments of my life… Trying to breath through the ventilator… Then only breathing through it, eyes closed forever… And finally in a stretcher, when he was brought home for the last time. Seeing him in that state gave me a stifling feeling, as if I wanted to scream, but was unable to do so. It is constant, all-pervading, unavoidable.

What I KNOW I will always remember about jada mama is that smile of his that was bestowed on everyone around him freely… that twinkle in his eyes when he teased me and Ronak every time we stayed with him in our summer vacations… the love, care, affection he gave us during his lifetime, and I am sure which will continue from up there.

We all know you are in heaven jada mama… We love you, and you will always remain mine and Ronak’s beloved jada mama. You are eternally etched in the hearts of Bittubhai, Anandbhai, Mami, your three grandkids, mom, Ronak and me. Keep sending your love from up there, always.

For a 'Dost' and a 'Mohabbat'

If there ever was a song I would associate with an accurate summation of life, it is Yaaron from the album Pal by KK. Besides combining awesome guitar chords with the mind-blowing voice of KK, it’s the lyrics of the song which are to die for. In addition to bringing back some amazing memories, they have been completely applicable to my life, and are important enough for me to jot down. So here goes:

Yaaron, dosti badi hi haseen hai,
Ye na ho to, kya phir bolo ye zindagi hai,
Koi to ho raazdaar, begaraz tera ho yaar,
Koi to ho raazdaar.

Yaaron, mohabbat hi to bandagi hai,
Ye na ho to, kya phir bolo ye zindagi hai,
Koi to dilbar ho yaar, jisko tujhse ho pyaar,
Koi to dilbar ho yaar.

Teri har ek buraai pe daante wo dost,
Gam ki ho dhoop, to saaya baney, tera wo dost
Naachey bhi wo, teri khushi main.

Arey yaaron, dosti badi hi haseen hai,
Ye na ho to, kya phir bolo ye zindagi hai,
Koi to ho raazdaar, begaraz tera ho yaar,
Koi to ho raazdaar.

Tan mann karey tujhpe fida, mehboob wo,
Palkon pe jo rakhey tujhe, mehboob wo,
Jiski vafaa tere liye ho.

Arey yaaron, mohabbat hi to bandagi hai,
Ye na ho to, kya phir bolo ye zindagi hai,
Koi to dilbar ho yaar, jisko tujhse ho pyaar,
Koi to dilbar ho yaar.

PS: If you remember a ‘dost’ and ‘mohabbat’ while humming this song, say hurray, cause your life is a success!

PPS: If you haven’t heard the song yet, shame on you! Go on to YouTube RIGHT NOW!

With A Twinkle in his Eyes

Have you ever come across a distressed person that you felt like helping but reasoned ‘nah, I’ll be late for work’ or consoled yourself with ‘someone else will help him/her’ and walked away? Well don’t be surprised if you have. In the tightly packed work day with the mad rush to get there, you are probably not alone. I sometimes come across people I can help by pausing in my daily routine and extending a helping hand or buying them a simple meal. But I don’t. If you ask me why, I won’t be able to give an answer. It is probably the acceptance of the futility of the action; after all, isn’t Mumbai full of people who need help? Or maybe it’s just that time is so much more precious than money here that a minute out of the rush hour just doesn’t seem worth the effort. Whatever the reason, the apathy that has become a way of life here was highlighted earlier this year, when I was on my way to work.

I had spotted a frail old man walking on the road on my way to work once or twice. His weakness, however, was not what grabbed my attention when I saw him the first time. Dressed in worn but clean clothes, he had a walking stick with a broad base, even with the help of which he looked wobbly at best. The fact that he was not wearing any footwear went unnoticed by the crowd of people who passed him by without offering to help in any way. I am ashamed to say that at that time, I was one of those people. I turned and looked at him in pity, trying to take one small step at a time, attempting to balance himself, and then hurried away to clock in five minutes early so I could save that time while leaving office in the evening.

The image of that weak old man remained with me for some days, though. I remembered his fragility in fleeting moments while I was travelling or just reminiscing in free moments. His thought got me wondering if I would ever reach that age. If I would be roaming the streets alone without anyone to aid me. It got me wishing I would never have to face such a day. And finally, regretting the fact that I never paused to ask if he needed anything.

Destiny gave me another chance, however, when I was on my way back from office a few days later. I was walking quickly lest my bus pass me by just before I reached the stop—which it invariably did, by the way—when I spotted someone walking slowly in the opposite direction. Normally I wouldn’t have looked up at the person, but the slow, shuffling way he was walking got my head up curiously. It was the same old man without footwear again, making slow progress on the darkened pathway. He was walking alone, as usual. Spotting him, I froze mid-way, debating if it was the same person I had been thinking about in the past few days. And sure enough, it was him.

I do not know what made me do it, simply because my normal self doesn’t usually give in to impulses; but I walked across and asked him whether he needed anything. In the callous way we have all come to be in Mumbai, I simply meant if he needed any money. When he looked up at me, he had this twinkle in his eye that experienced aged folks always have, which signify they know something we don’t, and will not know for years to come. With a smile on his face and a few tufts of hair going in different directions, he told me he needed to cross the crowded crossroad with the signal, which was a few metres away. As he had already seen me walking in the opposite direction, he told me not to take the trouble and be on my way; he would ask for help at the signal as he usually did and get across. Something, however, made me persist, and I insisted that a few minutes wouldn’t matter a lot.

In the five minutes that I helped this fragile, aged person to the crossroad, I learnt a big lesson in humility. Unlike I first imagined, he was not a beggar. He was simply a lower middle class person suffering from arthritis, who could not get a proper grip on his footwear and preferred to walk barefoot rather than having them fall off every few minutes. In those five minutes, he asked my name, what I had studied and what I was doing in that area. He appreciated my Master’s degree, saying it was a sign of progress that girls are getting such high education in our country. He needed to buy something on the way—roti, as his wife was visiting his daughter, he told me—and I offered to pay for it. He told me, in English, and with the same mischievous smile on his face, that he would pay, he was not that poor.

My faith in humanity was restored when another guy at the signal walked along with us, holding his hand up, signalling the traffic to stop till we crossed the road. While leaving, the sweet old man told me that he felt these few minutes we spent together were somehow pending from a past life and that we were destined to meet. He instructed me to say hi if I spotted him in the future, highlighting that his eyes would be on the road while walking that path from now on. He finally ended our rendezvous saying ‘Bohot achha laga beti tumse baat karke.’

If you haven’t stopped and helped, or in a case like mine, just talked to a helpless person, making their lives easier for just those few moments, do it as soon as you can. Not for them, not for proving anything to anyone, not for any other reason but yourself; do it and analyse how it makes you feel. In addition to having a story to tell your grandkids, small incidents like these have the ability to change the way you look at life. I am relating this story to you today to tell you this: if you feel it from within, take the one minute to help, give alms, provide food, cross the road to that old man you think could use some help. It will make life a little bit more worthwhile.

A Price for Prayer

With the pace life has taken in general, not taking into account a city like Mumbai, fastracking has become a way of life. Whether with online banking, home delivery of everything from groceries to pizzas to medicines, we are increasingly finding ways to save time and effort. In a city like Mumbai, every moment saved is celebrated with a sigh of satisfaction. Whether it is catching a fast train instead of a slow one, the bus reaching faster than expected—a rare feat, considering the jam-packed traffic scenario in peak hours—or finding the exact thing you are looking at first go; if a Mumbaikar manages to save even half an hour of a tightly-packed day, he will be happy to call it a good day. The essence of time is nowhere as stressed as it is in Mumbai. And while fastracking is a good option for spending that extra time with family or for pursuing a hobby, somewhere, a line has to be drawn. I felt we have gone too far with saving time when I went to the Siddhivinayak temple with my family recently.

Siddhivinayak is known for its numerous devotees. From celebrities like Amitabh Bachchan and Sachin Tendulkar to the lowest strata of society, the Ganesha at Siddhivinayak boasts of a wide range of people as its devotees.

The patient devotees
These devotees range from the lower class to the middle class, who might be coming here each week. They wait in the mile-long snake-like line, which takes hours to reach the inside of the temple. This is the commoner’s line, for those who have lots of time and patience (and little or no money, I might add!). Couples with new-born babies, regular visitors every Thursday-Friday, senior citizens, etc. make up this crowd of devotees.

The privileged ones
This line is a bit shorter, mostly due to the Rs 50 charge taken for the apparently quicker way to get in. This is for people who run on a tightly packed schedule and have to search their very souls to dredge up the patience to wait in a long line. Not surprisingly, they have the resources and do not mind shelling out money to get to the God quickly and avoid spending hours waiting for a peek at God. This section obviously includes the upper middle class, NRIs, tourists in a hurry and teenagers who are running late for their lunch date with friends. You also get to see newly-weds with an oh-so-decked up bride (I wouldn’t be caught dead in so many accessories in a wedding, let alone a visit to the temple! However, I digress…) The point here is an actual charge for getting to the God. If you find it reasonable, you may be the seasoned Mumbaikar I talked about before.

The iconic ones
And then there are the ones who are up there, very close to God in the eyes of us mortals. The likes of Sachin Tendulkar and Amitabh Bhachhan define this category. The world needs to be stopped for these icons, temples included. This was evident when some celebrity chose to pay his respects to Siddhivinayak on the day of our visit, and the lines elongated even farther. The screens showing the God outside the temple were switched off temporarily while the celebrity was being ‘blessed’.

Siddhivinayak is only a small example. The payment phenomenon is fast catching up in popular temples in other parts of the world, like Thirupathi. Typically, if you are willing to shell out 5 crisp notes of Rs 1000, you can cut your waiting period from 3 days to 6 hours in Thirupathi. The money factor entering the religious places of India is a telling sign of either the close proximity of rich people to God or the increasing commercialisation of devotion. If paying a charge gets me even an inch closer to having my prayers heard, I would be glad to pay Rs 10,000 for ‘darshan’. However, this is not the case. And I am afraid that if this goes on for long, temples will become a completely commercial venture, with entry fee et al. Even if this enables saving of time, I think this is the wrong kind of progress for us.

PS: In the visit that triggered this post, my family and I were in the Rs 50 line for—you guessed it right—saving time.