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.

Coming back

Come backs are so much tougher than leaving everything. I was at a press conference on Saturday, my first in months after an extended leave and was more nervous than my initial presser. Was fun though... missed all the gossip, waiting endlessly for 'stars' to descend and fighting with the PR for an exclusive. Interviewed Emraan Hashmi and Mahesh Bhatt, must say the latter was actually polite which was really surprising and gave honest, thoughtful answers to all questions. Having always liked his movies from Arth to Hum Hain Raahe Pyar Ke, I was really happy. Emraan is a very dis-interested person, so speaking to him is always done in five minutes flat. Must say, going by the crowds, he has more male fans than female, also he comes with a strict 'no-questions-about-kisses' stance but frankly nothing is more boring than asking him that.

I cannot wait for Mister Amitav Ghosh to come to Hyderabad, how amazing is the man? His River of Smoke, was so utterly spellbinding. His language, method employed to tell a story and restrained elegance is so sublimely charming! I was lucky to meet him once but am hoping to interview him this time around. I cannot not rave about his work...when is he getting the Nobel?

Watched Mammo yesterday and was marvelling at the enormously fine actor called Surekha Sikri, they dont make em' like that any more...no they dont.

Work away

This space I’ve been away has always been a refuge so how can I not be back? After a lull, the tempo of the storm picked up and I’ve been writing, writing and well…more writing. Doing a story on street food is never easy but is always fun and I’ve had a lot of fun...digging into delicious dabelis and trying some delectable dosas off the wayside. The thing about street food is that its as unpretentious as you want it to be, just like food is supposed to be and of course as yummy as the creator wants it to be. The cover shoot was a disaster though, we wanted a big street bandi with everything in black and white and the food in delightful, loud colors…with clouds playing peek-a-boo and the traffic giving a test for our acrobatic skills…it was nothing shorn of a catastrophe.

Ash is pregnant and I am mightily thrilled…no nauseous giggling for a year now…thank you god!

Haven’t watched a movie in over two months, the longest I’ve stayed away…dying to watch Shaitaan…love the edgy music.

Breaks, long and short

It's been a while since I've written anything...its feels so amazingly vague. On a break from Work, I'm finding out so much about the simple joys I've submerged in the din surrounding me- the beauty of a silent house, the non- purposeless of it all, the lazy lazy Sundays curled up doing nothing and the joy of being with myself. I like it, the break, the whole deal of not having a deadline and writing when you dont feel like, searching for that perfect word and making hundred calls in one day. I only wish the rains were here, they would provide the company I seek and solace I need. What do you say when you realise that two whole years add up to a whole grand sum of zero? laugh and move away or sob and share it...

Reading again and feeling invincible because of it, Anita Nair's "The Better Man" and Anjali Joseph's magical lyrical "Saraswati Park" have infused new ideas of the old way eloquently. Endless cups of tea and minimal phone conversations have only made days better, while new forays make seem earlier ones utterly pointless.

Rambling haphazardly...gimme a break...I'm on one!