These bloody Bandhs

I honestly thought I wouldn't write about this but with the madness reaching a crescendo I really wanted to protest my life coming to a grinding standstill with the only way I know...by writing. I've written about Telangana before (2 years back) but this time, the situation is so completely out of order that this is 17th day of an ongoing strike- no buses are running on the roads, with everyone from pujaris, news paper vendors, civic maintenance staff protesting on one day or the day, Hyderabad...this wonderful, magnanimous city of life and laughter is looking worse for wear and disturbingly, is beginning to tear because of the enormity of stupidity available in abundance. The Real estate lobby is crippled, all the IT industries have halted their plans for expansion and with even emergency services like medical aid on a stretcher, none of it is just annoying anymore its unnerving and scary. I am all for protest, protest is an individual right but when it turns into dissent and affects the life of everyone around it needs to be dealt with. The deafening silence of Delhi (busy dousing the flames of 2G) is resonant and I lament the fact that schools are closed, shops are burnt and traffic is thrown out of gear because some extremely jobless people feel like it. Another aspect which scares me is that most of us have become immune to this agitation just like the daily power cuts we are subjected to, indeed, I lived with myself for the past 17 days without even battling an eye lid.

What gives one person the right to disrupt another life and what makes one immune to it? Where will this lead to and what price will we end up paying for this?

Rumblings

When I was growing up I was roundly criticized for not exploring life enough...not many girl friends, not even the usual drinking/drugging retinue, not enough going out and certainly not experimentation. I was always clear as to where I stood and what I wanted. As a 15 year old in a disco, I knew that it was not a place I wanted to go back,ever. The definitive distinction of the parallels and the keen knowledge that they would never ever intersect was sacrosanct and simple. My distractions, my prejudices and my distorted beliefs were my cumulative effort to hold on to the only way of life I knew. Of late though, I've been questioning every action and inaction of mine, every decision I took and take and every choice is under a scanner. Am I growing up or growing older, or are questions merely knife edged extension of the doubts I am clouded under, shrill but omnipresent. I who like order and stability have developed a close knit relationship with chaos of every imaginable kind and the new strains of thoughts, new bouts of uncertainties do not unsettle me, I finally am welcoming them to my fold, not drawing invisible lines around me, not clutching at strings which were never present and not taming the confused cousins of these thoughts. Simple choices sometimes unlock doors which we never know existed and I hope that while this new tide washes over, the old guard only reigns in, not drain out completely.

Change has finally succeeded to seep through the doors, dressed as hope and certainly looks as delicious as desire but will it be as doomed?

Yellow boots and all

- I saw the wonderfully eccentric " That girl in Yellow boots" and was glad that movie makers, from the mainstream are willing to explore bold topics which are still taboo but bringing them out of the closet. Kalki was so delicate yet disturbing and I was really glad that she is getting roles ( albeit from her husband) that bring out the depth in her acting capabilities. Added to that was the wonderful back ground score, loved the movie.

- Interviewed the amazing Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma on the crazy Ganesh viserjan day. He was so tall and so soft spoken and super sarcastic when he told the Novotel PR that when he asked why there weren't any fruits in his room. He got an answer saying that that was a privilege only for VIP's...adding nonchalantly to the PR that he was not important but was merely hungry! The look on that PR's face was priceless!

- Read Aatish Taseer's new book but thought it was bollocks. I know he had a troubled life with an absentee father but three books based on the same premise? Seriously? And look at all female interviewers falling all over him....who ever said that only us poor men ogle?

- Redrawing boundaries, meeting new people and having fun...all of this sounds so weird especially when you've been away a bit but am meeting so many interesting people these days and having fun too.

- My first post from my latest gadget, do I see Sa smirk?

An ode to an old teacher

When I was in School, English was my favorite subject, something I did well in and something that I was interested and intrigued by. When I was in my Seventh standard, a teacher came in who was kind, clever and tolerant, more than anything else she was efficient and encouraged us to find our feet. She taught us for four years, dictation, prose, comprehension, Shakespeare...everything and till date I feel that the debt I owe to her is so immense that life will find a way for me to pay back. As things go, when I heard of her unfortunate and untimely demise I was unaffected and strangely reluctant to think of her. I dont know why, but I did not even react to it respectfully. When I shared this news with Pt, however I couldnt really stop thinking of her, the curved slant of her alphabets, the wry grin when she caught me found reading during a class and the word of praise from her I simply craved for. Grief for me never till now needed a legitimacy but today there was an overwhelming need for it, for something who understood what I felt, for an emotion which is too volatile to describe and for the burgeoning need to tell her and share with her that writing is now a part of my life, all thanks to her.

I last met her almost two years ago, when I took Oscar Wilde's "Picture of Dorian Gray" for her, it was so easy to effectively be back in time again, to call her Maam and try to impress her by wanting to tell her that I was working for a magazine. (which I didnt and now I wish I did) We take things so much for granted, I always reckoned that I could go back and meet her sometime but now that time has passed, that sun has set and that need turned into despair but that memory lingers on, of a warm teacher who rises above personal deficiency to reach out and a sinking feeling in my stomach that a part of my childhood has now achieved closure.

There are now so many things I wish I did, the first one being the thought I should have met her often but what remains is a feeling of gratitude, for teachers who show us the way in so many invisible ways and are never thanked for. For the many choices they offer and are never acknowledged and most importantly for being a part of our lives but never seeking a claim on their contribution.

To Manjula Maam. She who gifted me a love for a language. She, who was there.

Dreams do come true

Whenever I want to meet someone’s work I hugely admire I am thrown in a quandary because people are seldom what they seem and especially with people in the creative field, they eccentricities and other maladies make me vary and apprehensive. I remember meeting Jagjit Singh, whose obnoxious behavior made sure that I never listen to his amazing music again and what was a daily durbar has been relegated to the dead end of my music soirees. So when I was about to interview Amitav Ghosh, I was all knots…will he be polite, will it make me swear off his wonderful wonderful books and most importantly, will he match up to his books?

In one word- Yes, he was all that and more. Soft spoken, affable and immensely likeable…mister Amitav Ghosh is charm offensive himself. Unfailingly polite and enormously well mannered, it was such pleasure speaking to him. I was so nervous that I forgot many questions I wanted to ask him and spelled pidgin (pronounced pigeon as pig- din!!) his book reading was well attended and a surprise, most questions made sense except one hilarious person who asked him why your books are so long and heavy (The moderator intervened and asked him to read newspapers)...it was a memorable night and I finally got my copy of the Hungry Tide signed by him!!

Was thinking, Hina Rabbani Khar looks smashing but when she spoke I honestly thought that it was SM Krishna speaking!

Causes

It’s strange but I never really had any cause which was close to my heart (unless, it was for purely selfish reasons) but some how I was never really interested in activism if it required physical activity from my end. I've never really understood why and how people can pine for something so untangible. This time the magazine I work with has 13 social activists and I met some wonderful wonderful people whose passion, energy and enthusiasm both shamed me and gladdened me immensely. I fervently believe that a cause is like a kid, both require judicious attention and constant care and just like a child remains a child to their wards, a cause requires life long care and attention. I met a spunky (and absolutely gorgeous) wildlife photographer who made a record of birds found in Hyderabad and went to schools with it, a feisty lady of 60 years, wise and articulate who tries to save urban lakes, a software employee who also doubles up as an RTI activist and others like a lady who started an NGO called write to walk and takes up the cause of non-existent foot paths in the city. All of them determined and all of them so involved in the belief that their work would lead to some change. The great nature of their work, the vigorous push that it requires and the extraordinary work they put it simply astounded me! (The wildlife photographer spent one entire day to get a tricky shot done!) After meeting phoneys (actors/socialites) for so long, this piece I did was so close to my heart and made me believe that belief does wonders.

I simply loved Zindagi Milegi Na Dobara, yes the second half pales, but it does lend the story certain gravity. It was fun, believable and frankly enjoyable to boot. I loved Zoya Akhar’s first movie as well and am so in love with the new Katrina, lively and energetic no longer an ice maiden.

Rains

The rains are here, a little late but as usual they bring a cheer to my heart, calm to my visage and a smile to my lips. I’ve always been a rain-bird and today has been unexceptionally dismal- the first proper rainy day of the season and I’m still soaking in the sights. I like the pitter-pat, that’s a sound which is much synchronized with my system. A longing to enjoy the rains, and an almost overwhelming desire to break out just like the clouds are crowding this heart of mine. The year so far has been difficult and this momentary respite is something I long for and whose mere sight quenches my thirst. Ferocious and gentle, loud and placid, the silent sweep of long accumulated angst is swooping down with tender haste and I am enjoying it from a distance, the mere sight soothing many frayed edges and much turmoil. The affectionate gloom outside is in complete contrast to the growing din inside, yet they co exist in harmony almost feeding off each other complimenting each other coyly.

Rains in college were great fun. The green which is so captivating and which never stays for long gives a high which is rare to describe. Eating a corn cob or simply sipping chai, it always brings back memories of a more relaxed life, maybe that’s why it’s so precious and precocious. I wish there was some equivalent to rain in real life too, something which has the latent power to wash down everything and helps you start afresh, that’s called reprieve? And life isn’t too careful with that. The smell of the first few drops remind me so much of the possibilities life offer to you which get stuck in the tempest of outpouring, always reminding you of what could have been possible and what hasn’t been.

To Rain.