Thursday, May 28, 2009

The song goes...Jai Ho, but whose???

When I saw Danny Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire, never in my dreams could I have imagined that it would sweep the Oscars. Good, that it did! And better that it brought laurels to the various Indian artistes and technicians. But then it should stop at this. I think Danny, as a film-maker, did a fantastic job to show it to the world how poor the country is (and we all loved him for this) and, we don't actually don't need to go overboard and tell the World "Suno Suno!!! Hum Gareeb Hain. We are still the good 'ol land of snake charmers and beggars".

When I read a recent statement by Azhar's (the kid in the movie) mother after Gerard Butler's visit to their shanty - “Humne suna hai ki woh paanch lakh dene wale hai Azhar ke naam pe” I was shocked. This, when Danny Boyle is already funding Azhar and Rubina's education and has even bought them houses.

Agreed that the families are poor, but whatever happened to those things called dignity and self respect. I wonder if it would not be better that they focussed on developing their children's future than stuffing money in their pockets, only to spend it all on the vices. That would be the real Jai Ho!!
Guess what Congress has to say to this.... After all this was their election Anthem!! Am sure there are many Azhar's and Rubina's waiting to see the zariwala aasman out there....

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

34-Sona Mahal.....Will miss you

My association with Ahmedabad goes back to 1992 when we my dad got posted here. The very first memories are that of a transporter strike because of which our stuff couldn't come on time and I had to make do with samosas and jalebis in the tiffin, which I have anyway hated all my school life.
We stayed in a rented accomodation for a couple of years. I have very vivid and happy memories of that place. My sister would sit at the window and gaze at the vehicles passing by on the Subhash Bridge. When it rained heavily, the Sabarmati would swell and we would go to the bridge to see the waters. Come Navaratri, the whole society (yes, that's how we called it) would get decked up and people would dance all night long to the tunes of pankhida re udi ne jaje... I even taught my sister how to ride a bicycle in this society. There was a vegetable grocer within the premisis where I would often go with a list of vegetables that mom wanted. Also, there was a shop where you could buy that orange candy bar. In the evening all the kids would gather near the tall overhead tank and play till the sun set and their mothers came out calling them.

In 1994, we moved to our own apartment, our home. It must have been such a fulfilling moment for my parents. And never till today did I realise that I have spent some 15 long years in that house. I grew up in that house and the house grew with me. Over the years, we had adorned the walls with hand-picked paintings and the corners with the finest and the most unique artefacts. What memories I have associated with this house is something that I cannot describe in words. But why am I writitng this post is because today I suddenly felt that the string, which had kept me attached to MY HOME, has snapped.... My heart is overwhelmed by such strong feelings. When my parents told me that the packers were packing up stuff in cartons, my mind wandered off to those artefacts, those books, those paintings, those clothes, that crockery which had been there since ages, at least to me it did! I know its never going to be the same again. I know that Ahmedabad is lost for me....I know Sona Mahal is no more my home.... It might be a permanent address but not a home... I would now be a mere visitor to my own city, to my hometown.... There is so much that I have held close to my heart... There is so much to remember so much that am going to miss all my life.


I will miss writing "34-Sona Mahal....." as my postal address.
I will miss the name plate that bore my father's name.
I will miss the iron grill with a unique pattern, specially designed by my parents.
I will miss the arched doorway that let into my home.
I will miss my room with arched balcony.
I will miss the creaking noice that my almirah made.
I will miss that cozy corner in the living room under the lanp.
I will miss the sofa that I had bought.
I will never be able to see the sun set behind the temple.
I will miss the panoramic view from my balcony.
I will miss hushing away those pigeons in the morning.
I will miss reading the newspaper sitting on the bed while the first rays of sun filled the room with warmth.
I will miss the wardrobe that still smelled of fresh paint.
I will miss getting ready under the dressing table's spot-light.
I will miss seeing the Sabarmati flow by through the window.
I will miss pinnig-up a picture on the study table.
I will miss walking bare-footed into my neighbour's house to borrow a lemon.
I will miss driving to Yogesh Khamman to get my mom's fovourite dhokla.
I will miss kite-flying during Uttarayan on the terrace.
I will miss going to the law garden to do some local shopping.
I will miss the cool evening breeze.
I will miss the bright and scorching sun on a summer afternoon.

I will miss the walls, the flooring, the paint, the smell, the touch, the sounds, the sights...........