Hindi literature is dead. At least none of my acquaintances seem to be too enthused on reading a good Hindi novel. The Hindi section in the Crosswords and Landmarks of the World have shrunk to a small neglected shelf; often stacked with Hindi translations of bestsellers such as 'Who moved my cheese' (मेरा चीज़ किसने हटाया ).
The closest one gets to Hindi Literature now is those x-grade thriller pocket books that you get at Andheri station or the unimpressive, superfluous poetry by our generations' poets which often is a result of the upheaval in their love-life.
What could be a bigger mockery of the language and its rich literature in the land of Mahadevi, Premchand, Dinkar and Neeraj.
Off late, I have been reading essays by Mahadevi Verma(remeber the stories of "Sona Hirni" and "Gaura Gaay" by this writer we read in our school). Though, at times her, choice of words is something that would get me to take out a Hindi-to English dictionary, that does not stop me from just going on with the flow of her stories.
I have read English translations of works of Tagore, but I wonder why has there not been a translation of Mahadevi's essays. Her portrayal of life around her is so real and so much in the context even today, almost 50 years after she wrote these essays. Then be it her pets in "Mera Parivar" or her memoirs of people in "Smriti Ki Rekhayein" and "Atit Ke Chalchitra", each story is equally unique and moving (disturbing, rather).
If Chetan Bhagat can sell a million copies of his stupid stories; then Mahadeviji definitely has a much better potential. But who is listening? Hindi literature is passé. Hindi literature is dead.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Where do you belong to?
Friends, interviewers, landlords and many more inquisitive souls have often asked me this question - "Where do you belong to?" And this, has been the most difficult for me to answer and am often at loss of words to explain why.
My standard answer now is - "I belong to nowhere, I belong to India". Nah! am not a patriotic guy, but this is the best that I can describe my belonging-ness.
What adds to the woes is that even my paternal family has had two bases. My late Grandfather shifted base from Allahabad to Agra after his retirement.
So, technically I am from Agra; but I have never really lived there. Even my father hasn't (Though, am not sure as to where my dad thinks he belongs to.). And, I hardly know anything about Agra apart from Taj Mahal and Swami Bagh.
I was born in Allahabd. Spent my toddler-hood there and have very faint memories. My maternal family stays in Allahabad but it stops at that. I have always been a visitor to this city. Earlier it was to spend the summer vacations at grandparent's and later on (when I started working) to attend weddings and other such family get-togethers. In all these 27 years of life, I would have ventured outside the confines of Civil Lines barely twice. So, I think I don't even qualify to be an Allahabadi.
I can say that I am from UP, but am not aware of the geography of the state. I don't even know if Muzaffarpur neighbours Mirzapur or if Firozabad is close to Muradabad.
Till about two years back, I would have said I am from Ahmedabad. But after my parents shifted their base to NCR I can't even say this, though my permanent address continues to be 34-Sona Mahal.... Alas! am no more an Amdavadi also, though my heart dwells in that city.
I thought the best answer to this question could be Delhi but that also doesn't work out for me. For my parents don't stay in Delhi (They stay in the NCR) and am as unaware of Delhi's geography as am of Uttar Prdesh's. So, if one were to tell me they stay in Pitampura, my expression would remain the same if they would have mentioned Greater Kailash or Rohini or Munirka. Ah! It is not Delhi either. Neither is it the NCR.
Thus, even though my father grew up in Allahabad, shifted to Agra later; my mother belongs to Allahabad; we have our property in Ahmedabad, and my parents are now sort of settled in the NCR, I don't belong to any of these places.
I belong to India!
My standard answer now is - "I belong to nowhere, I belong to India". Nah! am not a patriotic guy, but this is the best that I can describe my belonging-ness.
What adds to the woes is that even my paternal family has had two bases. My late Grandfather shifted base from Allahabad to Agra after his retirement.
So, technically I am from Agra; but I have never really lived there. Even my father hasn't (Though, am not sure as to where my dad thinks he belongs to.). And, I hardly know anything about Agra apart from Taj Mahal and Swami Bagh.
I was born in Allahabd. Spent my toddler-hood there and have very faint memories. My maternal family stays in Allahabad but it stops at that. I have always been a visitor to this city. Earlier it was to spend the summer vacations at grandparent's and later on (when I started working) to attend weddings and other such family get-togethers. In all these 27 years of life, I would have ventured outside the confines of Civil Lines barely twice. So, I think I don't even qualify to be an Allahabadi.
I can say that I am from UP, but am not aware of the geography of the state. I don't even know if Muzaffarpur neighbours Mirzapur or if Firozabad is close to Muradabad.
Till about two years back, I would have said I am from Ahmedabad. But after my parents shifted their base to NCR I can't even say this, though my permanent address continues to be 34-Sona Mahal.... Alas! am no more an Amdavadi also, though my heart dwells in that city.
I thought the best answer to this question could be Delhi but that also doesn't work out for me. For my parents don't stay in Delhi (They stay in the NCR) and am as unaware of Delhi's geography as am of Uttar Prdesh's. So, if one were to tell me they stay in Pitampura, my expression would remain the same if they would have mentioned Greater Kailash or Rohini or Munirka. Ah! It is not Delhi either. Neither is it the NCR.
Thus, even though my father grew up in Allahabad, shifted to Agra later; my mother belongs to Allahabad; we have our property in Ahmedabad, and my parents are now sort of settled in the NCR, I don't belong to any of these places.
I belong to India!
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
A blue bunch in a May & Baker's box
A blue bunch of old letters in a May & Baker's tin box on a shelf in the store is probably is a prized collection for my mother, especially today when Nani is no more with us. I remember when mummy had a tendon fracture on her right thumb, the first words that she tried writing after her operation were - प्यारी मम्मी . That used to be the opening of each letter!
Usually, Nani would use up the entire space on that letter; not even sparing the margins in her smaller-than-Arial-font-size-8 handwriting. One would need a magnifying lens to read it, but not mummy. She knew where the page was to be turned over and which fold to look for to complete the last sentence. Nani would write about the maid who had relinquished the post (after all they are also Ranis of a different sort), or the new sweater she is knitting for us, or the weather, or her heath, or the latest wedding in Allahabad, or wish us on our birthdays, or congratulate us for good marks; among many other things. Nani's letters would often have english words and that would amaze me. Her letters would also mention how much she is waiting for the summer holidays and our visiting them.
Occasionally, Nana would also get some space to scribble his blessings. The last haalf page is what Nani would offer him. He would be generous with his usage of space, quite unlike Nani but his handwriting being that of a doctor's also used to be illegible for us.
Of course, there would be delays in receiving letters. Often we would receive the letter mummy last wrote to Nani after we had reached Allahabad.
Those were the days when we did not even have the now forgotten BSNL land line connection. The frequency of exchange of letters dwindled as we got our personal connection and BSNL introduced the India Calling Card. Old age also made it difficult for Nani to continue writing the letters. Her writing had become increasingly illegible towards the last of the letters she wrote. Telephone and later on Nana's cell phone completely replaced the letters; though Nani was never too good at talking over the phone.
When I think of it now, I feel how much more connected were we in those days when news used to take weeks to travel as against now when we are just a phone-call away. The wait for a letter was something that kept us in each others mind and hearts; somethiing that emails can never replicate.
At least there were no error messages saying BAD BAD SERVER! NO DONUTS FOR YOU!
We knew, well in advance, that Nani would already be busy preparing the lovely katahal ka achaar and aatey ke laddo for us to be savoured in the summer vacations! They definitely tasted better than today's donuts!!
Usually, Nani would use up the entire space on that letter; not even sparing the margins in her smaller-than-Arial-font-size-8 handwriting. One would need a magnifying lens to read it, but not mummy. She knew where the page was to be turned over and which fold to look for to complete the last sentence. Nani would write about the maid who had relinquished the post (after all they are also Ranis of a different sort), or the new sweater she is knitting for us, or the weather, or her heath, or the latest wedding in Allahabad, or wish us on our birthdays, or congratulate us for good marks; among many other things. Nani's letters would often have english words and that would amaze me. Her letters would also mention how much she is waiting for the summer holidays and our visiting them.
Occasionally, Nana would also get some space to scribble his blessings. The last haalf page is what Nani would offer him. He would be generous with his usage of space, quite unlike Nani but his handwriting being that of a doctor's also used to be illegible for us.
Of course, there would be delays in receiving letters. Often we would receive the letter mummy last wrote to Nani after we had reached Allahabad.
Those were the days when we did not even have the now forgotten BSNL land line connection. The frequency of exchange of letters dwindled as we got our personal connection and BSNL introduced the India Calling Card. Old age also made it difficult for Nani to continue writing the letters. Her writing had become increasingly illegible towards the last of the letters she wrote. Telephone and later on Nana's cell phone completely replaced the letters; though Nani was never too good at talking over the phone.
When I think of it now, I feel how much more connected were we in those days when news used to take weeks to travel as against now when we are just a phone-call away. The wait for a letter was something that kept us in each others mind and hearts; somethiing that emails can never replicate.
At least there were no error messages saying BAD BAD SERVER! NO DONUTS FOR YOU!
We knew, well in advance, that Nani would already be busy preparing the lovely katahal ka achaar and aatey ke laddo for us to be savoured in the summer vacations! They definitely tasted better than today's donuts!!
Sunday, June 06, 2010
Of Ramlal, food, music, literature and celebrity spotting
It is very rare that you get to enjoy literature, good food, theatre 
and celebrity spotting; all at one go; under one roof. If you are wondering what place am talking about, just walk into the compound of Prithvi Theatre.
Tucked away in the calm surroundings of Janki Kutir, at a stone's throw from the hustle bustle of neighbouring Juhu beach, Prithvi is an art lover's paradise and I am in love with this beautiful place.
When at Prithvi, one has so many options to explore that time seems to fly by.
We (Me and R) went for a play "Salesman Ramlal" starring Satish Kaushik and Seema Biswas. The play has a somber story revolving around the life of a common salesman - Ramlal (played by Satish) who like many of us, dreams of making it big. Ramlal's entire life is a mirage and it comes crashing one day. Though there is absolutely no positive note in the story, it does gets us to realise that "(इंसान के ) कुछ न होने में कुछ गलत नहीं " (There is nothing wrong in being a mediocre). The problem is in not accepting the reality and chasing the mirage. Seema Biswas’ and Satish Kaushik’s performances are impeccable as the husband-wife duo.
If theatre is not your muse, the Prithvi Cafe - an open air cafe - is a great place with its reasonable prices and the modest spread of appetising preparations. And if you are looking for that "something more"; look no more. Just look around; and the flute rendition by a sexagenarian seated under a banyan tree - Suhas Joshi (an architect by profession) - is something that would definitely take you to a different world.
If you are still yearning for more, Prithvi also offers its visitors a quaint book-store which houses
one of the most amazing collections of literature. I am in love with their collection of Hindi authors.
You also get to spot many celebrities enjoying a cuppa at Prithvi. Me and R were able to spot Makarand Deshpande (the Fakir in Swades), Vrajesh Hirjee (the Anthony Gonzalves in Golmal Returns) and Madhurjeet Sarghi (Santosh Bhabhi from Na aana iss des….). There were many more known faces whom you could remember but not recall where were they seen last on the silver screen.
Prithvi is untouched by time. It belongs to an era bygone!
and celebrity spotting; all at one go; under one roof. If you are wondering what place am talking about, just walk into the compound of Prithvi Theatre.
Tucked away in the calm surroundings of Janki Kutir, at a stone's throw from the hustle bustle of neighbouring Juhu beach, Prithvi is an art lover's paradise and I am in love with this beautiful place.
When at Prithvi, one has so many options to explore that time seems to fly by.
We (Me and R) went for a play "Salesman Ramlal" starring Satish Kaushik and Seema Biswas. The play has a somber story revolving around the life of a common salesman - Ramlal (played by Satish) who like many of us, dreams of making it big. Ramlal's entire life is a mirage and it comes crashing one day. Though there is absolutely no positive note in the story, it does gets us to realise that "(इंसान के ) कुछ न होने में कुछ गलत नहीं " (There is nothing wrong in being a mediocre). The problem is in not accepting the reality and chasing the mirage. Seema Biswas’ and Satish Kaushik’s performances are impeccable as the husband-wife duo.
If theatre is not your muse, the Prithvi Cafe - an open air cafe - is a great place with its reasonable prices and the modest spread of appetising preparations. And if you are looking for that "something more"; look no more. Just look around; and the flute rendition by a sexagenarian seated under a banyan tree - Suhas Joshi (an architect by profession) - is something that would definitely take you to a different world.
If you are still yearning for more, Prithvi also offers its visitors a quaint book-store which houses
one of the most amazing collections of literature. I am in love with their collection of Hindi authors.You also get to spot many celebrities enjoying a cuppa at Prithvi. Me and R were able to spot Makarand Deshpande (the Fakir in Swades), Vrajesh Hirjee (the Anthony Gonzalves in Golmal Returns) and Madhurjeet Sarghi (Santosh Bhabhi from Na aana iss des….). There were many more known faces whom you could remember but not recall where were they seen last on the silver screen.
Prithvi is untouched by time. It belongs to an era bygone!
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