Friday 10 November 2017

Babul Mora Naihar Chuto Hi Jaye


(This article was published in the February 2018 issue of Confluence, a UK magazine).

Two days back I read about the demise of the last descendant of the Nawab of Avadh. It transported me to 2009 when the seed of my novel, The World Beyond had just been planted in my mind. I had spent many a day that year, walking amongst the ruins of Lucknow. I would close my eyes and imagine what it must have looked like, 150 years ago - when the corridors of the Bara Imambara were covered with lush carpets, when the Parikhana resounded with the sound of music and ghungroos and when Alambagh, Sikander Bagh and Charbagh were actually beautiful baghs and gardens and not the concrete jungle that they are today.

LUCKNOW. The capital of Avadh. The city of Nawabs. The land of impeccable manners. The place that has been mentioned in the annals of history as one of the wealthiest and most prosperous cities in the world.


If you could go back in time to 1855, when the kingdom of Avadh was at the height of its glory and prosperity, I'd tell you to go to Lucknow and look at its skyline during sunset. You would notice the white palaces and mosques, bedecked with golden minarets, domes and cupolas, appear flushed and pink, as the sun set slowly behind them. Like a virgin bride, blushing in all her bridal finery. Such was the beauty of Lucknow. Historians the world over had hailed it as one of the most beautiful cities in the world, even more beautiful than Rome, Paris or Constantinople.

NAWAB WAJID ALI SHAH. The last ruler of the kingdom of Avadh and well-loved by his people. A connoisseur of music, dance, theatre and literature. A king who has often been wrongly portrayed and misunderstood. He was one of the few rulers who celebrated festivals like Holi and Muharram with equal fervour.

He was a great poet and an equally good dancer, musician, composer and choreographer. Music ran in his blood. He established the Parikhana, which is the modern equivalent of the theatre. He brought Kathak out of the confines of temples and gave it the respect it deserved. He wrote over a hundred books, many of which were destroyed after the uprising of 1857.

The city of Lucknow thrived under his rule. At a time when the Mughal court was on the decline, poets and artisans flocked to Nawab Wajid Ali Shah's court, as it had become the cultural  hub of the country.


Not many of us know that the famous song, Babul Mora Naihar Chuto Jaye was written by Wajid Ali Shah, when he had to leave his beloved Lucknow, after the wrongful annexation of his kingdom by the East India Company. The English were afraid that his deposition might spark a revolt and insisted he leave in the quiet of the night. They did the same later, with Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughul emperor of India.

A heart-broken Wajid Ali Shah, wrote these lines as he left the city that he so loved, never to return:

Babul mora naihar chuto hi jaye
Char kahar mil mori doliya sajave
Mora apna begana chuto jaye.
(O father, I’m leaving my home behind,
four men have gathered to lift my palanquin.
My near and dear ones will soon become strangers,
my home unreachable…)

These lines were later immortalised by K.L. Saigal who sang them in the Bollywood movie, Street Singer. The song became so popular, it used to be sung at most Indian weddings.


Above is the picture of KAISERBAGH PALACE, in 1855, where Nawab Wajid Ali Shah used to live with his family.


This is the picture of the Western gateway of Kaiserbagh Palace. This is how it looked about 150 years ago. Notice the intricately sculpted mermaids and fishes.

This is how it looks today. This gateway, as well as the Eastern gateway are ALL that remain of the magnificent palace of the last king of Avadh.


Look at it again. Carefully. Notice how it is being vandalised. Does it not make you sad, angry even, that something of such historical importance, is being vandalised in this manner?


Let's take a look at another picture. This is a mermaid at the bottom of the gateway. See how people have been spitting betel juice on it relentlessly. I'm sure if these people were aware of the importance of this mermaid or the gateway, they would think twice before spitting on it.

Here’s what Rosie Llewellyn-Jones, a writer and an authority on Lucknow, says about the palace - “The Kaiserbagh… has been undergoing demolition in a piecemeal fashion…It is undoubtedly one of the most remarkable palace complexes ever erected and had it not been especially singled out for destruction by the vengeful British and later neglected by the people of Lucknow it would have become one of the most celebrated structures in India." 

Our country has a rich cultural heritage. There were over 92 palaces in Lucknow in 1855. In 1858, just three years later, after the Uprising of 1857, only 12 remained. Some were destroyed during the uprising. The others were bulldozed and razed to the ground as retribution by the British. Now, only a handful remain. The rulers of yore did their bit in destroying our heritage. We have done our bit. Let's take pride and better care of the little that remains, before it is too late.

RELATED POSTS:

The World Beyond

Friday 8 September 2017

See You Online...


Got 2nd prize for this Short Story, few years back. It was written before social media took over our lives. People used to chat in chat rooms and yahoo, back then.


1st May


Hey, saw you online... wanted to ask you about your opinion on the debate going on in the chat room right now. Do you also feel what I said was wrong?

By the way my name is Tina. Come to MSN if you want to be my friend.

Love Tina.

2nd May


Neel read the personal message over and over again. It was past midnight but he was still awake. This was the first time in weeks that it was not pain but excitement that had kept him up. He could not wait for Tina to come online. She would be his first online friend.

Okay, she was online now.


Tina: Hey dude.
Neel: Hey.
Tina: Thanks for supporting me in the chat room yesterday. I didn’t mean to hurt or insult anyone but just had to say what I felt. It was not my fault that people got so defensive. Anyways…
Neel: People get defensive when they know they're in the wrong but don’t want to admit it. By the way how come you're up so late?
Tina: I’m studying. My exams are going on.
Neel: You're in school?
Tina: Yup. Year 12.
Neel: I see. Got to go. Bye.
Tina: Bye.

3rd May


Tina: Hey Neel. Why did you leave so abruptly yesterday?
Neel: You want the truth?
Tina: Yes.
Neel: Umm…I’m 28.
Tina: Oh!
Neel: Well?
Tina: Well what?
Neel: Does it matter I'm 11 years older than you?
Tina: Nah.
Neel: So – still friends?
Tina: Of course.
Neel: Okay got to go. The old hag is here to give me my sponge.
Tina: Hag? Sponge?
Neel: Tell you tomorrow.
Tina: Okay. Catch you tomorrow.
Neel: Yup.

4th May


Tina: So what do you do apart from chatting?
Neel: I was a pilot.
Tina: OMG! You’re a pilot?
Neel: I said I WAS.
Tina: ???
Neel: I had an accident... three months back.
Tina: Oh. I’m sorry.
Neel: Don’t be.
Tina: Now I get it – the old hag and the sponge….
Neel: Yup. Now you know why I’m always online – I have no life, no future.
Tina: Why this pessimism? Are you bedridden?
Neel: No. I will be able to walk eventually but I cannot fly an aircraft again. Can’t even play football ever again. You see, my knee was completely smashed in the accident.
Tina: At least you're not handicapped. There are so many things you can still do.
Neel: You don’t understand. Flying was my life.
Tina: So? Best to accept what life throws at you with a smile.
Neel: What do YOU know about life? You’re still in school. You haven’t even seen life. You've no idea what it is like to be in so much pain that you pass out. Do you know what it is like to be in constant pain 24 hours a day 7 days a week? And no amount of painkillers can dull that pain. Do you know what it is to lie in bed all day when previously you had spent every single waking moment on the move?

Neel angrily logs out.

5th May


Tina: Are you still mad at me?
Neel: No. My temper comes down even faster than it goes up.
Tina: Well, you were right. After all I’m just 17. I have yet to see the world. In my entire life of 17 years 4 months and 26 days I've never been depressed. All my problems are taken care of by my parents. I've a wonderful supportive family with no deaths or divorces. So who am I…
Neel: Hey, stop this emotional nonsense. You know you’re far more mature than your years.
Tina: Am I?
Neel: Aren’t you?

6th May


Tina: Yippee! Exams are finally over.
Neel: Cool! So now you’re free to party all day.
Tina: No, now I have to work doubly hard to win the Jane Austen scholarship. I hope to become a scribe one day. Then I wouldn’t have to live on my parents' money. It feels terrible. I’m 17.5 and yet I haven't earned a penny in my life.
Neel: So you want to be a writer. Interesting.
Tina: Yes. I want to create a character that will outlive me.

7th May


Tina: It must have been something flying a plane. I’ve never even driven a car.
Neel: It was mindblowing. Absolutely exhilarating. Flying through those clouds – touching the very gates of heaven. I felt as though I was God Himself looking down on his creation.
Tina: Tell me something, but first promise me you won’t get upset this time.
Neel: Promise.
Tina: Got any passion other than flying?
Neel: Nope.
Tina: No, seriously.
Neel: Well, now and then I do enjoy playing computer games.
Tina: There you go. Why don’t you do a computer course? Become an IT professional or something?
Neel: You mean go back to school at this age? You got to be kidding.
Tina: There's no age for learning. I would rather be dead than stop learning.
Neel: Yes my guru.
Tina: So will you at least think about it?
Neel: Yes guru.

8th May


Tina: So what have you decided?
Neel: That Twilight is way better than Madagascar 2.
Tina: Not that stupid. I am talking about the course.
Neel: I’ve decided not to. I left college seven years ago. It’s impossible to go back.
Tina: Join an adult or home study programme.
Neel: Nope, it won’t work.

10th May


Neel: Where were you yesterday? Angry with me?
Tina: No. What you do with your life is none of my business. I’d gone to the cinema to see Assassination of Jesse James. You can’t imagine how GOOD Brad Pitt looked. I had an idiotic grin plastered on my face throughout the movie. Oh my God! I’m still reeling under the effect. Don’t I sound like a gone case?
Neel: Tell me, are you pretty?
Tina: Well… I guess… umm that’s what people say.
Neel: What do you look like? Is your hair short or long?
Tina: Does it matter?
Neel: Nope.
Tina: Have you seen Black?
Neel: Nope. I’m not a movie buff.
Tina: Go and watch it. If the heroine of that movie who's deaf, dumb and blind can do her graduation I don’t see why you can’t.

11th May


Neel: I've some news.
Tina: You’ve decided to do the course.
Neel: Gosh… you can even read my mind now. Yup. I’ve decided to give it a shot and all because of you.
Tina: I’m flattered.

12th May


Neel: Hey, where've you been all day? Wanted to tell you my plaster’s being cut tomorrow. We’re gonna party all night.
Tina: Oh cool have fun.
Neel: Won’t you dance with me?
Tina: Silly, don’t you know I can’t dance?
Neel: Why not? I’ll teach you. Seriously, if we meet one day, I’ll take you to the most happening night club in town.
Tina: That can never happen Neel. I am paralysed waist down.

Neel stared at the screen. It was past midnight. The only sound he could hear was the tap... DRIP DRIP DRIP …as the words slowly sunk in.

©Hansa Dasgupta 2017

RELATED POSTS:

Devki

Cinderbella

Keep smiling friends. Keep ROFLing. Life is Beautiful 😊

Sunday 30 July 2017

Tum Gao Hazaron Saal...


Hello me dears. LADIES and GENTLEMEN... SONU and SONUHOLICS... 

Are we ready to party? To boogie woogie? Alright, let's roll in Sonu's birthday with some party games. What say? And don't forget to scroll down to participate in the ULTIMATE game - HICHKI with HANSA 😜

 GAME 1 - ANTAKSHARI:

SONU, this game is for you. Aapko fatafat inn saari parodies ke original songs guess karne hein. Ready? The time starts now...

Shayeza Mughal:


Yeh sangeet aap ke dum se hai
Yeh sangeet aap ke dum se hai
Aap legend,Aap legend Aap legend
Qasam se hain
Moi pouchey k wo angels kese hain
Main keh doon k wo SN jese hain...
At the end
Sab qeemti gift laae magar tohfa muhabbat ka laae hoon main
I wish u happy happy birthday happy happy birthday to u🎂

Vadlapudi Latha:

Tera rang balle balle
Tera roop balle balle
Teri awaaz balle balle
Tere gaane balle balle
Dekha tujhe toh mai teri fan hogai
Tere khaiyalon mein mera dil kho gaya.

Tu jiye hazaroon Saal
Happy Birthday Day to you Sonu.

Deepali Sharma:


Duniya bhula k
Tumse mila hu.
NIkli h dil se ye dua...
Happy Birthday Sonu da
Fans k dil se ye dua...
Happy Birthday Sonu da
Ha Nikli h dil se ye dua...

Happy Birthday Sonu da.

Sonali Bhattacharjya:

Mera dil chahe, Sonu ji ko jitnaa...
Na kisiko chaha maine itna...
Dhadkano mein Sonu hai Samaaye...
Bin Sonu ji k jiyaa nehi jaaye...

SONALI loves SONU 😍
Sonali loves her Angel a loooot.

Ravi Kait:



Tere ranga vich rangan lagga kyun
Dil mera dil mangan lagga kyun
Ho... tenu pta na mainu khabar
Puchdi rehndi meri nazar
Happy Birthday aa...
Happy Birthday aa...
Sonu soyi janda ae...
Rab jaane ki hoi janda ae...
Rab jaane ki hoi janda ae...

Omkar Vaman:

Hai apna dil toh Sonuji ka Fan,
Kisi aur pe yey na aayega,
Gayaki pe unki hi dhadka hai,
Kisi aur ke... ye na Dhadkega.

Suron se bhari awaaz, Hai saalon bhar ka riyaaz,
Aur Sonuji ka andaaz, toh sabse judaa.
Yey iss yug ke hai Sur Samrat,
Koi aur na ho payega.

Hai apna dil toh Sonuji ka Fan,
Kisi aur pe yey na aayega,
Gayaki pe unki hi dhadka hai,

Kisi aur ke... ye na Dhadkega.

Priyadarshini Bhattacharyya:



You are so haseen so haseen so haseen Sonuji
Aap mere dil ,mere dil, mere dil di rab sonuji
You are so haseen so haseen so haseen Sonuji

Ab main bechain ho gayi 
Aap ta ea fan ho gayi
Apke mukhre te mardi hein
Aapko main bhagwan maan gayi
Karlo aap yakeen sonuji
Happy wala Happy wala Happy wala Birthday Sonuji

Poornima Malindi Ranaweera:


Aaine ke saamne main hoon sochti
Kya hota... jo Sonu hote yahaan
Sonu ko roj saj sawarte mai dekhti
Sach hota... khwabon ka jahaan
Khwabon ka jahan
Rahe Sonu sada
Mai mazze mein hoon
Na jagun na na...
Cutie Sonu hamara
Sunke gaana unka
Mai mazze mein hoon
Na jagun na na...

Sonia Chopra: 



Sonu mera maahi sonu
Aur nahi koi hona sonu
Hadd se zyada tera naam leti hoon
Happy birthday to you
Love you my dear Sonu

Sonia Sonu ji lagta hai ek naam
Sonuji
Tujhko salaam Sonuji.

Falak Gurreeban:

Ye chand sa roshan chehra
Awaaz bara sunehra
Ye meethi meethi baatein
Koi raaz hain in mein gehra
Tareef karoun kya ouski
Jisne tumhe banaya

Ek cheez kayamat bhi hain
Logon se suna karte the
Tumhe sun ke mein ne maana
Wo theek kahan karte the - 2
Har sur mein hain teri zaalim
Kuch aisi bala ka jadu
Sau baar sambhala dil ko
Par ho ke raha bekabu....

Baar Baar sunlo, Hazar Baar sunlo,
Ke sunne wali Cheez Hai Hamara Dilruba,
Taali Ho......
Haan Ji Haan, Aur Bhi Honge Singer Yahan,
Lakhon Music Wale Yahan,
Par Yeh Baat Kahaan,...
Yeh-Bemisaal-Sur-Lajawab-Ye-Taal,
Taali Ho.. ....

 Zannat Shanta: 



Suchita Panda:

Sonu paas aaye, 
Yun muskuraye, 
Unhone na jaane kya, 
Sapne dikhaaye, 
Ab to mera dil, 
Na jaage na sota hai, 
Kya karun haya, 
Sonu dil churaata hai.

Debolina Banerjee: 



Humko Sonu se pyaar hay kese kahu 
Yeh dil beqar hai Kese kahu 
khayalon mein har pal Sonu ko hi dekhti hu sanam 
tumpe fida hai diwangi Sonu ka hai hum. ...

Is qadar pyaar hay Sonu se hay humsafar, 
ab to jeete hai hum bas tumhe dekh kar 
tumhara har ada tumhara har nazar 
yeh kya hone lagi mujhe Sonu ko hay kya khbar...

Sari duniyame sabko kehna hay, 
Ek corerme humari sonuji hay, 
Sari umar hume sonusir apka hi fan rahna hay. ....

Saanso ki jarurat hai jyse
Saanso ki jarurat hai jyse 
Mere ye dil ke liye 
Bus Sonu ji ka gana chaiye ...

Mere dil ke liye....

Zahra Noor:

Aate rahenge singers,
Jaate rahenge singers,
Dil ki nazar se, Sonu ko suno,
Sonu ki aawaaz sabse haseen hai.

Aastha Shreyasonuholic:


(Edited by Debolina Banerjee)

Hanste rahe aap hanste rahe
Birthday yunhi manate rahe
Birthday cake kaat kar aap
Sabko yunhi khilate rahe

Hansti rahe tu hansti rahe
Haya ki laali khilti rahe.

Aap wo phool ho jo gulshan mein nahin khilte,
Par jis pe aasmaan ke farishte bhi fakr hai karte,
Aap ki zindagi hadd se zyada kimti hai,
Janam din aap hamesha mnaye yu hi hanste hanste.
Janamdin Mubarak.

Bonu Ragam:

Tumko paya hai to jindgi Milli
Jeene ki umang phir se hai khili
kisi bhi roop mei
Ho chhaav dhoop mei
Ke tumko ye najar, yu dekhti rahe
Mai agar kahu, Sonu ji jaisa 
Hai nhi koi , jahaan mei insaan
ke maanta hu Mai ,unko apna khuda
Tumko paya hai to jindgi Mili..........

Ab mjhe Raat din, unhi ke aate sapney hai
Mere Na hote hue, wo mere apne hai
Wo mere apne hai,
Unhi ke aate sapney hai,
Woohoo hooo hooo AAA haaahaaaa
La la la hmmm hmmmm
Meri ye jindgi, tere kadmo mei hai
Tu meri Dil,dhadkan aur najro mei hai
Tujhko Mai dekhu, Gale se laga Lu

Ya fir najar mei tumko chhupa Lu......

Rittu Bar:



Maine poocha Lataji se,
Ki dekha hai kaheen,
Sonu sa gayak haseen?
Lataji ne kana,
Maushiki ki kasam,
Nahin nahin nahin.

Maine yeh duniya saari dhundi
Har jageh gayak tujhsa dhoonda
Shahad se mithaas teri poochi
Chaasni mein mithaas tera dhoonda.

Maine poocha Lataji se,
Amreeka ho ya Cheen,
Aisa gayak hai kaheen?
Lataji ne kaha
Maushiki ki kasam, 
Nahin nahin nahin.


Many many happy returns of the day my cute sa sweet sa handsm musical magician cutipie lots of love and respect to u.  Suvo jonmodin 😊😊😊😊❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

SonuNigamphilic Parijat:

Sur nikalte hein jahaan se
Dil phisalta hai jahaan pe
Ehsaas chhupti hai jahan pe
Khabar yeh aayi hai wahaan se 
Koyi tumsa nahin
O koyi tumsa nahin.

Happy birthday to you, my god allah & bhagwaan.
lots of love and respects...

Ankita Guha: 


Birthday hai unka (crazy dil mera) 
Jo hai angel hamara (crazy hai Tera) 
We are all so happy (main mazze mein hoon) 
And feeling lucky (na jaga na na) 
Sonu ji... (crazy dil) 
Sonu ji... (crazy dil) 
We love you..u..u...  (crazy did...il..il)

Suman Dey: 

Sonu ji Satya Hai....
Sonu Ji Sundar....
Sonu Ji Sonu Ji Sabke Ander.
Happy Birthday Sonuji.

Radiyah Ryssa G Ibrahim:


Dil yeh tumse lagaya
Pyar tum pe hain aaya
Nazerein mujse milake
Sonu ne dil ko Churaya 
Falling in luv wid u Baby 
Is as easy as a b c.

Yeh din sabse pyara
Kyunki tumpe hain aaya
Aa a b c sabse cutie or bhi sweet
Dekhia na koyi tere jaisa
hain sara jahan
Aa a b c...

Ye rang laye meri mannatein,
Puri ho teri sabhi hasratein, 
Saare jahan ki khushi ho teri,
Ab to yehi aarzoo hai meri, 

I wish u happy happy birthday 
happy birthday 
happy happy birthday to uuuuuuU
I wish u happy happy birthday 
happy birthday happy happy birthday 
oh my daRling....  SonuuuuuuU.... I ❤️ U!

Anshika Kumari:



GAME 2 - HICHKI WITH HANSA:

This game is for SONUHOLICS. So Sonuholics, you guys are Sonu's fans, right? Are you sure? Toh ho jaye aajmaish? Are you ready? Then answer the following questions -

1. When you notice Sonu is online:
  • Your fingers freeze and you can no longer type. 
  • You post something random and stupid, hoping to get his angootha.
  • You start singing dhak-dhak karne laga, Madhuri Dixit style 😉
  • You tag him 150 times.
2. Which word or phrase, when uttered by Sonu, makes your heart skip a beat? For me it's "haaiii," and "jai ho." 😍

3. What was the colour of Sonu's shirt when Hansa met him? 😛  What are the 3 little words that Hansa is most fond of? What did you say? I love You? Nah! Guess again.

4. Rapid Fire:
  • Sonu's songs or Sonu's live performance?
  • Which is more - Sonu ke fans ya Sonu ke baal?
  • Which is sweeter - Sonu's voice or Sonu himself?
5. And now the final question, that will prove whether you're a true Sonuholic or not - ever since Sonu made his first appearance on TV in Sa Re Ga Ma, how many hairstyles has he had? Socho... socho... count karo...

Arre... meri parody toh reh hi gai...

Hansa: 

Tohfe sametke, apne Sonu se,
Dekho fans chale milne...



Dikhi hari batti, mach gai hulchul
Facebook saara, laga hilne...

Hai timeline pe,
Shubh kamnayen hazar.
Sonu ko online dekh,
Daale status baar-baar.
Yun lehrai, wifi ne li angdhai,
Lage fans ke chehre khilne...

Sonuholics se batiyake, Sonu se milke,
Dekho Hansa chali sone.

Once again, wishing you a very very very Happy Birthday Sonu. Tum gao hazaron saal, yey meri dili khawaish hai. Hope you enjoyed this virtual party. Have a fantastic year ahead. God bless you always :)

A big thank you to our talented artist, Shayeza Mughal for her awesome creation and to all the Sonuholics for their wonderful parodies and pictures.

Good night guys. Shubh Ratri. Shabba Khair.

RELATED POSTS:



Thursday 6 July 2017

Klose 2 My Soul... When Reality Surpasses Your Dreams


Concert ke tickets kab khareede,
Kitne ke khareede,
Yaad nahin.
Par show ka teen maheene, ek din aur satrah ghante
Besabri se intezaar karna,
Achhe se yaad hai 😉


April ke woh syahi din,
Jab Sonuholics mayus ho gaye the,
Tab apneaap ko samjhaya -
Har toofani raat ke baad,
Ek sunhari subah aati hai.
Shayad 2nd July ki baat kar rahi thi?

(Photo Courtesy: Suchita Panda)

2nd July jaise-jaise kareeb aane laga,
Neend utni hi ojhal hone lagi.
1st ko shayad sirf ek ghante soi?
Yaad nahin.
Par 2nd ki subah chinta karna -
Inn poached eggs samaan aankhon se
Sonu ka deedar kaise karungi?
Thoda bahut yaad hai.


Show kab shuru hua, kab khatam hua,
Pata hi nahin chala.
Haan, ek adhuri aas chod gaya -
Kaash waqt tham jaata...
Yey concert kabhi khatam na hota.

(Photo Courtesy: Suchita Panda)

Aankhein kab nam ho gai,
Kab kaajal phail gaya,
Yaad nahin.
Par Zindagi ka Safar ke bol mein,
Chupi unn siskiyon ki goonj,
Aaj bhi dil ki gehrai mein sunai de rahi hai.


(Zindagi ka Safar - sung by Sonu at O2 Arena, London, 2017)

Jab Sonu se milne ki baari aai,
Tab dhadkan ka tej ho jaana,
Nervousness se galla sookh jaana,
Yaad nahin.
Par unka yey kehna - "finally we meet,"
Aur mere hosh udd jaana,
Bakhoobi yaad hai.

(Photo Courtesy: Suchita Panda)

Maine kya kiya,
Kya kaha,
Yaad nahin.
Par unki jhappi,
Unka muskurana,
Unki ek-ek ada,
Ta umar yaad rahegi.


RELATED POSTS:



Ek Anokhi Mauke ki Dastak

Quick translation for those who don't understand Hindi:

I don't remember when I bought the concert tickets or for how much.
But I remember only too well that I waited for the show for exactly 3 months, 1 day and 17 hours.

Those dark days in April when Sonuholics felt hopeless, I told myself that after the storm of the night, comes the quiet of the dawn. Perhaps I was thinking about 2nd July?

The nearer the D-day came, the less I slept. I don't exactly remember, but I think I slept just 1 hour on the 1st. But I remember clearly that I was horrified when I saw my eyes looking like poached eggs the next day.

I don't remember when the show started and when it ended. But I remember wishing time had stood still and the concert had gone on forever.

I can't remember when my eyes became moist and my eye liner got smudged. But the echo of the sobs hidden between the lyrics of the song - zindagi ka safar, is still reverberating in the depths of my heart.

I don't remember if my heartbeats hastened or my mouth went dry due to nervousness, when it was time to meet him. But I remember only too well, that I lost all my senses when he said - "finally we meet."

As to what I did or said, I don't remember. But his hug, his smile, his every single nuance and gesture, I will remember for the rest of my life.


Keep smiling friends. Keep ROFLing. Life is Beautiful 😀

Saturday 18 February 2017

Devki


This Short Story was previously published in Manushi.

“Damru!”
“Yes memsahib?” Damru rushed over to Devki, his gamchha in his hands.
“Tell the khaansama that I will make the kheer myself. And tell him not to overcook the rice...”
“Yes memsahib,” grinned Damru. “I know Anurag baba doesn’t like his rice soft and squishy.”
“Yes, go now.”

Devki turned to Suman, who was adjusting the cutlery on the dining table. “Suman, get that duster and come with me. I want to make sure Anu's room is spick and span. You know how finicky he is.”
“Yes memsahib.”

Devki was excited. Her son was coming from the States after five long years. She couldn't wait to see him again. He must have lost some weight, she was sure. She would pull his ears and chide him for not taking good care of himself.

She was brimming with questions. Questions about his life in America, about his friends, about America itself. She had not set foot outside her village in the last five years, let alone travel abroad. Her childhood had been spent in a small home in Delhi. Unlike some of her cousins, she'd been fortunate enough to go to school up to the tenth grade. However, soon after her board exams, she had been married into a progressive Choudhari family that lived in the village of Madanpur.

It had not taken her much time to adjust to life in the village. It had moved happily enough until her son Anurag turned five and started attending the village school, the only school in the entire village. The children there were unruly and the teachers harassed and weary.

Anurag had no future in Madanpur, Devki realised one day, as she watched him idling his time playing pithu with Ramu. She would send him to a boarding school in Delhi, she decided.
Anurag’s father was doubtful. “He might become wayward, staying away from home.”
“Well, he’s not going to become an officer, playing on the streets all day, that’s for sure,” Devki retorted.
Anurag’s father had reluctantly agreed.


The first time Anurag came back from the hostel for his holidays, Devki noticed a change in him. He had stopped making a fuss about his food. On the contrary, he devoured everything that was on his plate within minutes. She could see he was still hungry, but was embarrassed to ask his own mother for more. She quietly placed a couple of chapattis on his plate and refilled his bowls with curry and raita, to which he whispered, "thank you." Devki lovingly patted his head. She got a strange satisfaction watching him lick his fingers.

He had not wanted to go back to school after the holidays and had clung to her, making the parting even more painful. With a pang she wondered if she was doing the right thing in sending him away. But she saw no future for him in Madanpur.

That was the last time he cried at the time of leaving. His face would sometimes crumple up and she could see that he was making an effort to hold back the tears, but hold them back, he did.

Initially, his letters had arrived every Saturday with clockwork regularity, written in a neat hand on lined paper. They had to copy it from the board during letter-writing period every Monday, she had learned, sitting self-consciously in the meticulously tidy school parlour...

“Madam, should we go home or to baba’s school first?” the driver had asked Devki.
“No no. Let’s go to Anu’s school first. We’ll go to my parents’ house later.”
She was tired and worn out by the long journey, but it vanished as the pointed steeples of Anurag's school came into view. She hastily gathered her hair and tied them into a bun as the car came to a halt.

Devki and Anurag sat quietly in the school parlour. “I have brought two crates of ripe mangoes from our orchard for you and your friends as well as some pure ghee and pickle.”
Anurag was embarrassed. Averting his gaze he said, “Ma, next time ask me before bringing anything to school.”
“But you love them,” Devki protested. She had expected him to be pleased. “Every summer you squat in the courtyard and polish off half a dozen in one go.”
“But Ma, nobody brings such things to school.” Seeing his mother’s sullen face, he fell silent. They said very little after that. Devki looked at her son and then looked around. He was neatly dressed in a white shirt, grey trousers and the maroon school blazer.


The parlour had wall-to-wall carpets. The settees and armchairs were neatly arranged around a coffee table. There was a cross on the opposite wall and a painting of some angels and cherubs on the adjoining wall. Just below the painting stood a piano. Devki realised with a sense of horror that her immaculately dressed child fitted in very well with the background.

While she looked conspicuously out of place, in her rumpled up sari creased from the journey and her untidy bun. Besides, the sindoor in her hair, the huge kumkum bindi on her forehead, the red and green bangles and the ugly toe rings, gave her a rustic look that set her apart from the other mothers present in the room.

Next time she must remember to get dressed before coming here, she told herself. But then she had been so excited about seeing her child again, she had simply not bothered...

Devki sighed. Life had become one long wait after she had sent her child to boarding school. She had spent twelve years of her life, waiting for his letters every Saturday and waiting for him every Christmas and summer holidays, when she would prepare all his favourite meals and snacks. Each time he left for school, she felt he was moving further away from her. The house would go empty and quiet without him. She would spend hours in his room, straightening his sheets, talking to his photograph, hugging his pillow and touching all his prized possessions.

Once when he was home for Christmas, Devki went to his room. He lay on his tummy, feet in the air, reading a book. “Anu, your Sudha aunty was telling me that a lot of bullying goes on in boarding schools?”
“Oh, Ma, don’t worry about all that.”
“Nobody has been bullying you, no?”
“Ma, I'm in class seven. Don’t you think it’s a little too late for you to be asking that question?” he replied, then went back to his book.

Devki had spent a sleepless night wondering if Anurag had indeed been bullied when he was little. What if the older boys had made him, Anurag Choudhari, the zamindar’s son, polish their shoes and run errands for them? What if they had teased and taunted him and called him names? Maybe that was the reason why he had clung to her and refused to go back to school. But as Anurag himself pointed out, it was much too late...

Anurag had been a diligent student and had won several gold and silver medals throughout his school years. He had gone on to do his graduation in commerce from a famous college in New Delhi.

And then he had won a scholarship to do a Ph.D. in America. Her heart had swelled with pride when she had gone to the airport to see him off.


At first his letters came regularly, sometimes even twice a week. They were full of news of life abroad. He wrote about the fast food, the fast cars, the tall glass buildings, the huge expressways and the air that was wonderfully clean. He had taken up a studio apartment on the tenth floor, with a breathtaking view. She would read every one of them again and again, till she knew every word, every comma by heart.

Her letters, on the other hand, were boring and repetitive. Life in Madanpur was slow and easy-going, the heat making everyone all the more languid and lazy. So apart from how much milk Lalli was giving or how good the crops were that year, and enquiring about his health, there was not much else to write. Madanpur was one of those villages that were the last to feel the winds of change. The last time something spectacular had happened, was three years back when television had finally arrived at Madanpur. She had proudly informed Anurag that theirs had been the first home to have it installed.

And then her husband had died suddenly of lung cancer. His passion for hookah, or gur-guri as Anurag called it, had cost him his life. She, who had been happy within the confines of her home and kitchen, suddenly found herself the caretaker of her husband’s immense wealth. Somehow, she had managed to take care of the farms and orchards and other ancestral property. But enough. Now that Anurag was coming back home for good, he would take over his father’s properties and affairs and she would finally get some respite.

A horn sounded. Devki hastily straightened the tablecloth and rushed to the door. She remained rooted to the threshold as a young man stepped out of the car, touched her feet and hugged her. Devki did not react, but merely stared. The young man, who stood before her, wasn’t the lad she had waved goodbye to at the Indira Gandhi Airport, five years back. He was now a man, a total stranger! His haircut, his slick suede jacket and matching suede shoes, his walk, the way he gesticulated as he spoke, his accent – they had all changed. Devki was speechless. She forgot all that she had intended to ask him.


Devki gave Anurag a second helping of bhindi. “This year, I'm thinking of having a big celebration for Diwali. Ever since your father died two years back, we have not celebrated any festival.”
“But Ma, I'm going back to America next month,” said Anurag, as he held out the steel tumbler.
Devki stopped pouring water into the tumbler and looked at her son. “But I thought you had completed your studies?”
“Yes Ma, my thesis is complete. But now I’ve been offered a lecturer’s job at MIT. It is one of the best universities in America and only a fool would turn down such an offer.”
“But the village needs you. I need you. Am getting too old to take care of your father’s affairs. It was easier when he was alive, but now...” She paused and wiped her eyes with the edge of her pallu. “If it's teaching you want to do, you can run the village school.”
“Yeah, right. Ma, my friends will laugh at me if I tell them I chucked my job at MIT to become a village school teacher.”
Devki turned her back to Anurag. “I’ll go and see why it’s taking Damru so long to serve the kheer,” she mumbled and left the room.

Devki switched on the TV, took out her knitting needles and started knitting furiously. So all those dreams of her boy returning home for good were for nothing.

Why, she had even planned to get him married by the end of that year. How many days had she spent planning her only child’s wedding? It would be a grand affair, she had decided. The entire path would be covered with red carpets from the gate, right up to the main entrance. And the bride and groom would be served their meal in a silver platter, with silver bowls and spoons, all of which would be prepared especially for the occasion, with the bride and the groom’s names engraved on them. And there would be feasting and dancing for one whole week. Everybody in the village would join in the festivities...And soon the lonely mansion would echo with laughter and the pattering of little feet...

Maybe she had been wrong in sending Anurag to a boarding school. If she hadn’t sent him there, he would not have won the scholarship to study abroad and then none of this would have happened. She should have kept him at home with her like Ramu’s mother had.

Anurag walked into the room. Devki did not turn around. Anurag tugged at her sari, like he used to do when he was little. “Come on Ma, say yes. You know I'll never do anything without your ashirwaad.”
Devki reluctantly said “Okay,” in a low voice, keeping her eyes glued to the TV.
Anurag hugged her from behind. “I love you,” he whispered.

Absent-mindedly, Devki cleaned her ear with the end of her knitting needle. Anurag’s father had scolded her on several occasions, saying it was dangerous, but whenever agitated, she would revert to her old habit, just like a smoker who has recently quit smoking. Maybe Anurag was right. What future did he have here? And his job in America at MIE.. or was it MIT? She wasn’t sure. Well, it did sound prestigious. She remembered how Anurag’s eyes had flashed when he spoke about it - like the tantric’s, who lived at the edge of Madanpur.


Devki was in the aangan, knitting a wee little bootie. She was lost in her thoughts when somebody cleared his throat. She looked up.

It was Ramu, Anurag’s childhood friend. “Pranam Mausi. I’ve left the rice in the pantry. Bauji said we’ll deliver the ghee and flour tomorrow.”
Devki smiled at him. He was a simple country bumpkin who had not yet lost his baby fat. A little too awkward and gawky. He came forward and touched her feet.
“Get two kilos of laddoos made with pure ghee tomorrow. I have to take them to the temple," said Devki. "Just got a letter from Anu... Alice is in the family way.” 
“Congratulations, Mausi. Now you too will be a grandmother.”

Devki smiled as she looked at the half-knit bootie.

“I’d better be going," said Ramu. My tyre got punctured on the way. I had to literally carry the bike to Heera's shop. Took me over an hour to get there. Then Heera didn’t have a spare tyre so it took him two hours to sort out my bike. Mother must be going out of her mind. You know how she worries...”
Devki shook her head. “You're the father of three kids and still scared of your mother?”
Ramu gave an embarrassed grin and shuffled to the door, his cheap muddy slippers making a clicking sound as he walked.


Devki wiped her brow, put away the unfinished bootie and moved towards the pooja ghar. It was getting dark, time for her evening prayers. As she lit a diya before the gods, she thought about Devki, Lord Krishna’s mother, after whom she'd been named. She too had sent her son away. Why were there so many songs in praise of Yasodha’s love for Krishna and none in praise of Devki? she wondered.

©Hansa Dasgupta 2017

Keep smiling friends. Keep ROFLing. Life is Beautiful :)

Monday 23 January 2017

To Marry or Not to Marry... a BONG


My tango with Bengalis starts when I'm 3. Both our next door neighbours are Bongs. The moment I smell fish, which is everyday of course, I climb over the fence, toddle straight into the neighbour's kitchen, watch the fish being cooked and come back home only after I've stuffed myself. My poor mother does not eat cakes and pastries to this day as they contain eggs. But for my sake, she learns to cook fish.

The tango culminates in my falling in love and marrying a Bong. My initiation into the Bengali community starts in the train itself, en route to my sasuraal. "If you want to impress a Bong guy," I'm taught by my wicked sisters-in-law, "just say to him - tumhi ekto boka chele." ... For a long time I think Bong guys are weird. I mean, who gives a girl a dirty look when she's paying him a compliment?


Then comes the wedding night. My younger bua saas informs me she's a doctor and I'm most welcome to consult her about family planning. My cheeks turn crimson. I come from a strict orthodox family in UP, where I'm just short of calling my dad "Sir." This openness is alien for me and leaves me aghast.

Not to be outdone, the older bua saas asks me the next morning - "Kaho, kaisi rahi? Success?" I turn a deep shade of magenta.

Wait, there's more. At breakfast, my husband's nephew gives me a red rose and proclaims I'm his first crush. Mind you, he's not a kid. He's around sixteen and a good few inches taller than me. I now look like a beetroot. I turn to my husband for help. He's busy gorging on luchi and paati saapta, unruffled by his nephew's confession. I point to the rose and gesticulate - what do I do? He says "Aww," stops eating for a minute and takes a picture of Bhatija, Biwi aur Gulab.



Time for bahu bhaat. I'm summoned to the kitchen by the elders and asked what I can cook. "I think I can boil eggs," I reply. Then add thoughtfully, "Do you need to stir the eggs or just let them boil on their own?" The elders look at each other and then at my mother-in-law with pity.  She averts her gaze and pretends not to have heard a word.

The elders tell me they'll take care of the meal, all I need to do is dress up as a nai naveli dulhan. It takes four sisters-in-law to wrap a sari around me. Now all that needs to be done, is the hair. I take out a side parting. Hubby dearest, who has no experience of these things, empties almost half the box of sindoor on my maang. So now I have a side parting covered in red, as thick and long as the red carpet at the Oscars.

Anyhow, the sari miraculously doesn't unravel and I'm served this huge thali of chappan bhog. GULP. It weighs more than all of my 35 kgs. And right in the centre of the plate is this huge fish head, with the eyes completely intact. A shiver runs down my spine as the cold dead accusing eye stares at me. Even today, whenever I try to cook or eat fish, those eyes haunt me and condemn me for murdering their brethren.


Thankfully the festivities are soon over and all of us settle down in our new roles. My father-in-law, who had been the toughest opponent to our wedding, is now my strongest supporter. There's something that puzzles me though. Every now and then he calls out - "Bauma... bauma." And every time he does that, I look around and wonder why this Bauma never answers. It takes me a good few days to figure out that he's actually calling me.

As I was saying, not only my father-in-law, but even my husband's girlfriend starts warming up to me. She stops barking every time he puts his arms around me and even lets me go into his room once in a while.

And so, life goes on, and so do the bloopers. The other day I inform my in-laws that we had shasuri for lunch. I'm supposed to say chechki. My father-in-law hoots with laughter. My mother-in-law, however, is not amused.

Issshhh... I know I've muddled my way into marrying a family that is mad, meddling, melodramatic but extremely passionate and has showered me with so much warmth, love and apnapan, that I wouldn't have it any other way.

Maike ki kabhi na yaad aai,
Sasuraal mein itna pyaar mila. 


Keep smiling friends. Keep ROFLing. Life is Beautiful :)