On the bazaars

1638. — “We came into a Bussar, or very faire Market place.” — W. Bruton, in Hakl. v. 50.

(source: Hobson-Jobson)

There is something incurably romantic about the bazaars within the depths of the cities of India. The term bazaar has been naturalized in the English diction for many centuries now. In fact, if you look at the various usages of the term in dictionaries, a whole new range of meanings connected with human culture and human habitat emerge.

Why am I writing this post on bazaars, such a commonplace habitat of the human world? I really don’t know — just felt the internal urge to connect with you all through some mad trope that attracts me. I have been thinking of a metaphorical connection with the world as a market-place where sometimes we shop things, emotions, moments, and people for real, while at other times we just go window-shopping coming back home empty-handed.

Visually, (taking the V.S.Naipaul kind of description in his India Trilogy) these streets in the bazaars of India are full of dirt, stench, betel-spittle, crowd and smoke.  These gullies appear like breathing, yawning, salivating human-beings who survive in what the rich and the famous would call ‘mediocrity’.  The bazaars (sometimes called haat) are the hubs of cheaper, affordable, and sustainable products. Yet, they are the most living and throbbing places in India.

A brief anecdote, as  Undergraduate students we used to have one day in every six months for ‘hostel duty’ where we were supposed to accompany the caretaker to the daily-haat in Bhubaneswar (famously known as 1 Number Haat). Those days, I dreaded the thought of even going to the haat to buy vegetables and groceries for the entire hostel. The heat, dust, and sweat of these market-places drove me crazy and even if it was 8 o clock of a winter evening, I would come back and take a thorough shower. Looking back into those times, I regret missing many chances of understanding the beauty of the daily market place, perhaps due to my ‘elite’ sentiments. I am not sure if personally I have overcome this distance from the daily markets, but have definitely become more perceptive towards the aesthetic charm of these markets.

The bazaars in India appear to reflect the avarice which is an integral part of human personality but which we human beings continuously try to push into the unconscious or perhaps pretend that it is not there in our personalities.  They reflect the hunger for ‘more’ kind of a sentiment. You can try visiting the markets and feel the need for buying what is completely, purely needless.

To be a nature-lover, searching for pockets that are ‘far from the madding crowd’, silent, and calm have been the passion of many. However, of late I have been observing the joy of the street-side, the openness of the markets, the secret sense of independence that you get when you are bargaining and arguing for  small, insignificant ‘nothings’ and then the pride of grabbing what you might think to be impossible in the scheme of your shopping. The madness of the crowd and the noise of the market-place often make the toughest person crack into anarchy, and also might drive the strictest ascetic to insanity. Try venturing out into the heart of old cities: Hyderabad, Mumbai (Dadar area, Hindmata Market), old Bhubaneswar, Ahmedabad, etc. during the day in the peak summers. You will understand what am I trying to talk of — no less than any adventure sport. However, a word of caution — do carry your water bottles if you try something of the kind.

There is an air of austerity, a moment of  ‘sacredness’ about shopping in the malls which are ‘cleaner’, ‘hygienic’ and  ‘sophisticated’ means of realizing your need for buying things (many of which you perhaps hardly need during this life time). Bazaars on the other hand are a carnival of absolute absurdity — raw, ‘brainless’ and completely ‘anarchic’. You have to shout and argue to finalize your deal here while in a shopping complex or in a mall, there is no question of any bargain. I have been thinking of the movie Confessions of a Shopaholic where brands and ‘smooth shopping’ lead to the debacle of a young shopaholic.  Find that there is something ‘profane’ in the absolute sacredness of the malls. The profanity of the bazaars on the other hand is open, unrestrained, and taboo-less.

The language of the market places are different in India. The vernaculars and dialects rule Indian bazaars. Each bazaar in every state of India is unique and different from the other bazaar — yet there are some common threads. Possibly, this is the only place where one would find communal harmony. Interestingly, here we would see a Muslim selling mithais to a Hindu, or a Sindhi selling textiles to a Bengali. I am often amazed by the kind of ‘harmony’ that economic interdependence could bring among people. One might argue that this harmony observed in bazaars is ‘cosmetic’ and one tiny spark in terms of communal differences could lead to a massive riot killing many.

I had once read an interesting take by Amitav Ghosh in one of his novels about the predicament  small shops in the market places of communally troubled zones. There is a moment in The Shadow Lines where Ghosh describes the Khulna riots and the Dhaka turbulence. This moment reflects the menacing calmness of the bazaars before a riot breaks out. In the novel that moment leads to the death of an ailing, poor old man.  No denying that market places are the breeding grounds of communal tension, yet these are also the places where communities survive without strife, based on peaceful coexistence.

Bazaar is also a term that has perhaps some of the most ambiguous and controversial implications. In Bollywood movies, the term bazaar is used to signify the red-light areas of cities where human trafficking, and flesh-trade is practiced within the heart of ‘ethical’ grounds of orthodox social structures. There is a 1982 movie which comes to mind with Smita Patil, Naseeruddin Shah, Supriya Pathak, and Farooq Sheikh in lead. The movie is itself called Bazaar and it reflects the absolute ‘stubborn’, unchangeable structures of Indian societywhich is more inhuman rather than anything else.

Bazaar_1982_film_poster_Courtesy: Wiki-images

The purpose of my thought in this article has been to highlight some of the uncommon aspects of a perfectly common arena like a market-place. Bazaars are colourful and vibrant in India. Yet, they are also places which have a silent menace, a hidden notoriety either in the form of eve-teasing, or else in the form of communal upheavals, or prostitution. But is not life designed the same ways: a combination of black, red, white, and grey shades?

Think about it and share your marketplace experiences ….

Goodmorning and do take care of yourselves until we meet again sometime in the timeline….

Catch a Gold Fish

This evening as I stop to take a breath after a  happening semester, nostalgia grips me and transports me into the times before one year, and in fact even before that.  One year ago Anne’s life was so different, so raw, so ‘lost’ .  As I relive the moments of my life through flashback, it seems there are just too many events happening through time, some even  beyond my own control.

During this semester I had a heady, happening encounter with the freshies (1st Years). As I observed their activities closely through my silent veneer, every little activity of theirs took me back to my own ‘fresh-woman’ year at IIT .

Let me recount a story from the many episodes of my life during those days when I was struggling to search for myself.  The story is a part of a memory of my Second Semester as a hostelite in H-11 (known as ‘Athena’ today).  I was going through the rigours of coursework and was trying my hand at multi-tasking for the first time.  The amount of pressure and frustration was brilliantly overpowering my capacity to handle them. My hostel room was the only haven for me, designed and built-in a way that whoever visited me wanted to stay back in 151 .

One night after returning late from the lab, finishing my submission for a course assignment, I fell asleep — exhausted, and undisturbed.  My mornings have always began late — very late as per IST. Around 8.30 AM that particular morning, I heard a knock at my door, did not bother to open and see who was calling. Thought one of my friends must have knocked for breakfast, so shouted in sleep, “yaar tum log jao, main baad main kha loongi kuchh KRESIT pe…sone do yaar” ! (You all go ahead, I will eat something later at KRESIT.) The knock persisted — but still I did not bother to open my door.

After about half an hour, got a call on my cellphone. With half-opened eyes checked my cell to see that the call was from a landline phone. Picked it up immediately thinking that possibly my guide was calling me.

The voice was that of a male, somewhat unfamiliar to me because I was not used to too many friends on campus. He was also a little clumsy and unsure, but said, “hi! Anne? Did I disturb you? Remember me? I am ______. We are doing the course on creativity together” . I thought oh my! Class notes!! No way! Then he said, “I knocked this morning at your door. I had come with A___ (my hostel mate). Wanted to meet you urgently, I am calling from Hostel-8 booth, could you please open your door?”  Now, I was really afraid. Didn’t know what to say to him. Mind started constructing doubts and questions like ‘why??’ ‘what is his work with me? ‘why me?’….. Still could not say a ‘no’ because his voice was so pleading, almost as if he was holding something heavy that was weighing him down. Not used to any guy visiting me during those early years at the hostel… was extremely uncomfortable. I sounded brave, ‘yeah, sure, why not come over….Sorry I thought that was Tina…was trying to shoooo her off’  ….

He was in front of my door in the next five minutes. I opened the door with the first knock trying to look as presentable was possible — landing up looking horrible. Was right  about my gut feeling about something weighing him down. He was not alone, had a hostel mate of mine with him.  I was surprised to see a large bowl with water and two gold-fishes happily swimming  oblivious of the world around them .  My course-mate was grinning  sheepishly, looking with pleading eyes. He really looked lost and in need of help.

They just walked inside my room with the glass bowl in hand and kept it on my study chair. I  could not understand what was happening around! This was my first interaction with this person.

Even before I could ask anything he said, “See I need a favour from you. Your hostelmate is getting married to my wing-mate. These goldfishes were meant to be a wedding gift for them as they shift from hostel to home. However, they are going away from here on honeymoon for a month. So, it is difficult for them to take care of these fishes. Please, please handle them for a month, I am really requesting you to do it because I don’t know anyone in this hostel. will teach you how to take care of them — just for a month.”

I was flabbergasted!  I knew I was strange, a counselor for friends, a happy-go-lucky girl, not giving much thought to life and people, but was never thinking of myself in the role of a ‘caretaker’ of other people’s wedding gifts !  Apprehensively, I asked this person “but why don’t you keep the gold fishes in your hostel room?”   He replied, “You see! It might happen that when I come back from class the boys might have roasted the fishes and eaten them up with rice during lunch. See it’s just for a month, they are really well-behaved fishes” .

My hostel-mate (I came to know from our conversation that she was the one who had got married recently, and the fish-bowl was her wedding gift), also looked with pleading eyes. Finally I relented. They quickly handed me a huge packet of fish-food and gave me a thorough briefing of handling the gold-fishes, changing water once in a while, feeding them only four-five nibbles of fish food, and not exposing them to too many place changes. Very studiously I heard through the tutorial, bid them a ‘bye’, said a ‘happy honeymoon’ to a perfect stranger who had just handed me over her responsibility without even knowing me.

Within half-an-hour I was left alone with my new uninvited guests. Closed the door of my room, looked at the gold-fishes, they looked back at me, immediately turned about, wagged the famous golden tail, as if teasing me — and ‘moved on’! I was surprised — how dare they stay in my room and ignore me! I really didn’t know what to do with them — for no reason felt that an unnecessary burden has been thrust upon me during the peak-semester when I should be studying and writing assignments.

Until, nightfall! That was my first night with the fish bowl and the two gold-fishes. I was sitting and writing something on my computer, absent-mindedly looked around and saw the two fishes. In the darkness of my room and in the lamp-light, I saw them glitter and shine! They were just the most beautiful things that I had come across in my life! Left my work, went near the fish-bowl and kept staring at the two fishes.

They were playing around, hitting the glass bowl with their tails, watching the bubbles from their breath was itself a delight! Then I just playfully placed my fingers on the surface of the bowl. Lo!! They seemed to love it, animated, funny, fast movements through the bowl!! I was giggling, and it seemed they enjoyed the feel of my giggle!

Then on, we had become friends! I would finish my work in the department and run back to the hostel to meet my new friends. Did not let anyone enter my room during those days except my closest friend, who was as naive as I was! We played with the fishes for hours, talked to them, fed them fish food, and then fell-asleep watching them play. I kept observing these fishes to see if they sleep at night — but they always seemed to be shimmering and shining and happy with their mouth constantly doing ‘pak-pak-pak-pak’ . There seemed to be a deep connection that we shared — a language which only we understood. For instance, if I came with a bad mood the fishes would look quieter for a while and then circle round-round fast — until I laughed. The bond was getting stronger and deeper and it was only I who could perceive it or understand it.

When you are happy, time seems to fly so fast that you cannot even count the moments at hand. The month was coming to an end fast and my life with my new friends was getting deeper. The time left at hand was very less.

About four days were left for the newly married couple to come back and claim their gift. I got a call one evening from this friend thanking me profusely for taking care of his friend’s wedding gift. I smiled, but was sad within that it was time to part with my friends.  Next morning when I woke-up and went straight (as had become my habit) to the fish bowl to play with my friends saw that one of the fishes was floating with its back-up on the surface of the water.  Tapped the bowl thinking that it was asleep. I gave a low shriek when I discovered that the fish was dead. It seemed as if something snapped inside me, a feeling of losing a child perhaps. I really cannot define the feeling.

I frantically called up the person who had given me the fishes and told him all that had happened. Was in fact almost crying that I could not take care of them as well as he had thought I will. He calmed me down saying “cool yaar! It wasn’t your fault! Fishes are delicate things! It’s OK they do Die sometime.”  He went again to Crawford market (South Bombay, 1 Hour by local train from the campus), bought a single gold-fish, came back, and gave it to me.  I took care not to get attached to the fishes this time. Still it was so fulfilling to have them around.

The day finally came when I had to hand-over the fish bowl to the people who actually owned it!  I was really sad handing over my friends to these people. The place had become empty and I was on my own again. After giving them back the bowl, my best friend teased me “beganni  shaadi mein Abdullah diwana! “

A few weeks later, one day I was going out somewhere in the evening. As I climbed down the stairs (my room was on the 2nd floor), in the store area below the stairs I found lying the empty fish-bowl. Ran to the room of this girl who was the owner of the bowl. Knocked at her door, and breathlessly asked her, “hey what happened to the fishes? I am sorry just saw the empty bowl at the store area”. Nonchalantly she replied, “Oh the fishes! See we could not take care of them in the beginning of a new life, shifting, and all you know. So, we took the fishes to the Academic building area. There is a nice fish pond there with a lot of gold-fishes, left them inside the pond. That’s where they belong to now.” 

I kept visiting the ‘Mainbuilding’ (that’s what we called the area) fish pond with the hope of catching a glimpse of my fishes. Have never been able to recognize them though — except a feeling that perhaps one of them would know me well. Even today after so many years, as I pass-by the fish pond in front of the Main building, I do peep once to catch a glimpse of my lost friends.

Gyan: (a) Never take care of other people’s wedding gift as if they were your own. (b) Life is also like a goldfish,  take care of it — handle it with care !

So that was one little story from many episodes of my campus life. Will be perhaps off ‘Iris’ for sometime now! Do take care of yourselves!Ciao!

Story of ‘Truth’

NOTE:  Seasons Greetings and a very warm Durga Puja wishes to all my readers.  Recently, I recieved an interesting read from one of my students, Parth Kanungo. Parth has recently completed his B.Tech in Computer Science and is a team member of the ‘Creatineers’. He wrote this story as a guest post  for ‘Iris’.  This post, its opinions, its authorship, and writing solely belongs to Parth.

This is my story of he search of the veracity of “truth”. Since my childhood, like all other children, I have been taught to speak the truth. In schools, we used to have a moral science class. At homes, we had parents who imparted the moral education. And, there were anecdotes in books like Nandan, Champak and Chandamama, which also inspired similar thoughts. And, I followed the principle quite proudly.

However, the situation somehow changed when I grew up. Truthfulness no longer remained a simple rule to follow. People welcomed me and greeted by saying – “this is the real world. To survive here, you have to take help of lies.” I was not convinced. In fact, I did not want to be convinced, because at times the deep-rooted intuition tells you how to differ from right to wrong; and in those circumstances you go by your intuition.

But, if all are saying the same thing – “lying is good” or as someone else once put it – “MBAs are paid to tell lies,” I guessed that there must be some truth in what these people said. These were people far more experienced than me.  I thought – maybe, the principle of truthfulness had some inherent flaws. Maybe it was wrong. I did not know. We had learnt many things in our childhood only to unlearn them later on. Possibly, it was a similar principle. The truth about truth was lying hidden somewhere. Thus, I decided to find it.

So, the search began in one of the discussions on a Thursday night at ‘Sankalp’ (a social service group at the LNMIIT where students gather each Thursday for a discussion on life and its various aspects). I raised the question and got differing opinions. The overall conclusion I remember was not something new and hence the curiosity was not satisfied. Then, some days later in another session of the Thursday night discussions, we invited a person who had come from IIT-K and was working for the preservation of what he called “lok-gyan” (That’s what I remember). But, more importantly, he had studied ethics. I realized that this could be my chance to get to know the truth (considering that he was one among the Wise).

I put up a question in front of him. I do not remember where I had heard this question for the first time. However, it is unwittingly quoted by many as an argument that speaking truth is not always the right thing to do. So, I asked the same question – “Assume that a hunter is going through the forest chasing a deer. The deer runs fast through the narrow patch of space in the bushes, and vanishes somewhere near an ashram. The hunter, unsure of which way the deer went, asks the sage sitting nearby – ‘Where did the deer go?’ What should the sage say?”

Wait for a moment and think about your answer and then continue reading.

Our guest answered, “of course, he should tell the truth.”

“Why?”

“Because first of all, you cannot assume there is a cause-and-effect relationship between the two events, i.e., telling the truth and killing of deer. How can you be sure that if the sage tells the truth, the deer would be killed for sure?”

“But, there is high probability,” I said.

“No, there is not. Tell me, why does the story mention a sage, and not a normal person?”

“I don’t know. He could have been anyone, not necessarily a sage.”

A smile came up on his face, and he said, “But, you see that the story talks about a sage. Does it not? And, that is my second point. Actually, you forgot to notice that the sage has a power, the power that he gains through his ‘saadhana’. And, through that power he will make sure that nothing happens to the deer, despite his telling the truth.”

The answer was far from satisfactory. It did not appeal to common-sense and thus did not convince me.

Two years later another person came to the campus, and I raised the same question in front of him. Interestingly, he too had studied ethics. His answer was – “he should tell a lie.” Two contradictory opinions emerging from people with similar intellectual backgrounds!

I asked if telling a lie was the right thing to do. I even quoted Gandhiji’s statement – “Means and Ends both must be justified.” To elucidate this, I presented an example – “If there are two factions with obvious differences, the ruler may decide to kill all the people belonging to one particular faction. The end-result would be peace and harmony. But, are the means used to achieve the noble goal justifiable? Thus, to save the life of the deer (the end I seek), if I tell a lie (the mean I use), it would be wrong.”

He defended his position by saying that the two situations were not comparable.

At that moment I had a query in mind and it was something I had asked two years ago also, but had received an unconvincing answer. I asked it again, “what if the sage says – ‘I know the way, but I don’t want to tell you.’ Wouldn’t that be a good way?”

And, that was an instant eureka moment. He said that it was an interesting thought and cited some philosophical term which was close to the concept I was trying to convey. He completely agreed with me, and added that “the sage can even continue to be silent and not speak at all.” If the sage does not want to talk, the hunter cannot force him.

Thus, the philosophical theoretical question was resolved. And, I was happy, because my intuition was proved right.

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

This is just one side of the story. There is another side to the story, which altered my belief, failed my intuition and once again left me in a dilemma.

“Can I speak truth my entire life?” I asked my sixth-class history teacher whom I visited recently. She is a Buddhist and told me – “We live in a practical world, not an ideal world.”  She added that she would like to speak truth all the time, however that is not possible. I asked her why, to which she replied – “The other day I had guests from out of town. And, they had come without informing me beforehand. So, I mentioned the reason in the school office to get a leave from the school. The administration told me that ‘this was no reason to be granted a leave’, even after the fact that I was allowed 7 (or whatever number of) casual leaves in a year.”

I could relate with that experience of hers. And, that is when it dawned on me that merely answering a hypothetical question to know what is right is equivalent to trying to finding out the effect of gravity on an object in vacuum. In vacuum, the effect can be accurately described; but in the presence of air, that is impossible. In terms of what I dub as ‘intellectual-blabbering”, the sage argument is valid to make. But, in real-life the situation is a lot different.

Interestingly, in the Jewish tradition, lying is not completely forbidden, if it is used to achieve a noble goal. The point is depicted beautifully in the movie “Life Is Beautiful”. If Joshua the kid had known the truth about his existence in the Concentration Camp, he would not have survived. It was the witty lies of his father that brought him out alive from that terrible place.

So, is telling a lie a good thing?

There are situations when people ask – “how was my performance on stage?”, “how was my speech?”, “did I do well?” In such situations, sometimes, a lie is what makes the questioner happy.

So, is telling a lie a good thing?

Some people suggest, “As long as your lie benefits you and does not hurt or cause harm to someone else, there is nothing wrong.”

So, is telling a lie a good thing?

Do you want to build up trust? There is only a single way – be honest and truthful.

So, is telling a lie not a good thing?

Sometimes I feel as if all of us are like the seven blinds; and like them we are trying to understand the truth. Were they able to understand the truth about the elephant? Someone needs to operate upon them and give them eyes to see and understand the real elephant. Similarly, someone needs to give us ‘eyes of wisdom’ to enable us to see the truth about truth. Will that ever happen?

While I wait for a miracle to happen; while I wait for my ‘eyes of wisdom’; while I wait for the true answer, I consider it prudent to believe in the words of a professor of mine.  Here is what he had to say…

“In life there are a lot of questions, that simply do not have an answer in black or white. Many-a-times life is about that grey region. You cannot stick to one side strictly. The question you ask is one among the many whose answer you seek throughout your life. My personal opinion is that the context is very important. And, depending on that you should make a choice – a wise choice.”

Fragments

I sit here unmoving, unthinking, un-thought of

And watch things transforming, moving and melting away into oblivion.

I stare at people watching these transformations all by themselves,

I gaze into their eyes and find nothing but vacuum of an empty existence,

Or fumes of an ever-fading, sometimes ignorant past.

I think of relationships that made me and some that were made by me,

And feel them vanishing away from my clutches as granules of sand.

I dream of deafening silences and indolent nothingness,

Then watch these dreams fading into vapours of reality.

Strange, I see myself…

Watching, dreaming, feeling, fading and melting into that unknown.

What am I? A mere dot on the margin of other lives?

Or a shadow of a reality falling apart with the darkness of each passing second?

I wish I knew…

What am I?

NOTE: While searching for some papers inside the cupboard, found these lines that I had scribbled in an old notebook . A friend had typed this and kept it in the form of my manuscript with a collection called  ‘Silent Echoes’ .

Random Musings: Gulzar’s ‘Mausam’

Mujhko Bhi Tarkeeb Sikha Koi Yaar Julahe….
Aksar Tujhko Dekha Hai Ek Tana Bunte
Jab Koi Taga Toot Gaya Ya Khatam Hua
Phir Se Baandh Ke Aur Sira Koi Jodh Ke Uss Mein
Aage Bun’ne Lagte Ho….
Maine Tou Ek Baar Buna Tha Ek Hi Rishta
Lekin Uski Saari Girhain Saaf Nazar Aatee Hain Meray Yaar Julahe. ~ Gulzar, (Rough transl: Oh Weaver! Teach me a method too to weave…Often, have I observed  you weaving through one strand…until a thread broke or melted into the cloth…You then take up one of the corners of the cloth with a new thread and start weaving once more….But I, I had tried to weave only once only one relationship…but all the openings in the cloth are so clearly visible, oh friend Weaver! )

A student wrote to me ‘Ma’am there are professors and there are human beings — you will soon transcend the second one to become the first’.  I protested saying that it’s not true, a profession cannot compete with the attribute of being human. The debate was on for sometime and he said that those who teach (especially literature) use sentiments without getting sentimental.  Perhaps, he was right to a certain extent, the need for being scholarly, for being an ‘ideal’ is so strong that sometimes we lose that little gesture of human-ness that would be relevant as a yardstick to setup that ideal.  His statement took me back to my University days (confessional), when one of my Professors had pointed out to a few friends who used to hang out regularly with me and were core supporters of my brainless pranks, ‘Be careful of her. Nothing and no relationships will come in the way of her ambitions — you will fail, while she will will move on to her next destination’ . I had cried the entire night the day that comment had come, nothing was more important for me at that point of time than friends, but perhaps my teacher was right, subliminally I was trying to negotiate my own ways — alone

However, when it comes to feelings and sentiments, no one is an exception — desire to be acknowledged, desire to be loved, desire to be desired is universal and as a human being I have been no exception. We all fail only at the doorsteps of our sentiments.

These personal anecdotes refreshed the memory of a movie that has been a favourite — Gulzar sahab’s Mausam (1975). Thought will pay a small tribute to the maestro on his Birthday (18th August) with this article. It has been raining here profusely and my health, a week of hospitalization, has made me more philosophical  — watched this movie again on my laptop with the rains shimmering down the windows.

A sepia look outside the hospital window

I have been trying to write on Gulzar  for very long, but every time write something, I delete the post.

Mausam

‘Mausam’  reconnects us with these sentiments, emotions, feelings, attachments that are common to all species of the Universe.   It is the story of a medical student Amarnath Gill who comes to live in Darjeeling on a vacation  before his final medical exams and falls in love with an innocent hill-girl, Champa, daughter of the Vaidya. After the vacations he returns back to Calcutta to complete his medical studies and decides to come back to marry the girl. As destiny has  it, when he finally returns it is 35 years later. His life as a highly successful surgeon and manufacturer of a unique pain-killer keeps him busy for all these years. Dr. Gill’s search for the girl begins on a casual note  and starts getting denser with every new mystery, until one day he reaches the place where she actually lived her last life as a mentally challenged person — she died eight months before his coming back to Darjeeling, waiting for him to come back till her last breath. Guilt-ridden the doctor decides to search for Champa’s only daughter Kajri, adopt her and give her the life that her mother deserved. As fate ordains, the doctor finds Kajri in a hen-cooped brothel, mouthing the choicest slang, and living the life of a drunkard, chain-smoker, prostitute. She is rescued from the mohalla and taken by Dr. Gill to the rest-house. He tries to ‘civilize’ her, make her wear sarees and live as a daughter, while not revealing to her that he is the man who is responsible for the destruction of her mother and her own life. The twist comes when Kajri falls in love with the aged doctor and when he reveals to her that he did not come back to Champa because of a shame when he was jailed for an accidental death of a patient during a surgery.  There is some sort of a compromise when in the end the doctor adopts her and takes Kajri back to Calcutta, saying: “Mere saath chalogi? Peeche mud ke dekhne keliye hum dono ke paas kuchh nahin bacha hai.”  (Will you come with me? Both of us have nothing to look back upon.)

Gulzar’s craft is such that little subtleties of life and emotions are captured with an unspeakable brilliance.  In addition, a power-packed performance by Sanjeev Kumar as the doctor and a double-role by Sharmila Tagore as Champa and Kajri, make the movie a classic in its own ways.Realism and masterly acting and craft effortlessly blend in the movie.

There are social messages in Gulzar’s stories, be it Kitab (1977) or Khushboo (1975) or Ijazaat (1987), but what is unique is that they do not sermonize.  Gulzar is a poet and his movies and scripts are poetry in motion and vision, of course with a strong undercurrent of realism. The social messages are embedded in his portrayal of human emotions which seem to be his priority especially interpersonal relationships.

An interesting aspect of the movie when you observe it closely is the casualness with which the movie begins and the seriousness with which it ends. Watching the movie, I felt that the doctor did not come back to Darjeeling with any heightened romantic aspirations of meeting the girl whom he loved through his life. He casually refers to his co-workers when they come to meet him that there was an ‘accident’ — the accident being he fell in love with a girl.  It is only when he starts tracing her and meets several characters, unique in their own ways,  keep giving him fragments of information about the girl, while reminding him,  ‘she was a nice girl, but she was waiting for some doctor to come back…but does anyone come back once they leave?’ With every new character reminding him of his guilt of deserting his love, the passion to search for her grows stronger in the doctor. As the plot unfolds, so do the loss, the pain, the wait, each strand of emotion slowly unfold. Life too reflects this subtlety — emotions sometimes flood, while at other times they wait to haunt you and return to you with a slow, deliberate pace.

Mausam is also about modernization of smaller towns of India and the slow urbanization of the medical system. Encounters between the village Vaidya (Champa’s father) and the Allopathic doctor are remarkable. These seem to be symbolic encounters between two completely different systems of thought.  There are specific names of the herbs that the Vaidya uses. Even Champa is an adept apothecary. When doctor Gill comes back to Darjeeling after a long interval, there  is no trace of the Vaidya Thapa. People of his own locality have completely forgotten him and it is the modern medicinal practices that are ruling in the small towns too. In fact, there is an interesting moment in the story when Dr. Gill has a headache and he goes to the Chemist and asks him to give him an Asprin. The Chemist offers him his own invented medicine. He responds in a tongue-in-cheek fashion to the Chemist, saying ‘no don’t give me Gill’s tablet because that has a lot of Chlorine’.

The girl Champa looses her mental stability while waiting for the doctor to come back.  She keeps telling people around her that she will make Kajri a doctor and get her married to a doctor. Through Kajri, Champa lives in a different form — while Champa is about the unsullied emotion of love, Kajri knows only the language of lust. Kajri is a commentary on the life of girls of small towns, bereft of education or a decent parental upbringing. Champa spends her life in a small weaving factory, weaving clothes, waiting for her love to come back, and fighting her mental derangement. While Kajri is forced into prostitution by the surreptitious moves of her own society and people.

Mausam is an extremely powerful commentary on not only the emotion of love or lust, but also the changing patterns of social and cultural thoughts. Such movies are rare in the history of Bollywood cinema — they make what is truly unique in Hindi cinema. When you are watching this movie, watch it curled up in your bed, with a hot cup of tea, undisturbed by the noise of the world outside, with the rains pattering at your window — perhaps then you get a feel of Gulzar’s art and his craft.

One of my friends recently told me, ‘life is full of options…koi kisi keliye mara nahin jaa raha hai…’move on’ ….’ I have had a few questions — is it intellectual and emotional honesty to regard love in terms of options? When we are talking about human integrity and corruption-less society, does that come from too many options? Does emotional integrity in individuals figure anywhere in building up a superstructure of a larger society? Probably, yes…. Gulzar’s movies show a different trend — they seem to depict a deep emotional integrity, an honesty — a dogged dedication, conviction to one human being or one ideology.  Whether that human being or that ideology is correct or wrong is an altogether different question and different subject.

Post-IIT: Graduating into Life

As the cab moved through the gullies of Mumbai towards the domestic airport something snapped inside.  The feeling of leaving behind all that I acquired for the past five years gnawed at my heart….

Rain clouds blurring the evening sky

Long ago, I had written an article named ‘Sunrise to Sunrise: a Day’s Work at IIT’ . This post is going to be diametrically opposite to the earlier posts on IIT and life at IIT. For those of you who are waiting for a sequel to the Koraput travel article, you’ll have to wait a little longer because I felt an urgent need to note down the feeling of a researcher leaving IIT after graduation lest I forget the entire confusing web of emotions. Actually, the world which rests on ‘moving on’ funda won’t be able to connect with my article because this is going to be “senti” and a “tear-jerker” in the language of any IITian. But then….

Remember the 1967 Hollywood blockbuster ‘The Graduate’ directed by Mike Nichols and written by Charles Webb? Remember the confusion and fixity of Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) a 21 year old graduate who tries to search for himself within a confusing web of relationships, search for ‘true’ love and the problems of ‘what next’? Remember Simon and Garfunkel’s haunting track ‘Sounds of Silence’? If you haven’t seen the movie — must watch. Well! Not all graduating souls have as dramatic a life as Benjamin, but that doesn’t make life on the whole any less dramatic. To be 21 and a graduate is so different from being in late twenties or thirties and graduating. This post aims to search for that drama in the mundane life of a graduating IITian researcher. But how do you locate drama in the life of people who are  deprived of friends and maybe hunting for the ‘right’ job or boy/girl or maybe attempting to negotiate through the excruciating demands of research and marriage? Well! I don’t really have an answer….

Silhoutte of Hostel-11 in the Evening

When the packers come and carry your things — little trinkets and small nothings which you have gathered over the last many years of your stay in the hostel, you feel so badly possessive for each of them. You start feeling the new chaos regarding where do you, your ideas and your things fit into the world. I shall never forget those last few moments of hostel life when I was trying to ‘un-knot’ and pull down my yellow curtains from the large glass windows of my hostel room. A close friend kept packing my things and dumping all the remnants of five years into my bag as if to make the ordeal simpler for me. There is something really ironical about leaving IIT — you leave people or are left behind by people. The entire process of staying and leaving (hopefully with a graduation) is like meeting a portion of ‘real life’ and if you are perceptive enough you realize that life is about packing things (both literally and emotionally) and walking out. The workers and cleaning staff of Hostel-11 kept smiling and praying for me — “didi! aap kab aaoge next?” When I had entered IIT I had come alone with dreams in eyes, graduating from IIT again the walk is alone (except for a few very hard-earned friends and memories) and some of those dreams are still left unrealized. There are a few things that people like us needed to learn from  people and their life @ IIT — to take it easy, to hide emotions and try behaving as if we are great assets to the country. Well, this post will be a massive let down for such people. As IITians there are many of us who are yet to learn the quality of emotional and individual honesty and commitment before deciding to ‘sacrifice’ our lives for social and national goals.

The problems of an average researcher at IIT ranges from handling their research topics to library surveys to equation with thesis supervisors to interpersonal relationships and marriage if you are not married or issues of marriage if you are married. It is my personal experience that by the time you negotiate through the alleys of research and the issues of personal life and reach the stage of graduation you become rather dispassionate about things and become a distant observer of life and the passage of events. For many, the moment of submission and the moment of defense brings elation and joy. Talking about my personal experience, when I saw the black-bound gold embossed cover of my thesis and turned a few pages of it I felt a  distance, as if I never wrote all those pages in my life, as if someone else was doing all that running around and writing business and as if those five years were spent by someone else — someone who is a stranger, maybe an alter-ego, maybe a magic spell….

During those final moments of ‘good-byes’ with friends, hostelites, teachers and my supervisor I felt a strange emptiness in heart. Especially meeting my research guide was a completely different experience.  He was the same person whom I had been meeting for the past five years every morning and afternoon for work and for the thesis. Now, with the last chais at KRESIT the ticking of the clock became heavier. There is a novel of William Faulkner called Sound and the Fury where this ticking of the clock of a character Quentin’s life is dealt in a very strong sense.  Somewhere those good-byes kept reminding me of the times past and the ticking of the clock for the future seemed more aggressive and vehement.

I am not sure if every researcher feels the same feelings that I am documenting in my post. We all are different from each other — some have the dire need to break the boundaries of confinement set by research and the last few days for them are just a necessity which has to be lived through. Some of us have outlived the place and need to seek new modes of being imprisoned. However, life is not without confinement — there is no true freedom. In the language of one of my teachers’ ‘freedom is the necessity to chose one’s own bondage’ . Some of us have chosen our bondage and some of us are bound to choose a new confinement — but no one can deny that confinement.

As the cab moved towards the airport, the radio sang out: “Zindagi ke safar mein guzar jaatein hain jo mukaam woh phir nahin aate! (Roughly: those small destinations that move through as the journey of life moves on, never come back)” I looked out as the rains lashed through the black-yellow cab window and caught a glimpse of the last landmark of IIT as we move towards the airport or towards Andheri — hostel 12, standing imposingly next to Renaissance hotel, braving the rain-storm blowing through the Powai lake. I sank back and the cabbie turned back to ask me… “Maam! Kya aap wapas nahin aa rahe hain? (Roughly: Maam won’t you come back?)” I smiled and said: “Nahin! Vijayaji!”  The cab passed through Seepz and I just looked out searching unconsciously for some known faces and some long lost friends whom I had met long before joining PhD….

When…

When there remain no words to be uttered…

No thoughts to be shared.

When there are pools of illusion between your worlds and mine.

When the droplets of the first monsoon showers,

Neither fill my heart with love nor succor

When futility seems to be the only companion,

And relationships fade into the complexities of “me”, “mine” and “my own”.

When a vision languishes into dream and dream into harsh reality,

When life loses its colour in blinding individuality.

When it hurts, yet the heart forgets to sigh.

When tears freeze into vain laughter,

And eyes forget to cry.

When I am not myself and you, not you.

When everything else is a silent desertion…

Suddenly then!

Tinkles a tiny bell somewhere in the distance,

And the rays of the evening deeya forces in through my shut doors.

All questions then silence themselves into mute answers.

The stormy heart seeks neither dreams nor prayers,

But longs for a languorous peace,

Melting the soul into a silent trance.

Away from the realms of Being and Becoming…

Here I dwell in a few fleeting moments,

In the embalmed emptiness of my soul…

(Written in Summer 2004. From My Unpublished Diary of Poems)

Lonely or Alone?

Apologies for being away from the blogosphere for nearly a month. You can say the muse has been a bit sleepy or maybe I have been lazy. But, there is one aspect of life that has been haunting me for some days now which I wanted to share in my post — loneliness versus aloneness.

Have you ever felt that utter loneliness when you are in a huge party? Have you ever got that sinking feeling when you are taking a walk in the evening? Have you ever felt futile after a grand success? Have you ever stood on a huge podium listening to a thunderous applause and yet expecting someone to appreciate you? Have you ever gone to the shopping complex with a bunch of relatives, yet found yourself lost and alone? Have you ever had a huge bunch of amazingly vibrant colleagues, teasing you and cheering you up and yet you are left desiring for a friend? Have you ever had a fantastic group of close-knit friends but still you desired to be just by yourself? Philosophical it might sound, and to some might look boring and brooding but I felt must share this experience.

D.H. Lawrence, the famous British novelist of early 20th century in the novel Lady Chatterley’s Lover, poignantly reflected that there is a difference between “loneliness” and “aloneness”. By “aloneness” Lawrence perhaps meant our very state of being — that state of mind which is an indivisible part of us. While, by “loneliness” he meant the acute sense of a need to be with oneself. One might choose to be lonely, but one cannot choose to be alone.

I remember once during my Postgraduation days in the Lawrence lecture series when we were taught Women in Love, my Professor had explained us this difference between “loneliness” and “aloneness” through the novels of Lawrence. He said that to be lonely is a matter of one’s choice. You can be lonely for as long as you want, but to be alone is beyond priorities and prerogatives. Aloneness is our very state — we are all essentially alone. I had not understood the implications of that statement then — perhaps was too naive to understand and perhaps had chosen my moments of being “lonely”. Those were the days when our lives and times were filled with people. But as time passes, the realization of that statement made some 7-8 years ago slowly dawns upon me. In most of the cases, loneliness can be tackled by the society, call it friends, colleagues or family. It is desired also. Else, the social bonding will be destroyed by the lonely mind and soul. In a quite different equation, the feeling of aloneness can not be handled by the society.  Feeling of aloneness  is sometimes desired because it gives personal space to some one to come out from a trauma, to reconcile from a personal problem. But, one has to keep an eye or there can be psychological problems leading to other social problems.

Recently, while reading through my old notebooks I came across that statement taken down from my Professor’s lectures with a red-mark, which meant that I have not understood the meaning of the particular note. I hunted the original quotations of Lawrence and what I read and discovered was something very new — very unfamiliar to what I had understood in PG days. Lawrence writes:

“It’s no good trying to get rid of your own aloneness. You’ve got to stick to it all your life. Only at times, at times, the gap will be filled in. At times! But you have to wait for the times. Accept your own aloneness and stick to it, all your life. And then accept the times when the gap is filled in, when they come. But they’ve got to come. You can’t force them.”

— D.H. Lawrence (Lady Chatterley’s Lover)

Thus, the people and the events that our lives are usually filled up with are but intermissions, a kind of “stop-gap” arrangement to fill our “aloneness”. They come and go and you have to reconcile with their coming and going and with your being “alone” after they come or after they go. I understood the implications of these lines after such a long forgotten phase. When I now read Lawrence after so many years, it seemed the words were his but the feelings were part of my old tattered lecture notes and the life — it is the life that I lead today. After every success, life makes you more keenly perceptive that you are alone.

In a place like IIT (Indian Institute of Technology), where practicality has more importance than anything else, aloneness or loneliness is very common. The value of time or money has more importance than sentimental excess and professionalism always outcasts the personal. In the personal front, people are very private, difficult to fathom. Some play computer games for hours, some keep walking by the lake side, some work and work, while some others watch movies relentlessly. These are the company that many choose and those who can not choose are left meandering through the alleys of darkness. Yet, I have realized that we are basically alone — after watching a movie what next? After submitting a journal paper what next? After playing 10 hours of computer games what next? This “what next” keeps haunting most of us. May be some of us accept it and may be some of us laugh at it as foolishness — yet there is no excuse.

These elemental differences of being “lonely” and being “alone” still do exist — you might name it sentimentalism, sensitivity or ground realities or life but most of us perceive it at some or the other point of our lives. While some of us can theorize it, some can philosophize it and some can define it — others just live it knowing not what to call it and how to brand it.

Celluloid Romance…

Yet another rainy day and another unhappening Saturday evening. Had a long afternoon nap and feeling lazy to work on the paper. Thought of seeing a movie and planned to enjoy watching the rains melt into the guava leaves outside my windows. Hunted the sites, my video library and neighbour’s video library too, asking her “yaar koi movie hai toh de na! pak gayee hoon books ke saath baith ke”…but of no use. Could not find anything that could glue me for the next three hours. I was offered many Hollywood blockbusters and some new Bollywood flicks, but to no use. None could satisfy my boredom.

Finally, with some measure of irritation and half-hearted interest, put the chitrahaar cd which I had borrowed from Hemant. I had half expected anything there to keep this dangerous idle mind enagaged for some time. I had assumed that many of the songs must be so hackneyed that I will have to wake my self up from my siesta and keep forwarding them continuosly.

But gosh! The first song of the cd happened to be “Har fikr ko dhuen mein udata chala gaya, barbadiyon ka sokh manana fizool tha, barbadiyon ka jashn manata chala gaya” from the movie Hum Dono. The young Dev Anand literally “romances with life” in this song (also the name of his autobiography). Cool-suave, dashing, with a butt of cigar, he throtles the existential dilemma of life-death and defeat with ultimate nonchalance. I would name this performance as the romance of extremes where one enjoys living on the brink, not knowing what holds for him the very next moment. It’s a delight to watch a barebodied Dev Anand, putting on the soldier’s uniform bit-by-bit and imagining the reflection of his lady love (Sadhna) through the smoke of his cigar and imagining her face in the pond infront of him. The perfect calm and an admixture of an innocent smile and tensed eyes, should make any Hollywood actor ashamed in front of Dev saab. The lines when he sings chewing the cigar and the typical Dev tilt of head, “gham aaur khushi mein farq na mehsoos ho jahan, mein dil ko us maqaam pe lata chala gaya” … classic performance on classic lines! No one except Dev Anand is capable of such a dignity on such heavy lines. I have loved Dev Anand in all his movies, “ankhon mein kya jee…woh rupehela badal”, “hum hain rahi pyar ke…humse kuchh na boliye, jo bhi pyar se mila hum usi ke holiye…”, “tere mere sapne ab ek rang ke…”, but would rate him as 10/10 in expressing the philosophical dilemma of pure existentialism in that beautiful song from Hum Dono.

The other song which directly twanged a chord in the soul is the song from Nadiya ke Paar, “Jogi jee haan jogi jee…jogi jee dhire dhire nadi ke tire-tire” … you see a bubbly, endearing Sachin dancing with a troop of village lads…amazing performance…the simplicity of villages in India and the beauty of courtship in extended family systems. The song has no great ideals or ideologies, but is rooted to the soil, and that is the beauty of the entire number. You can smell the earth and feel the simplicity of these folks, something which is endangered in 21st century India.

Another song also included in the cd and was a personal favourite from school days. I heard that song after many-many years. It’s from Amitabh Bacchan and Jaya Bhaduri’s Mili. You don’t see any extraordinary action in that song, but you can see/sense the beauty of platonic love. The lines are suffused with romance and spiritual longing for a person who is on the brink of death, “jab main raton ko tare geen ta hoon aur tere kadmon ki ahat sun ta hoon, lage mujhe har tara tera darpan…aaye tum yaad mujhe gane lagi har dhadkan, khoosboo layee pavan, mehka chandan…” . The camera pans from the tall-silhoutte figure of Amitabh Bachhan standing in his balcony, watching the night sky and humming the haunting number to a pale-bedridden Jaya Bhaduri fighting last stages of cancer and then flashes at worried faces of Aruna Irani and Ashok Kumar. In my opinion the song epitomizes the pull of love at the threshold of death. There is no melodrama, no cacophonous crying-consoling…just a state of disturbing calm before an impending storm. Hats off to the lyricist, music director and performers!

One more classic instance of celluloid romantic moments is the very epitome of romance, Mr. Rajesh Khanna, romancing the Kolkatta prostitute portrayed by Sharmila Tagore in Amar Prem. The song, kuchh toh log kahenge, logon ka kaam hai kehna chhodo bekar ki baton mein kahin beet na jaye raina.” Heavily laden with jwelleries, a blue Banrasi and kohled eyes brimming with tears, a beautiful Sharmila Tagore lives to full the grandeur of tragic unfulfilled desire for Rajesh Khanna, a Bengali Bhadralok. The moments in this song seem to be straight away freezed from a novel.

How can one forget the gorgeous Madhubala challenging the great Prithivi Raj Kapoor in Mughl-e-Azam’s extravagant musical number “jab pyar kiya toh darna kya…chup-chup ahen bharna kya” … already pages and pages of film criticism has been written on this particular film. I don’t have to add much to it, except that one moment when the ravishingly gorgeous Anarkali snatches the sword from Akbar while smiling and looking straight into Saleem’s eyes, daring the great Moghul to pronounce her death. Booh! Raw passion at its very best…knowing that her punishment would be no less than execution, the lady just throws herself to the call of her instincts… and dances herself into thousands of mirror pieces in the Akbari-durbar. When one speaks of feminist uprisings, this moment of Indian cinema should be shown to the self-styled feminists. Decades ago, Madhubala did something which no conscious feminist can dare to do in our times. I can’t imagine myself not getting goosebumps whenever I watch that particular scene…

The songs that I chose here are not the only ones in our celluloid. From Gurudutt to Dilip Kumar to Raj Kumar (Pakeezah) to Rajesh Khanna, there has been something special in the tragic romance portrayed in our movies. These days we have become more pragmatic in our approach towards movies and towards life in general. The tragic streak has lost its luster to more earthly kind of love stories…no one wants to starve in love these days. Love has become just a part of many other ambitions — we now have corporate icons, kids from business families, underworld wars, etc, as motifs of modern cinema.

But romance cannot be completely denied…it still has its screen presence…of course, the forms of representation and atttitude towards “romance” has changed dramatically in our times…