Ta thayya Ta thayya ho …

March 17th, 2009

A couple of days back I was thinking of an old song which was picturised on Jumping jack Jeetendra, thunderous Sridevi and Daphli waali Daphne Jaya Pradha. I wonder if you guys remember that song,

 

Tohfa, tohfa, tohfa…” Immediately after crooning the song strategically placed yellow flowers would drop from the heroine’s bosom or the hero’s white pants and the lyrics would continue…

 

“Laaya, Laaya, Laaya…”

 

Boy, I used to hum this song often in the Chitrahaar era of Doobara darshan err, I mean Doordarshan.

 

I would call Doordarshan as Doobaradarshan little realising that today’s TV channels are all baaps of re- runs.

 

Ok, so what reminded me of this song, Jaya Pradha of course? She is a political dancer these days.

 

I see her singing “Tohfa, Tohfa,Tohfa ….” and her devoted party workers keep crooning, “Diya, diya, diya…” while distributing the 100-100 ke notes to the one and only, "aam aadmi".

 

******************************************************************

 

Now, apun ka munnabhai also has decided to help the "aam aadmi" with the help of "Mulayam Amar rahen!"

 

I heard that Sunju baba has a fleet of phoren cars, his pride to give all the desi babes a ride.

 

But Sunju baba has different plans for aam aadmi !!

 

He says, “hamari cycle….aapki cycle aur hum sab ki cycle jis par baith kar hum ko Dilli tak jaana hai…”

 

Cycle par bechara aam aadmi, hum aapko iski ” Maanyata ” nahi dete.

 

Sunju bhai, aapki sawaari agar cycle par nikli toh bahut time na lag jaaye, itne mein kahin TADA na pakad le aapko.

 

Kyun khopdi ke khopche mein baat ghusi kya ki Circuit ko bhej doon !!

 

 

**********************************************************************

 

Sharad Powar keeps crooning…” HE MAN…I HAVE THE eternal POWER”

 

His agenda seems not to worry too much about any party or rather the lack of it.

 

Third front or affront (Modi et al), I will continue to pull my stunt and wear the money minting POWARFUL BCCI bouffant.

 

 

 

 

 

If Sunju baba can do it, then why not Ajju bhai!!

 

Congress is helping Mohammad Azharuddin reach Hazrat Nizamuddin.

 

Ajju bhai's main agenda on coming to power would be to legalise betting and match fixing.

 

He will also make sure that the cocktail of bollywood, cricket and politics remains heady as ever for the aam aadmi.

 

 

**********************************************************************

 

Jai ho has been patented by congress and why would BJP lag behind. With the perennial infighting in BJP, even they have patented a Rehman number.

 

These days Rajnath Singh and Arun Jaitley are singing, "hat ja hat ja re hat jaaaa hat jaaaa re..hat hat hat hat…"

 

Poor Advani ji , worry not !! I have a song for you too.

 

"Kabhi kabhi Advaniji life mein aisa hota hai..

Rajnath aur Jaitley toh bas bahut ladta hai..

Aise mein Sushma aur Modi bhi dekho kya kare..

Aap dekho PM banne ke dher saare sapney

And aam aadmi says everything's gonna be okay!!"

 

*********************************************************************

 

 

Lux kya scene hai !! Oooh la la !! enter Miss Maya….

 

Pehle public mein cake khaati thi ab sabko dinner khilaati hai aur kehti hai,

 

"Chal, chal, chal mere haathi,

Le chal tu mujhe Dilli..

Banti hoon main Pradhaan Mantri

American ho yaa cheeni

Brahman ho ya teli

karti hoon sabki chutti…"

 

 

Red brigade is the first to come up with the most innovative and brand new manifesto.

 

Say No to capitalism, Say No to America, Say No to UPA, NDA…..

 

Say No…

 

NO is the only yes we KNOW !!

 

*******************************************************************

 

 

Finally, decisions time…

 

Forget the election…

 

Screw the sikkurity..

 

Let's play Kirkit and dupe the aam aadmi says Lallan Jugaad to Lungi appan in Dilli.

 

*******************************************************************

 

Rahul baba lagta hai is baar bhi aapka sheegra patan ho jaayega !!

 

 

 

On a serious note, I hope every Indian with a right to vote exercises it to bring in, as Laloo ji says the "Weel of the peepul".

 

 

PS: The title is inspired from the sublime poetic beauty of 1980's from the film Himmatwala. If this is not divine and profound I don't know what is !!

 

PS2 : Sahil..Lallan Jugaad is Lalit Modi..the perennial jugaadu chhaap dantmanjan and PC, our sofa cum bed, I mean previous finance minister to current home minister..samjhe Jee !!

 

 


From VT station

March 3rd, 2009

I was thinking where this king of humour has disappeared. There is hardly anyone on this iLand or rather in the whole blogging world who does not know VT.
vixx for kix.

vixx.rediffiland.com
 
And then I receive this mail from him.

देवीयों एवं सज्जनों अत्यंत हास्यमय शेरों शायरी फ्रॉम वीटी
बहुत लाइन मारा वीटी भाई ने परंतु हम तो ऐसे ही इनके कायल हैं और घायल भी
.
लोगबाग आप भी पढ़ लें
.
तो वीटी साहब अर्ज़ फरमाते हैं

पैखाने में हम क्या बैठे थे, समझ कर मैखाना
,
पैखाने में हम क्या बैठे थे, समझ कर मैखांना
पानी का डब्बा हम पी गये, समझ कर पैमाना


एक और सुनिए

मुल्ला अगर असर है दुआ में तो मस्जिद को हिला कर दिखा
अगर नहीं तो दो घूँठ पी और खुद मस्जिद को हिलता देख.

VT take a bow for the way you make us laugh!!
 


Dev D..my take!

March 2nd, 2009

"But why Sirjee?? "The surd asks.

 

"Just like that!! " The male protagonist replies.

 

A conversation with the cab driver with twenty five minutes to spare before the movie ends. And to me, that pretty much sums up the ethos of Dev.

 

"Just like that!!"

 

There is a whole gamut of emotions that surface while watching this one. Anger, resentment, disturbance, distress, disgust, laughter, joy, delight and finally relief!!
 

You watch it, soak it in, chew it and then either spit it or absorb it but whatever you do, Anurag Kashyap and his team make sure that, ignore you certainly cannot !!

 

Like a cow, I am still in the chewing phase.

Ok, let me not go back into the danger zone of cows, I will stick to Dev for now.

 

Dev. The quintessential unidimensionally self destructive male. His pathos intentional. Afterall, that is the only thing he knows, getting his high from self pity and self loathing. Alcohol, ecstasy, roll up joints, coke, women and men around are means to that end.  Like an interesting friend of mine says, "There is a Devdas hidden in all of us!"

 

The middle class sense of achieving a security in life pushes him back into the closet and locks him up. For good? I don't really know!

 

Paro and Chanda. A welcome relief in this tale of yonder. Sure, they go through some painfully distressing events but those incidents don't stop them from moving on. "Moving on" a clichéd word in the movie and in life. Sounds a lot more pleasing to the ears than saying "I compromised!"

 

There is no strategic placement of dupatta or saree ka palla for men to ogle, no skin show, no gyrations, no spaghetti noodle straps, no locking of lips. Oh none of that trash, after all what is to eyes without it being in mind. And most of what you see here happens way above the neck!!
 

If you throw a lemon my way whether I use it to make nimbu paani or a tequila shot, depends on the circumstances but whatever choice made, I stick by it and enjoy it.

 

And that is exactly what these two ladies do effortlessly. Unapologetic and extremely strong. Neither of them is ashamed or even at unease at the brilliant portrayal of their sensuality.

Something unheard of in recent times in Hindi cinema. They have it and they know it. This awareness is conveyed pretty much through their gaze and lingo.

 

Chunni!! The eternal sidekick, the sensible and useful guy not only for the central characters but also for the audience, for the comic relief that he provides.

 

A few surprises too here. No caste based feud, no patriarchal clichés to come in the way of love. Some, extremely distressing lack of empathy exhibited by one set of parents. And a Dev who one fine day introspects. Thank heavens for that. Finally, the director acknowledges Danny Boyle in the beginning; his way of saying thanks to Danny, I wonder! Afterall, the chase scene of slumdog millionaire is inspired by the chase scene of Black Friday.

                 

 

The dialogues, the mannerisms very much in keeping with the present times. No melodrama here. Double meaning innuendo, unashamedly rude both in language and signs, might make some cringe but hey, there is nothing naive about this affair.

 

And yet there is ample display of innocence! The case in point is the scene where Chanda takes the mickey out of Dev for not being able to say the word "Randi" and instead he beating around the bush with words like commercial sex worker.

 

For the one who has not seen it, this might shock but if you have; how can  you ignore the smile on Chanda's face as it lights up her eyes while mouthing the word!! It has innocence written all over it and needless to say that is one of my favourite shots. Thumbs up vodka ke saath is another interesting one.

 

The scenes are a visual delight. The neon lit streets of Paharganj come alive and so do the scenes in the village, absolutely natural and real. This is no pink candy floss; the only pink is the French boudoir. The only white is the Florence Nightingale of the night. The only black is the suits men wear. And there is  plenty of grayscale; just like life.

 

 

Music. Much has been written about the music of the movie too. 18 songs and I personally was begging for more. From folk to international feel, from desi band to fusion, soft rock to hardcore, there is just about everything. From soft soothing touch to ears to soul curry. Everything.

 

 

I have been dancing away for the last two days. My personal favourites are Pardesi and Nayan Tarase. The sheer brilliance of the music is that every song just plays in the background. More as a prop to the event rather than breaking the continuity of this non-linear movie. It has been some time since harmonium, sitar, guitar, piano, dhol, tabla, paayal have all been amalgamated seamlessly.

 

The lyrics. I need to say a few words here too. Nayan tarase, nayan tarase donon se bahe dhaar. Irony!!

Patna ke pelvis and theirEmosanal atyachaar and trejady (spelling error intended) pronounced exactly that way but when it comes to crooning the word Hore (W is silent and invisible too intentionally) perfect pronounciation. Irony again!!

Nayan tarase..tapish ki phuhaar..aajkal tapish jaisa shabd kahaan sunne milta hai. kudos to the team!
 

The movie in its denial of cliches is sincere and the way it quietly slipped into cinemas sans any saare sheher me dhol peetna and came out a hit, ranging from being a revelation to many to being so very loved by others is a slap in the face of Khansalis, Khohars  and Khopras and all of their ilk who churn out movies year in year out all in the name of “providing clean escapism fare to the aam aadmi”.

 

For crying out loud, Anurag Kashyap begs to differ. The unapologetic Kashyap middle finger is right there standing proud and stiff.

 

To sum up

 

This Dev D is not filmy.
 

The picture I have used is a scene where two people find pure unadulterated bliss for a few moments. Another favourite!!

 

Personally, this movie felt like a treasure cove. As many interpretations and takes as your mind and time allows.

 

Are there any flaws??? There might be for many. As for me, I am blinded by the modern day interpretation of an eternal classic.
 
 

 


La me La di La ci La ne …story continues

February 27th, 2009

I am in Fursatganj again today. With nothing better to do I decided to continue a few more of the medical stories.

This time I decided to include my dear mom, some patients and Dubey Sir in my series…I will say these were lessons rather than humour accounts that I learnt as part of my medical life.
 
La Innocence

I am the only odd peg in my whole family which comprises of mostly engineers of all shapes and sizes. My poor mother was innocence personified and I, the devil reincarnate!!
For my parents and cousins it was a matter of curiosity about how we were taught medicine, how we were ragged and so on and so forth.They would listen in awe to even the silliest of the stuff that I had to tell.
That, I love rambling and making up stories was something only dad knew. He would always reprimand me saying, "Don't tell cock and bull stories” Nevertheless, he would chuckle at the flight that my fantasy took.
Let me not become a fantasia and come back to the land where mom and cousins were sitting. I was telling them how unclaimed dead bodies were sent our way for learning dissection and that there would be 100 medical students and we were divided into batches of ten, and each batch was given one body for the whole year to practice dissection skills in anatomy.


Out of ten bodies, there would only be one or two female bodies and the rest would be male.
Obviously, female bodies were equally important due to anatomical reasons and we would swap places just to learn and those who posessed the female bodies always acted pricey!!
I began describing the gory details to my mom about how we would dissect the groin region, one student would read, the other would dissect and the rest would either watch or chat away to glory.
So she said, ” aise hi, sabke saamne….so when do you guys remove their clothes?? ”

 

” Mom, it’s a dead body they don’t wear clothes. They are frozen in formalin. “
 
” My goodness, so many of you just jump on the bodies, poor souls!”

 

I was taken aback by her innocence but it set me thinking. So, many things that people of my profession assume as matter of fact must be quite chilling and daunting for others. But I somehow had to pacify my poor mother, so I said to her, "Ma, what these dead people do is a far greater service to humanity than can be comprehended. If it weren’t for people like them, how would we know what to do, and how to treat you living people. ”


“Better to practice on them than you!!”
 
That answer pretty much shut my poor mother’s questions or chastising exclamations for good!!

 

Here's to Atmaram, never knew him in life but my companion after his death for 18 long months.
 


La examiner

 

It was a lesson I learnt when I was taking my final year exams. For the practicals or the clinicals as we called it the Medical Colleges in general had a pool of patients with roaring clinical signs and symptoms and were called in to sit as exam case patients. These patients would have been doing this service to the colleges for a small amount of money and free meals and more importantly my lecturers believed that they came because they wanted to in some way help the medical students shaping their careers.

 

I have mostly managed to pass all my exams in first attempt, I say mostly because in second year I did get the so called ATKT (Allowed to continue terms) for pharmacology. But, that is fodder for another post, perhaps.

 

Due to the mishap of second year and also the fact that final year was far more interesting as it was all patient related, I worked extra hard. This time I did not want to take things callously.

 

Still, the aftertaste of second year lingered and flashed up once in a while. We also had a group of seniors whom we called, "History Sheeters". All excellent guys but very rarely studied.

 

Prathamesh Leechra was one such history sheeter who had been giving the exam since we had joined medical school and when I entered the exam hall, I realised his number was next to mine. He was taking the exam again.

 

I wished him luck and he said, " Yaar Mona, agar thodu sa main atak gaya toh help kar dena yaar!!"

 

"Haan Sirji, aapko jo poochna hai pooch lo, mujhe aata hoga toh pakka bata doongi!!"

I have never believed in each one for himself and I was willing to help him if I could.

 

So, the exam began.  Manorama Devi a 54 year old lady with florid signs and symptoms of Mitral Stenosis was a patient that both Leechra and I got.

 

He had finished taking history and examination and was being grilled heavily by the three examiners.

 

I was nervously waiting twiddling my thumbs  sitting next to Manorama Devi for my turn to enter the Dragon's den for the drill.

 

" Beta, kyun pareshaan hoti hai, tu ho jaayegi paas. Tune mujhse saare sahi sahi sawaal pooche aur examine bhi sab theek se kiya hai. Sab likh liya na tune??" she asked me.

 

(Beta, why are you getting restless, you will pass. You asked me all the relevant questions and examined me properly too. You have written everything in order, right??" she asked)

 

"Haan ji, likh liya." (Yes, I have written it all down.) Said, I.

 

She continued further.

 

"Woh nahi hota pass. Usne kuch nahi poocha theek se, toh maine bataya bhi nahi. Examine bhi nahi kiya."

 

"He will not pass. He did not question me properly and neither did he examine correctly. "

At that minute Leechra came out of the examiners room. He had a sunken sucked out look. It was my turn. I finished and came out.

 

I did not think about this until much later on. Almost a month later, the results came.
I had passed. Needless to say, Prathamesh Leechra had failed. Again.

 

I remembered Manorama Devi. I knew from then on, your patients know your worth.

 

Having said all that Leechra is very successful these days running a super speciality or is it multi speciality with dozens of doctors working under him and he is the big boss doing well. Khair. Hota hai. Chalta hai. Duniya hai.

 

 

La Positione
 
Those of you who have read the second episode of my Grays anatomy would know our college dean Dubey Sir. His pristine attitude towards medicine had all of us in awe but at times just to get things right in front of him made us fluster and we sure made a fool of ourselves.

Every week in a group of ten one of us had to a case presentation in a big general ward in front of not only the patient concerned but the other patients. For the patients and the ward nurses it was sheer joy at the way each one of us got screwed openly. So, one such Friday morning it was yours truly's turn.

 

"Mona, tera kya hai yaar, tu toh angrezi mein phaad deti hai!! Load mat le, theek jaayega tera !!"

 

I had been having nightmares for almost 24 hours prior. It is one thing to converse with friends; it is an altogether different matter doing it in a group of tens' in front of everyone.  I have always suffered from stage fright and to this day I have not been able to get over it.

 

While presenting the case we had to inform Dubey Sir every single detail of the patient including the name, age, sex, location, position. Just like chat rooms, I say!!

 

So, the drill began.

 

"Sir, this patient is Mr Nainsukh Kabadiya, 47 years old, male from Patli Galli, Mominpura who has presented with……" my rambling continued.

 

"Stop right there, Mona!! What is the position of the patient?? How can you forget such important details? Start again, and tell me the position of the patient."

 

By then I was deflated. Hammered at the first line itself I fumbled. My mind at such a simple detail went blank and I looked at the patient to decide about the position.

 

Unfortunately for me, Nainsukh ji was half sitting and half lying.

Dhad ke upar ka was sitting and neeche ka was lying.

 

" Kya karun, yaar, Kabadiya saab poora let jaate ya poora baith jaate toh achha tha. Ab kya bolun!!" was all that I could think.

 

" Comeon, Mona get on with it!!" snarled Dubey Sir.

 

"Yes sir!!" "I will start again sir!!"

 

"Sir, this is Nainsukh Kabadiya from Patli Galli …." began me.

 

"No, Mona, just get on with the position and continue from there, will you??" Dubey Sir was losing it and so was I.

 

"Sir, Nainsukh Kabadiya is comfortably lying in sitting down positon!!"

 

I felt I had goofed up. So I said immediately,

 

"No sir, the patient Nainsukh Kabadiya is comfortably sitting in lying down position!!"

 

By now I had realised I had screwed up big time. And all that for “angrezi tattu” awards that I received in college.

 

Dubey Sir finally showed some sympathy to my poor existence, smiled and said, "Patient is propped up Mona, just propped up will do."

 

Everyone was in splits and Dubey Sir the kind man he was, just patted my back and I managed to finish without more goof ups.

 

Poetic justice, I say.

 

Thankfully soon enough the title of" angrezi tattu "was conferred on some other poor soul.

 

  

 

 

 



The threesome of my life…

February 24th, 2009

Guys, those of you who came running because of the title, apologies!!! I do have a nasty sense of humour although sometimes, I crack a joke at my own expense. Well, well, nothing that was on your mind friends, this was a simple exercise I decided to take up after reading PKMadhavan's old post titled, "The threes of my life." Well, he being the gentleman he titled it decently and me the naughty streaked one decided to go for something jhakaaassss….So, here it goes, just another tag blog, but to be honest I enjoyed taking up this one the most as there were many things that I rediscovered about myself.

 Three things that scare me

 

 

1        The look of grief on others faces when I know I am the reason for it.

2        Being in the donut of death. (Yes, MRI scanners freak me out)

3        Being judged.

 

Three people who make me laugh

 

1        Pseudo intellectuals.

2        Mr Bean and Brits in general with their sense of humour.

3        God, if he is around.

 

 

Three things I love

 

1        Solitude and soliloquy and observing things silently.

2        Reading with my cuppa tea and music playing in the background.

3        Making others laugh and happy.

 

 

Three things I hate

 

1        Bullies, being taken advantage of.

2        Disrespect towards work ie latecomers, callous attitude, shirking work.

3        Men who think every" bindaas" girl is game.

 

 

Three things I don't understand

 

1        Intolerance of any kind ie religious, moral or what have you.

2        Vindictiveness, apathy and selfishness.

3        People who don't have balls to stand up to their mistakes.

 

 

Three things on my desk

 

1        A photograph frame of me and my sister when we were both 5 at different times with a personalised message from my mother.     (The same frame adorns my sister's desk too)

2        The latest edition of BNF (British National Formulary) and stacks of case papers and reports.

3        A dark blue coloured Littman stethoscope.

 

 

 Three things I am doing right now

 

1        Waiting for my interview cum exam results, worrying about my dad's health.

2        Reading "A passage to England" by Nirad C Chaudhuri

3        Blogging (I call this part of my life as the blogging phase)

 

 

 

Three things I want to do before I die

 

1        Learn one musical instrument.

2        Write a fiction book.

3        To see every nook and corner of "Incredible India".

 

 

Three things I can do

 

1        Listen patiently even when the other person is being downright abusive and spiteful.

2        Forgive unconditionally but maybe not forget.

3        Make friends and keep them too.

 

Three things you should listen to

 

1        A call for help.

2        Little ones and their amazingly imaginative stories.

3        Ghanapaatis chanting in Sanskrit, MS Subbulakshmi's Suprabhatam, the sound of  Ganges at Hrishikesh and then at Haridwar, music in general and sometimes silence.

 

 

Three things you should never listen to

 

1        Sugar coated praise.

2       'I 'specialists and pessimists.

3        Men bragging about their conquests.

 

Three things I'd like to learn

 

1        To be able to say "NO" without sounding apologetic and guilty.

2        To stay focussed and look ahead.

3        To cook a meal better than my mom and get my dad to praise me. (So far have been unsuccessful)

 

 

Three favourite books (tough call here! I wish I could add a few more!!)

 

1        Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, JLS by Richard Bach

2        Godaan by Munshi Premchand

3        Man, Woman and Child & Doctors by Erich Segal

 

 

Three favourite foods

 

1        Alu ke paranthe with a cup of dahi and nimbu ka achaar

2        Pithla with hot plain white basmati rice

3        Methi malai matar & banarasi pulao

 

 

Three beverages I drink regularly

 

1        Ek pyaali chai with a few drops of milk and half a teaspoon of sugar, angrezi ishtyle.

2        Water.

3        Tomato juice with salt and pepper and a generous dash of Tabasco sauce.

 

 

Three TV shows/books I watched/read when I was a kid

 

1        Malgudi days, Bharat Ek Khoj, Mogli (although when Mogli came I wasn't a kid anymore) Siddharth Basu's quiz show (the name beats me!!), He Man.

 

2        Panchatantra Tales, Ramayana and Mahabharata, Arabian nights, Amar Chitra Katha, Chandamama.

 

3        Heidi, Tintin, Archie and most comic strips, Nancy Drew's, Enid Blyton's and wot not !!

 

I would like to tag:

 

I have decided to let this one go without taking names. I invite everyone on to the floor, whoever is keen; please the show is all yours.J

 

    

 

                  

 

 


 

 


Kacchu

February 18th, 2009

“Appa, this letter just came in the post for you today. It doesn’t have the sender’s name at the back; it has come from California, USA. Shall I open it??”  Inquisitiveness piqued all over Mili’s bright eyes.
 
” Leave it on my study desk, Mili. I know who has sent that mail. I will read at leisure after dinner. “
 
” Appa, who is it?? I also want to know, I am curious. “
 
” Mili, who else lives in California that we know, it is your Kacchu !! He must have written to let us know that he will not be able to make it to the wedding. “
 
” Appa, please open it now, don’t you want to know what Kacchu has to say?? Please appa!! “
 
” As if you still remember him! Do you?? sare, ask amma to make me a nice cup of coffee and then you can read out the letter yourself, ok??”
 
Mili jumped elatedly and hurriedly arrived into the kitchen. The sense of urgency evident in her voice, ” Amma, please, quickly make a small cup of coffee for appa. Only, then he will allow me to read Kacchu’s mail.”
 
” Mythili, you are going to be married in two weeks time!! I have taught you everything; you make the coffee for appa and take it. If you don’t practise now and make a mess in your mother-in-law’s house, she will hold me responsible for not teaching you anything.” Vijayanthi shouted with mock anger.
 
“Amma, after two weeks for the rest of my life this is what I will have to do. Let me enjoy now. “Mili had affectionately hugged Vijayanthi at which she gave in.
 
” Mili, ask amma to make one more cup of coffee, Gowtham Uncle is here too. ” appa’s voice could be heard  echoing from a distance in the hall.
 
Hummmphhh. Chhha.Why did Gowtham uncle have to come now, Mili had muttered to herself and walked off to her room stomping her feet. Now, the letter will not be opened until Gowtham uncle has a hearty meal, discusses all the plans of the wedding, updates amma about all the gossip from the boy’s family and only after, he has the betelnut and another set of coffee will he walk towards his home. By then appa will be so tired that he will not open the letter until his Sandhyavandanam and Gayatri japam in the morning.
 
With a resignation in her demeanor at the postponement of an interesting event Mili went back to her room.
 
Mili began skimming through the recesses of her overflowing bookshelf. She knew the colour of the big bound book so well. But try as she might tonight when she wanted to look it up the most, she could not find it. As she continued her fishing, a pile of books from the top shelf fell on the floor. Mili picked them up to rearrange and there it was, “Panchatantra Tales”.
 
“Yes, I found it!!”.
 
Dropping the rest of the pile on a nearby stool with a mental note to sort them later, Mili took the book to her bed.
 
Her face beamed as she leafed through the first page of the yellow coloured book where lay the neatly written lines in green ink,

“My dearest Mili, For you, stories to last a lifetime. Affectionately, your’ Kacchu. “
 
Her thoughts drifted away to the first time she had met Kacchu almost ten years back.
 
” Mythili, say hello to Karim Uncle. He is our next door neighbour and will be working with me on our latest project. “
 
Frightened at the sight of his black beard and moustache in spite of his inviting hand she  had withdrawn and scuttered to hide behind her amma’s saree. For the rest of the evening Mili had continuously looked at Karim Uncle but when he extended his hand in affection she would instantly turn her gaze and interest elsewhere.
 
A few days later Narayan Rao, Mili’s father had delightfully noticed that the ice had broken between Karim and Mythili. He could hear Mythili giggling and saying, “I will not call you Karim Uncle or Karim Chachu, it’s too long, I will call you Kacchu. “
 
“But, Mythili, Kacchu doesn’t sound very nice. If you continue to insist then, I will also stop calling you Mythili and give you a name too!!” Narayan Rao could overhear Karim teasing Maithili.
 
“What, what will you call me, tell me please. Ok, now I am definitely going to call you Kacchu. “Maithili had widened her eyes to make them look even bigger and brighter.
 
“How about Mili???” Karim had asked.
 
Mili had loved that name and so did Narayan Rao. So, the names Mili and Kacchu came into being with each christening the other. It was Vijayanthi’s traditional upbringing and certain prejudices that neither did she call Karim as Kacchu nor did she ever change her Mythili to Mili.
 
More memories flashed to the day they had all been invited for dinner at Kacchu’s home.
 
Vijayanthi had insisted that it was not necessary and that Kacchu could have dinner at their place instead. But, Kacchu was adamant, afterall he had dinners at their place on many occasions and he was keen to return the gesture.
 
Vijayanthi had informed Kacchu that she was fasting and he should cook only for Maithili and her father.
 
“Kacchu, what have you cooked?? Have you made omlette and roti??” Mili had asked greedily.
 
“Maithili, we are vegetarians, you should not eat egg.”
 
“But, amma I want to, please, Let me try once. “
 
Vijayanthi had explained to Mili how they were Brahmins and they did not eat any eggs or meat. If any of the relatives came to know it would look extremely bad on their part at not having brought Mili up properly.
 
Mili had assured Vijayanthi that she knew how to keep a secret just as she was not going to tell Kacchu that Vijayanthi was not fasting. Vijayanthi had been shocked at Mili’s display of bargaining powers.
 
 
Looking at the quandary that Vijayanthi had been in, Kacchu had teased Mili while whipping the eggs up,
“If you eat omlette what will your attamma ( mother in law) say when you go to their place??”
 
“Ha, I will make my mother in law eat omlettes too.” had come Mili’s reply playfully.
 
Narayan Rao had laughed off their silly but entertaining conversation.
 
“Mili, that must hurt, what are you upto? Kacchu, you should not let Mili trouble you this way. ” appa had said.
 
“No, no,  Narayan garu, Mili has decided that the few grey in my hair need to come out, so she is plucking them out from my head. ” Kacchu had said with delight.
 
Thanks to Kacchu, Narayan Rao did not have to worry too much about the fact that there were not many kids in the neighbourhood for Mili to play with. 
 
However, within a year, Kacchu had tied the knot and was whisked away to States by his father in law for better opportunities. Mili had looked at his wedding snap and given the bride a name too.

” Kacchi ” she had giggled saying so.
 
In the initial days there were regular phone calls and constant appraising of the events in Kacchu’s life. As time passed, the phone calls had dwindled limiting themselves to Mili’s birthday and wishes on Diwali and New year, finally, the correspondence reducing to once in a blue moon.

Mili drifted away to sleep thinking of the days gone by.
 

The next day appa mentioned to Mili that as he had suspected Kacchu was unable to make it to the wedding and had sent a gift cheque for the bride and the groom.
 
***********************************************************
 
The wedding day arrived. The house sported a festive look. Nadaswaram being played could be heard till the end of the street. The house was decorated with yellow and brown chamantis with occasional Zarberas and Jasmines. Mili was all decked up and ready in her traditional bridal attire waiting for the ceremonies to begin. Guests entered and left the house, children jumped and played around. Sweets and drinks flowed continously in the house.
 
“Mili, there is someone who has come to meet your appa and they asked me to fetch you to the study.” Her cousin, Vaidehi had rushed into her room and dragged her to the study.
 
Standing at the door to the study, she could hear her dad mouthing, “This is really a pleasant surprise Kacchu, we didn’t think you would make it especially after the letter you sent. “
 
“I have been thinking of disposing my ancestral property for a long time now, Narayan garu, So, I decided to complete it and visit all of you too at the same time. “
 
At that Mili entered the room. Although not an overtly shy girl, but the occasion demanded it, her tongue caught by the cat, her gaze downwards, hands fidgeting and making knots with the saree that she was so unaccustomed to wear,
 
“Namaste Uncleji, Thank you for coming!!”
hands folded, was all she could gather herself to utter.

She looked at her Kacchu, he had changed too. There was only an occasional black left to pluck in his silver hair.
 
“Mili, so, you are going to make Omlettes for your mother in law, is it??” Kacchu had asked mischievously.
 
Mili now knew exactly what mother in law meant and what was expected of her. Just like her first meeting with him, this time too overcome with shyness she fled. 

PS   Inspiration:    Tagore for one of the most poignant stories ” Kabuliwallah “
 


A song to remember…

February 16th, 2009

” That’s it! I am not going to the music class at Padma akka’s house anymore !! ” I said to my mother with a firm resolve that could not have been broken even if Lord Brahma would have requested me to.
 
” But, Pray tell me! Why not ???” My mom had asked with a curiosity tinged voice.
 
I was seven years old but already a fiesty one, unruly at most times. Let me tell you, being born in a traditional andhraite dravidian family it was but natural that I learnt Carnatic music. Something that was the norm and my mother thought I should too. For me music didn’t mean much at that age but Padma Akka lived in a big house in the nearby town and the journey from the camp in the jeep kept me entertained enough.
 
As if this was not sufficient Akka would cuddle and give plenty of chocolates and treat me affectionately. It also meant meeting her friends. For a young girl the youthful ladies, their matching attire, eavesdropping on their entertaining conversations was an exciting prospect from the dull drab of frocks that I wore, and the kids my age I frolicked along with.
 
So, My mom couldn’t really understand the trigger for my sudden defiance to avoid going to Akka’s place. ” Now, you can’t be serious, tell me what happened !” she coaxed me again.
 
” While I was singing Padma akka and her mom were smiling at each other and saying that I had “hiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh pitch”, I am not going! That’s final. How can they call me pitchi and that too hiiiiiiiiigh.  If they had said loooooow it was okaaaaaaay but pitchi that too hiiiiiiigh. I will never visit them again !!”
 
Let me tell you pitchi in the “Italian of the east”, for the uninitiated, telugu is called Italian of the east, means a “mad one”. I was not willing to learn music at a place where they termed me pitchi and that too hiiiiiigh.
 
It is an altogether different matter that most of my close friends now label me as “mad mona” and I take that in my stride but not in those days.
 
Ma laughed aloud and explained to me about the high pitch and finally some sense prevailed into my little pistachhio brain and my tryst with Carnatic music wasn’t interrupted.
 
As I grew older my father gave me umpteen record albums of movies and ghazals. My first experience of english music was “like a virgin” by Maddona and I learnt pretty fast to tell my dad, “Papa, don’t preach..” If that upset him I knew how to sing, “Daddy, daddy cool!”
 
Are you guys wondering, ” Does she have a point !!”
 
I am mad, but sometimes I too make sense. 
 
My eternal love by now everyone knows is solitude and soliloquy. I thought it was time to introduce the second love. Someone quoted once, ” Doctors may save lives, but music, musicians make it worth living. ” I could not have agreed more. From the days gone by till now, if I have been swept by myriad of emotions in this constant flux of change that my life went through then music stayed with me every passing minute.
 
If life dealt me with deception, atleast music remained my companion. Any occasion and I have a song from Eagles to Beatles, from Pink Floyd to Andrew Llyod W, from Rafi to Rehman, from foot tapping to soft crooning, from hair raising to heart tugging, from the depths of sadness to the peaks of happiness, be it love or longing, separation or desperation, from emotions to bubbles, from glory to pain music has always been there.
 
Many people who walked into my life, made their presence felt. To each one of them I gave a small corner, with them I made a song. A song to remember even after they were long gone. The song brought the freshness of the memories back. In an instant the distant recollection would become a matter of ” here and now “.
 
Just as these people have meant something special however insignificant their life span was with me, music made the remembrance sublime and divine.
 
Here is to music and those who brought music….Who else, but the original voice of Rod Stewart to say,
 
 
                                                    For the morning sun in all its glory
                                             Greets the day with hope and comfort too
                                                     You fill my life with laughter
                                               And, somehow you make it better
                                                 Ease my troubles thats what you do !!
 
 

 PS Those of you who want to know if I still sing, here goes, gaate nahi gungunate hain…gaa bhi lete par kya karien sur aur taal donon ki kami hai !!
 


Another beginning…

February 12th, 2009

“You are new here, I have seen you visiting this park only in the last few days.” the little girl carried on more as a statement rather than a question, hence I let her continue the monologue.

Winter had just began to show its colours, leaves falling all over the path, trees barren, apart from their roots.
 
This little girl, name that I wasn’t aware of brought some delight to my otherwise wintery withery life. I had moved to this part of the town a month ago. Once I, settled down my belongings with the help of Vasu, his wife Gouramma and their little one Gowtham, I had plenty of time to spare.
 
********************************************************
” Vasanthi !! Vasanthi !! come here, stop playing in the dirt, your pattu paavda will get messy. Why don’t you ask granny to tell you some stories or why don’t you tell me what your school master taught you today? “
 
” But amma, I want to play outside along with the other kids, Shankari has been playing all day today and you haven’t stopped him !”
 
” Vasanthi, Shankari is the milkman’s son, how can I tell him not to play !! sare, sare, go and bring those small conches and shells and we will play the house game, ok ??” I had scuttered to get the stuff.
 
That was amma, always at her best to protect and keep me happy. Granny would tell me how I was born after 15 years of Amma- Appa’s marriage and how precious a child I was.They had prayed to every Lord, performed umpteen Homams, Amma had chanted Lalita Parayanam 100 times daily, every friday she cleaned the temple with water and smeared the steps with Pasupu Kumkuma, she would be one of the ladies to cook the prasadams and once every month Appa would feed the whole village. All this was patiently done for my arrival.
 
I was born a few years before independence in a small village in coastal Andhra in the Zamindar’s home. Appa was a well respected man. I grew up amongst lush paddy fields, the coconut groves, the local school where I studied till 10th. I lead an extremely pampered and sheltered life. Although, Appa never even cast an angry look towards me, I always went to amma for solace. My childhood was complete bliss. The day I turned fourteen, I was married to Vijay, our neighbouring village headman’s son.
 
Vijay was nine years older than me, and the oldest of six brothers. Vijay’s mother, my mother- in- law was a pale and sickly lady who was constantly in the cycles of pregnancy, child birth and feeding until one day she became bedridden with ill health. Vijay’s grandmother looked after all of us. She tried to tutor me with the workings of a household life but I always struggled.
 
Vijay liked everything in order and the constant worry of making a mistake meant that I, actually ended up making many mistakes.
I would tremble and shiver at the thought of Vijay’s presence around me, not that he ever raised his finger on me. But, expectations weighed me down. He was a different man altogether when we were cosy but the rest of the time a constant worry would eat me up leaving me always tongue tied in his presence.
 
Soon, Vijay’s younger brother got married and his wife Annapurna came into our house. True to her name, her efficient and perfect manners meant that she was gladly given the keys of the household. It pinched me somewhere but did not really worry me much. Afterall, Annapurna always knew how to organise the household and I was inept at it.
 
Over years, I had one son Raghav and a daughter Gayatri while Annapurna had three children. I spent most of my time secluded in my end of the house. Even, Raghav and Gayatri would go to Annapurna for every small thing calling her, ” Chinnamma do this, chinnamma I want that.. ” and Annapurna would gladly oblige.
 
With time all the children got married and both Raghav and Gayatri moved to States.
 
They coaxed me and Vijay to come and stay with them but we visited them only once. The weather was so cold that my arthritis got worse and Vijay had paralysis stroke of the whole right side of his body once we reached back our village. His speech had slurred. With no one else being around to do the cares, I nursed Vijay dutifully day and night.
 
Vijay who frightened me before had suddenly turned into a weakling. He, who never cared to sit with me earlier would now beg me to just speak a few words. His helplessness caused me distress but having never been able to utter a word in the past, I really did not know how to react now.
 
After two years of battle with health one fine morning Vijay refused to wake up from sleep. Raghav and Gayatri came along with their children. After the 13 day rituals, they cajoled me to join them. I refused, in spite of utmost pressure from one and all. They told me how impossible it would be to manage things on my own.
 
I told them Shankari and his son Vasu’s family would look after me. I adamantly prodded along, spending time cultivating vegetables in the kitchen garden and looking after the home in my own little ways with help from Vasu’s family.
 
We had moved a month ago to this part of the town for Shankari’s grandson Gowtham’s treatment. He had a type of blood disorder that needed regular monitoring and transfusions.
 
Any time I went to the park, I would often notice this little girl playing. She looked around nine or ten. I had asked Vasu to find out about her. She lived in the nearby “zhopdis” along with 4 brothers. Her mother had died in child birth and father changed cycle tyres on the main road corner shop. He struggled to make ends meet and had sacrificed this little’s girl’s education to get his sons going. 
 
And, this little one, she spent all her time in the park playing without a care in the world. Thankfully, Vasu had brought this little girl’s father to her doorstep and he had willingly agreed to part ways with his daughter with moistened eyes hoping for a better life for her.
 
 
***************************************************************
 
” Will you come home with me?? I will show you how to play a house game with conches and shells. Come and stay with me!! ” I had asked her.
 
” But, What about my father ??” she asked, although a sense of excitement was already palpable in her tone.
 
” I asked him, he said Ok ! come along then, pet. Tell me, what is your name?? I, forgot to ask your father. ” I asked the little girl.
 
” My name is Vasanthi, what is your’s ??” she looked towards me contorting her face, squinting her eyes close as the sun finally came out shining brightly on her face.
 
The older Vasanthi smiled, clutched the little one’s hand and walked towards home, both anticipating a new beginning..
 


Juvenile I think….

February 9th, 2009

The men I wanna shag….
oh, did I see your tongue just wag..
Did the title ‘ave you in shock
or you knew she was upto some crock..
 
I pub, I club, I smoke and I drink,
I change my men, before you blink..
Label me as the one who is so easy,
Thump your chest and regale your victory!
 
But that is all fine, after all am so EASY..
 
But, YOU..


You ogle at the derobed tattered one
Who is breast feeding her son,
You dont mind sizing up a woman
simply, with your tunnelled vision..
 
No parent will approve of girls pubbing, you say,
but it’s alright for you to shag a different one each night & day
Chase her, beat her in the name of morality,
after all, you are protecting our culture and dignity
 
Forget that you came through her womb..
Rush in quick, and send her to the tomb !!

PS I had to change the title…don’t ask me why !!!



 


The road not taken….yet !!

January 22nd, 2009

I woke up yesterday morning at five am even before the alarm had a chance to do the honours..rather, I woke up from bed, sleep has hardly been my best friend for the last few days. I finished the daily chores quickly and hopped on the train for another day at the Childrens Hospital.
 
As I walked from the station towards the hospital …the cold air slapped my cheeks, pinched my nose…but it was my soul that felt the chill…my emotions were all over the map, shit had landed all over my face…or was it payback time for the stuff that I was part of…I kept negotiating with my heart…the tussle between the heart and mind had left me exhausted and there was no solution in sight…
 
With a heavy heart, a droop of my head and sagging shoulders…I walked into the ward..There was not a trace of Tagore’s Gitanjali left within…and I, wondered if that Gitanjali would ever come back to me…I was angry with myself for causing misery to many..
 
I slumped into a chair at the workstation and waited for the registrars to arrive for the rounds to begin…As I twiddled my thumbs and drew lots of stars of insignificant sizes and shapes on scraps of paper with a lack of purpose, Cathy, the nurse in charge informed me that the registrars will not be around for another hour, as they were in a management meeting with the bosses…
 
I deliberated whether, I should make my morning cuppa…but I knew, I would not be able to wash it down my gullet…Cathy, popped up again and asked, ” Mona, would you like to see this new girl who has been transferred from Stafford, she has just arrived and her parents are with her! “
 
” Yeah, sure, anything to get away from my thoughts would be good..”
 
So, I walked towards bed 15 …a tiny little girl all of eight years was perched up comfortably in her PJ’s on the bed…next to her sat the parents on chairs…father looked asian and mom of mixed race possibly asian and african mix.
 
” Hello, Tara…I am mona…one of the doctors here…can I have a chat with your mom and dad about you and then I will examine you…”
 
The tiny one gave me a big smile showing a little gap from the recently fallen tooth and said, ” yeah, you can sit here”…and she pointed towards the empty space at the end of the bed…
 
I sat down and looked at the parents, their eyes revealed everything…bloodshot from crying and probably with, lack of sleep too…
 
When they began regaling their story, it choked my heart..
 
About three and half months ago, Tara began complaining of headaches and vomiting..there was no pattern to these headaches and the parents wondered if it had something to do with the fact that she had recently changed school. Her symptoms never increased much in intensity until about a few days ago when she was complaining of seeing everything double while reading..her balance was getting worse and the squint in her eye became more obvious..
 
They realised, Tara was not making it up and took her to the nearby hospital …they performed some baseline investigations and scans and found that she had a tumour.
 
Hence, she was transferred to our specialist unit for further treatment…
 
Throughout the conversation, dad continually sobbed…and mom continued to bravely control her tears…
 
I looked at Tara to see what impact this would have on her…her protectors seemed much weaker than her at that point…
 
Once I finished my examination, I told Tara, I will have to take some bloods from her..to which she nodded understandably…
 
I put some magic cream on her to numb the pain of the needle prick and told her would be back in due course.
 
I explained to parents that the treatment would be discussed shortly too…
 
After a few hours, I went back to bleed her…she was all alone. She told me her parents had gone to get some coffee downstairs.
 
Before I could ask, she said, ” you have to take bloods right” I said, ” Well, let’s wait for your mom and dad to arrive..”
 
She said, ” go ahead, I am fine with it!”
 
So, me and Cathy sat down and quickly did the bloods…not once did Tara flinch…not even did she squirm looking at the needle.
 
Thankfully, her brain tumour is operable and it would most likely turn out to be benign too…
 
I walked out of the ward with the bloods to drop them in the labs…and my thoughts began hounding me again…
 
I felt, I have always tried to use my past bad and sad experiences as a leverage for my present actions…I made a hero out of someone because of some tiny good deeds they did, and a villian out of another because of certain wrong acts done by them, little realising that both are human in the end and a little good here or a little bad done there, can hardly be taken as a judgement of an entire character.
 
I wondered how or what does Tara have a leverage to use, for the unnecssary tumour that her brain has…none whatsoever…
 
So, why should I hide behind the garb of inadequacies….screwing the past is as futile as showing a torchlight to the sun!!
 
Time to get back to the road that has my name on it….
 
God bless Tara !!