Sir Svaa Odey - To hell with them

 

Naman was livid. He felt insulted, belittled and cheated all at the same time. His voice almost trembling with rage, he pointed towards the door and said " GET OUT! NOW !!!

Without uttering a single word but his eyes heavy with humiliation and hostility, Bharat picked his black leather bag, exited Noman's bedroom and out of the front door in  a few quick steps.

Just as he was catching his breath, Naman heard his mom's voice - "taïnnu sharam nahin aaundi? Kisey nu apne ghar bulaa ke aistraan kaddi da hai?”

‘Have you got no shame at all? You can't invite someone home and then ask them to get out that like that!’ - she scolded him in no uncertain terms. 

"But Mom …..” he started. 

"Mainnu nahin pata. Odey  picchey ja te dhang naal gall mukaa”

‘I don't need to know. Just go after him and settle the matter the way it ought to be’ - She commanded in her well familiar tone that Naman realised hadn’t been directed at him for years now.

Almost as a reflex action to her words, Naman leapt on to his feet and ran outwards, his mind racing ahead of him, scrambling to choose his next words and emotions when he would face Bharat. 

Does he call out his name?  Just shout stop ? How does he manage it to be between a  command or request tone? Or simply shout a “Sorry” ? None seemed right because he wasn't sure how he felt right now.  He was still furious about what he had done.

He got outside and onto the road leading to the gate for the colony. Bharat's green-grey Bajaaj scooter was nowhere to be seen.

By the time Naman came back, Mom was in the kitchen already. "Kee gall hoi?" ‘How did it go?’ She inquired.

“Nothing. He had left already. I'll talk to him when I meet him next time" Naman responded unconvincingly, keeping his eyes to the ground, walking briskly towards his room. 

Naman busied himself, trying to take his mind off the altercation. He was struggling to accept all that had transpired within the last 10 minutes. 

It wasn't unlike him to argue to prove his point but it was very much unlike himself to be so rude to ask someone to get out. In fact this was a first for himself. But then Bharat was outright lying to his face! This was …. Day light robbery!

Naman was so lost in his thoughts he didn't realise how long Mom had been standing in the doorway, a plate of uncooked rice grains in one hand, picking out tiny white pebbles with the other. He only registered her presence when she gently placed the plate on the nearby study table and sat besides him.

“Hoya ki hai?”

‘Tell me what's wrong?’ She asked in her comforting mom-like tone. 

“He cheated me mom! He sold me a CD with just manuals instead of software I asked him to get! And then…. “ the banks were breached and he was surprised when he started bawling like a little boy.

Mom kept her hand on his lap and said “ bas, bas”. He tried to regain his composure, feeling ashamed, a twenty year old crying like that.

“He’s been lying for the last two weeks, telling me he'll get the right one but he didn't. “ Naman pleaded between sobs, still on the verge of crying. “Today he got another CD but it was exactly the same as first one. When I asked, he claimed that's the one he had always promised! Can you believe that ? Why would he agree to change it in the first place if he thought it was the right one?? ”

“ Bas! Aide wich ron di kedhi gal hai?” ‘That's it? What's there to cry in it?’ mom inquired

“Sir svaa pa odey. Kinney di hai ? Kissey hor kolon le le.” ‘*Shame on him‘ Mom said with her oft repeated lament, ‘How much did it cost? Just get it from some one else’ - she suggested. 

That triggered him and off he went crying again

" Maine itni muskkil se passion ka intezaam kiya tha “ ‘I took me so much effort to arrange for that money’ - Naman sobbed and said.

" 1500 Rupees. That new student whom I started tutoring…..  it was all for this CD. I take time out of my college …. my computer classes ….. I walk so far ….. wreck my brains out….  All of it for one greedy person to come and take me for a fool ? …. " he blabbered in broken sentences before realising he didn’t exactly mean to pour out his heart like that. 

Although close to his family, he never complained, nor mentioned the pressures he was going through to fund his studies and software development coaching. After all, everyone in his family were all dealing with similar situations in their own unique ways - making the best possible use of opportunities amidst dearth of resources.

“ Bas bas. Koi gal nahin. Aistraan himmat nahin chhaddi di” - ‘there there, don't give up like that’ she consoled, wiping away his tears with her palm, a but of his anguish now reflecting in her eyes and a couple of wrinkles on her forehead too.

“But mom he cheated ...." Naman started

“Sir svaa odey.” - ‘Shame on him’ - She repeated and interrupted him in her mock scolding tone. 

“Khasmaan nu khaaye. 1500 rupaye hi si na? Koi gall nahin. Pher aa jaan ge. Tainnu pata te hai sadde naal aiston kinney waddey waddey dhokhe hoey ne, o vi apneyaan haathon.“ 

‘Let him go to hell (Not literal translation). It was just Rs.1500 wasn’t it? ‘ Mom asked and continued without waiting for an answer this time - ‘You’ll earn that again. You know very well, we’ve been defrauded for much bigger amounts and that too by people close to us. ‘

“Rabb sab vekhda ai. Tere haq da tu aiston kayi guna hor kama lega, mainnu pata hai”

‘God sees everything. I know for sure, if you deserve it, you’ll earn many more times of that’ - she continued and assured Naman, although still in a mock telling off tone. 

This was very much mom like  paranormal, poetic justice perspective but it got the penny to drop in Naman’s head. He sat there, still sobbing softly but no longer feeling the tinge of being belittled - neither for being taken advantage of nor for being rude even to someone who did wrong by him. Instead, he was surprisingly feeling richer by the whole experience. In an instant he saw it for what it was - a little hinderance in his hither to smooth sailing but short experience in gainful employment. In the grand scheme of life, this would be one of many such events and he can’t allow himself to fly off the hinge. Instead it was time to learn and take notes. 

He was now looking forward to see Bharat, walking up to him and saying sorry for treating him the way he did. He had already lost his money but, thanks to his mom’s words, he could mentally write off the amount now and claim back his moral high ground. Then, he could start working his way back to saving again and get the software through a better person in near future. 

Twenty five odd years later, living comfortably in a different country and much different financial situations, Naman once again has this feeling of being cheated. This time, it isn’t caused by a known face like Bharat but by faceless forces behind corporates. He is still going to challenge, sure. But by now he does not feel belittled when others are being less than efficient with facts or morals. 

Although there’s a lot of money at stake and it definitely hurts his finances, he remembers his mom’s favourite lament “Sir svaa odey” and take it all in his stride. 

*Sir svaa odey literally translates to let there be ashes on his/her head, with the intention of Shame on them. 

Don’t You Worry - Tu Chinta Na Kar

 Dejected, Amar sat there, disillusioned and demotivated. This was it. There was no other possible scope for his seemingly long, laborious life. He must end it. Family-less, jobless there was no aim nor ambition to keep him alive. Sitting on the cold, rusty park bench he held his head in his hands, absentmindedly staring at the moist glistening grass in the surprisingly sunny, September afternoon.

With a soft but definitely discernible, almost magical plop, a little silvery blue spec appeared on the grass right underneath his head, directly in his gaze. As his eyes focussed on the object, he extended his hand instinctively, inquisitively. He held it up delicately against the sun and realised what it was. A silver charm bead with a blue glass lining the outer rim.

Amar stood up and looked around. There was no one, not even a single soul on this side of the park.  All he could see in some distance were the giant rides in Legoland with very faint squeals of families having one last day of Summer holiday fun. He looked up towards the sky to spot a handful of birds, possibly seagulls, doing the rounds. Maybe it was something a seagull had been attracted to but then dropped it when it couldn't make a meal of it.

He sat down again and fidgeted around with the little charm still in his fingers, his heart delving back into the darkness that the little excitement of the charm was attempting to pull him out of. Still absentmindedly, his brain tried to place where he had seen such charms earlier. Maybe one of the Pandora shops he had visited while still with his wife. The glistening blue glass had a very pleasing effect almost calming, with subtle hints of air bubbles and some impurities in it. What great creative genius to leave such specks in jewellery - he thought. Almost inspired by life, as if to say fashion can't be without imperfections just like life never is. Maybe they even introduced some such specks to….

Amar suddenly sat straight up, his mind and heart jolted abruptly out of all thoughts of self- pity and suicide. He realised where he had seen such charms. It was in the little catalogue that the funeral director had handed out when he had visited them after his dad's funeral to settle the invoice.

This was not an off the shelf charm. It was a bespoke charm with a few grains of ashes baked into the glass lining for people to keep an iota of their departed loved ones close to them.

Rekindled by this realisation, Amar held the charm bead close to his face as he squinted to observe the hole in the middle of the charm. He could see there was a faint inscription on the inner seam of the charm. It was too tiny to read by itself so he brought out his phone and clicked a picture. He zoomed on the picture and read out the words. “Tu chinta na kar” it said in cursive font. 

Being born and brought up in Britain, his Hindi was barely passable but he understood this phrase well enough. "Don't you worry” it meant.

It was just about getting dark but Amar’s mind was as clear as the day had been a few minutes back. He knew what he had to do with the charm. He would send the charm back to the company that speacilizes in such ashes to glass services. Chances were they would have made this one and might be able to reunite this one with its rightful owner, probably heart broken having lost such an important part of their life.

Somehow, somewhere the inscription had triggered enough courage in his own heart to go back to his troubles and give it another go. “Tu chinta na kar” - Exactly something his mom would have said had she been alive and seen him in this state.

Up there somewhere in a different dimension, dealing with after life matters of our world and Amar's, another argument broke out among the Karma account staff. The matter at heart- should the good deed of saving Amar's life be counted towards the credit of the original speaker of those words in the inscription - fondly known as Penji?

Kesh Kartanaalaya Chronicles (किस्से Hair Cut के)

Chik-Chik-Chik... Tachik
Chik-chik-chik-chik ...- Khachik
Chik-chik-chik-chik ...- Khachik

Kainchi- scissors ki ye repetitive awaaz kareeb 5-7 minute chalti thi.

"Hilna mat varna kaan cut jayega" Nashe se laal aankhein liye jab naayi kehta tha to lakdi ke phatte par 6-7 saal ki nanhi si nicker band tashreef tak jhurjhuri si daudh jaati thi.

2 mahiney mein ek baar honey waali 'cutting' ka ek wo hissa hota tha jab naayi apne ustarey ko geeley chamde par ghis kar meri taraf maano slow motion mein badh raha hota tha. Desi Ustarey ka is tarah saamna karne ke liye ek taraf mann hi mann khud ko veerta puraskaar diye jaatey they, doosri taraf kaan aur gardan par चीतकारक (scream inducing), हृदयविस्फोटक (heart exploding),
असहनीय (unbearable) gudgudi hoti thi. Naana, parnaana sab yaad aa jaate they. Ab 6 ya 7 saal ki umra naayi ki maan aur behan ko yaad karne ki umra to hoti nahin hai!

Background mein boodhey radio par puraaney manhoos se gaaney chalte they.
“Kallan ki lugaayi ke mauda huo” (Mr Kallan’s wife has delivered a boy – or words to that effect) - Mrs Nai (नाईन ?) parde ke peechhe se kuchh to bhi announcement karti thi. Like a true professional immersed in his work, Mr Darua naayi mere baalon se saney face par beedi ka dhuuan dhakelte huey sirf “hmmmmm” ki hunkaar bhar deta tha.

Meanwhile, Cheating karte pakde gaye ladke ki tarah kisi tarah bina hiley, kasmasaatey se aapke bhai ne zindagi mein wo kathin padaav bhi kayi baar paar kiya. Uske baad har baar jale par namak ko charitaarth – exemplify kartey huey naayi thande haathon se fitkari ka paththar laga deta. Aur phir chubhte huey baalon bhari shirt pehne ghar tak ka cycle ka safar jaise nark ka trailer. Lets just say I am counting all these occasions as having had an adventurous life.

Agle 2-3 din us katora cut hajaamat ko lekar doston mein jo live chheenta-kashi chhedh-chhaadh (teasing) chalti thi usey hi aaj kal 'bullying’, ‘body-shaming’ jaise tamgon se sajaaya gaya hai. Naam naya, paap wahi.
Khair, 2 Rupayee waali hajaamat se expect bhi kya keejiye?

Jab teenage ke parr Iagaakar kachchi umra waali aashiqui ki udaan bharni chaahi to Aamir- Salman ki tasveeron waale "Hair cutting salon" par dhyaan gaya.
"Personality mein to apan bhi hero hi hain, bas baal set kar do boss" waale bhaav lekar gaye to sahi lekin nikle phir wahi mundu se ban kar. In hind sight, us Mithun se jhabre baalon waale hajaam ko dekh kar hi samajh jaana chahiye tha ki he was like a Junior Doctor. Deewaron par lagey poster uske liye medicine ke latest journals ki tarah they – handiwork of best in trade. And he was practising the latest trends on his subject - me ! Uske is experiment ki keemat - teen guna lagaan - yaani 7.50 Rupaye.

Aise kuchch experimental saalon ke baad, chhote sheher ke iss chhore ne hichkichaate huey Delhi ke ek decent se "Debonaire Men's Parlour" mein kadam rakha.
Aaiye aapko khaaka kheench doon or as they say - Let me paint you a picture. Badhiya AC yukta room, side mein cable TV – a novelty back then, sofa-susajjit, saaf suthre almost bhavya se bhavan mein Safed coat pehne ‘hair stylists’ ‘clients’ ko full courtsey se ‘serve’ karte huey. Gone were the days of paan chabaate, beedi phoonkte badboo waale naayis. Lekin rate list mein ‘gents cut only’ ke 30 Rupaye par nazar padhi to turant aatma ki aawaaz aayi – “beta nikal le yahaan se, teri ghani, reshmi zulfein abhi itni bhi keemti nahin hui hain"

Thanks to Sanju baba's khalnaayak, Yalgaar type roles and of course the new boy in B-town Shahrukh Khan, her rikshey waala lambey baal rakh raha tha. Yaani, if I played my cards right, 2-3 mahiney just another wannabe SRK ban kar baal na katwaata to "Debonaire Men's Parlour" was back on the table!

There I was 4 months later, sitting all mantra mugdh, mesmerized by the shiny branded bottles of hair-gels, after shaves, taking in the talc of Lakme and imagining that blow dryer blowing on my head. Har graahak ki gardan ko naya topaz blade allot ho raha tha, aadha hi sahi.

"Sir aapki lassi abhi lenge ya hair wash ke baad " – haav, bhaav aur taav se head stylist lagne waale ne Baniyaan pehne, baalon par mehendi lagaaye, Ganesh sa lambodar liye (pot bellied) ek uncle se poochha. Uncle ne Mamta Kulkarni waali Stardust se nazar hataaye bina bas haath badha diya. Doosri baaju par doosra doctor-coat waala naayi mukke maar-maar kar shaayad apna koi gham galat kar raha tha.
Wah! kya hospitality hai!!

Kuchh der baad pata chala, mehendi, massage, lassi aur tip milaakar lambodar uncle 375 ka chadhaawa chadhaa gaye!

Aaj, kareeb 20 saal baad, baalon mein ek taraf safedi ke saath chhupan chhupaayi chalti hai doosri taraf eeshwar se yaachna ki kaale safed jaise bhi ho, tera haath mere baalon waale sar par hamesha bana rahe. Isliye hair cut ke liye jaana apne aap mein ek Vijay yatra – walk of victory si lagti hai ki ishwar ne itne baal to diye ki katwaane bhi padhte hain.

Kyonki nostalgia is the latest trend, main kabhi kabhi hair cut waali Kainchi ki “chik – chik – chik – Tachik” mein bhi memories dhoondh leta hoon. England ke ek chhote se shehar mein bina coat waale but well trained stylists se hair cut karwaate huey “weather is horrible” aur “are you doing much this weekend” type small talk karte huey daruey naayi ko bhi yaad kar leta hoon.
Pound ke hisaab se kareeb 1500 rupaye ki chapat ya haircut ke baad bhi shirt par na aane waale baal to nahin chubhte lekin radio par Vividh Bharti ki jagah bajta rap zaroor chubhta hai. Ye bhi khayaal aataa hai ki Kallan’s Mauda – that son of Mr Kallan, must be a grown up young man now.

Pad-dington Yes, Pad-maavat - No

"You break it, you own it" goes the slogan in a gift shop.

In a society where an actor playing God Ram in a TV serial almost expects being worshipped in real life is no big deal, a movie grandiosely depicting mass suicide in the name of honour definitely wouldn’t break anything now would it ? Of course it will be consumed and then casually pass by as just another work of fiction - without any damage to the nation's collective intellect.

Sure, I believe you – voice of liberal Indians. Particularly when in recent times there is no evidence of a work of fiction, e.g. a poem, causing any complications to people confusing real lives and values with a poet's imaginary account.

I did consider watching the movie and I would have taken my daughter along. (After all it is certified 12A ) I could have even pointed at Deepika’s character (one that shall not be named for fear of a certain be-karani sena) and did the thing that parents do – offer to her a larger than life role model.
“Be brave like her” I could have said, based on reviews, "be the best version of yourself", stealing a line from Lady Bug, “ be a good daughter, a good wife, a good …..''
"Be a good wife to a husband who picked me on the basis of my looks and was already married anyway, Dad?" - is the question she wouldn’t have asked because she is too young for that.

And of-course, there's the whole part about the movie being aptly ‘disclaimed’ as a word of fiction. (definition - to deny or repudiate interest in or connection with; disavow; disown i.e. not the maker’s responsibility if you want to believe it ).
So, don’t worry , no real people were harmed in the making, distribution or the release of this movie.

Of Course, she would have understood that! After all every one in India understands and believes and honours the written word – just as long as you know how to make it go viral on WhatsApp or facebook or twitter or behind a truck
("Horn Please" – so everyone does just that,
" OK'' - everything is always ok in India - as long as it doesn’t affect you,
"Tata'' - bye-bye, in case you are lying on the road and happen to have fought your rapists). People read, believe and follow every word, as long as its not something boring like the law.

At the end of the fictional tale then, if at all my daughter was to ask why all the women were eager to surrender themselves to the fire? Well I would have to bring out my master argument about the context then, wouldn't I?

“That's what the women then used to do, dear daughter - gave up on life for the sake of their men who, by the way, themselves weren't too keen on living and dying for one woman.”
I would have counted on her young age to not ask follow up questions like :
why did those women still bother to train themselves in warfare, archery etc as shown in the movie (once again, relying on some reviews here), like their men ?
Nor would she ask If mere expendable women of yore, did really make those bold claims of Rajput bravado as a proud race or even just strength of character as women.
More importantly, I hope she wouldn’t have questioned the basis of Padmaavati’s supposedly strong character if she never intended to use her skills or said strong character ? Where was her well rounded character when adversity struck and the time really came for putting mind over matter, brains over bodily disgust, survival over societal expectations ?

I’m pretty sure, she wouldn't have asked any of that. After all no one has and the movie has already earned crores of rupees and millions of pounds. Surely a major heap of this mountain of moolah must be coming from progressive women in India & abroad – and their educated husbands. If adult women & men can't make that connection between crowd pleasing tactics and unrelated, useless historical (sic) accuracy to flock (definition : a number of animals of one kind, especially sheep) to theatres, why would my young daughter have pondered about that?

I think Mr Bhansali as an esteemed producer, director of such great movies as Black and Guzaarish etc had a choice and he used it, rather shrewdly, to make a movie almost counting on the controversy to make it a hit. Even Deepika had choices and she clearly stated these in a very progressive advertisement a few years back. (No Ranveer didn’t have a choice, he pretty much has to do what Mr Bhansali tells him to otherwise we all know he can’t claim to be a serious actor. )

But even viewers have a choice – to prove themselves as shameless sheep, senselessly going for inferior cinema and hypocritically going on questioning gender inequalities on social media. Or the choice of thwarting propagation of a regressive narrative, one thats not at all contributing to a useful dialogue in society at large.

Last weekend, I used my choice of ignoring the so-so Padmaavat and instead watched a much better movie called Paddington with my daughter.

Khud ko Khulaa Patra (Open Letter to Self)

Ranjan Baabu, Khush to bohot hoge tum aaj - badhi badhi celebrities ki tarah tumhaare naam bhi kisi ne khulaa patra, open letter likha hai ! Khud tum ne hi sahi. That means you have arrived!

By the way agar samajh na aaya ho, that line above was meant as satire, you fool. Ye khulaa patra isi baare mein hai ki apna Raita sameto, or as they say - get your act together. For thats all you are right now - a boondi ka faila hua raita with no social status attached.
Apne aas paas dekho - log kahaan se kahaan pohonch gaye. Paisa, shohrat, badhi badhi companiyon mein oonchi oonchi positions. Aur tum ? I mean main ? No I think tum is better. Aur tum kahaan ho aaj ? Wahi iPhone to iPhone upgrade karke apne aap ko fanne khan samajh rahe ho.
Zuckerburg ek site bana kar zabardast se bhi mast raees ho gaya. Tum bus dot com boom aur bust dono mein doosron ki sites par profilein hi banaate reh gaye. Mobile App ke boom mein bhi aap se kuchh khaas ukhadh na paya. Chindi si chaalis paise waali chalti purzi chu... I mean ghatiya apps ke 60 Rupaye de-dekar ab tak hazaaron rupaye doosre developers ko de chuke ho. Samay rehte agar fazool si zero-kaata waali app bhi bana di hoti to ab tak lakhon kama chuke hotey.

Isse pehle ki talent-heen honey ka pallu pakdo, ye sun lo ki aaj insaan ko talented nahin bas minimum denominator pleasing hona kaafi hai. Low hanging fruit yaani neeche latakta phal samjhte ho na ?
Ab us Ranveer Singh ko dekho. I mean mat hi dekho, kyon haazma kharaab karna lekin socho zara. Wo Ameeron ka Raju Srivastava aaj one of top rated ‘actors’ mein hai aur Deepika ka boyfriend ban kar zindagi ke maze le raha hai. Tum yahi sochte reh gaye ki hero banne ke liye Hrithik jaisi body aur Shah Rukh jaisi akal honi chahiye. Saale kuchh 3 kilo wazan kam kar ke chaddi baniyaan ke ad mein bhi photo dalwa dete to shayad koi B Subhash type B grade producer tumhey gunde ka role de hi deta. Kam se kam koshish to karte.

Wo bhi hatao. Suna hai sur ki kuchh samajh hai tumhey aur awaaz bhi bohot buri nahin hai. Jab koi dhinchak pooja blackboard par kaanch ghaseetne si awaaz mein gaakar lakhon kama gayi, tab tum kahaan they be?

Aur kabhi kabhaar likh bhi lete ho tum, hai na? Maana kahin ke Premchand ya Prasoon Joshi nahin lekin vocabulary, sense aur grammar to theek thaak hi laga lete hoge. Ab jao dekho un Bloggers ke followers ko jo copy, paste mein PHD kiye baithe hain.
Nalaayak aaj agar sirf video game khelne ka video bhi daal do to ye akal ke physically challenged youth log aise cheetiyon ki tarah chimadh padhte hain.

Wo bhi jaane do. Aaj har Tom ka Dick aur uski Hairy Ass crypto currency bhaj kar bhaari tadaad mein note bator rahi hai. Tum sochte raho bhaiya ki Bitcoin lene hai ya mine karne hai.

Sachhayi ye hai dost ki tumse na hoga. Na ab tak hua hai aur aise hi rahe to aage bhi na hoga. Ye khula patra ko print kar ke apne aainey (mirror) par laga daalo aur roz subah shaam isse nazarein milao. Socho, samjho, seekho. Quality ke maapdand ko todh daalo aur sheeghra se sheeghratam, cheap se cheaptam kuchh to kar daalo. Khuley patra ko shuruaat hi samjho.

Karwa Chauth ki Vyatha

Peedhit Patiyon ki Sanstha waise to shaayad ek kaalpnikta (fiction) hi hai lekin agar kabhi aisi koi Sanstha ban jae to meri ek request hogi – please uska ek department karwa chauth peedhiton (victims of KC) ke liye banaya jaaye.
Ek out-patient department ki tarah KC Victims dep­artment karwa chauth peedhit patiyon ke dukh ko suney, bas sirf sun hi le, nivaran (resolution) to koi maayi ka laal kar nahin payega.

In bechaaron ko walk-in clinic ki zaroorat bhi nahin hogi. Sirf phone lines ya whats-app group wagerah par hi Peedhit Karwe* apne dard ko baant lenge. Personally pohonch kar dukhda roney ki inki himmat hogi nahin - kyonki inke pairon par hoti hain glaani ki bedhiyaan (shackles of guilt).
(*karwe - derivative of karwa- the supposed, tatha-kathit centre of karwa chauth - Pati, fiance’, boyfriend, babu, jaanu, baby, shona ityadi)
Actually this Vyatha ki katha (tragedy) is all about their guilty conscience. Ikkeesween sadi (21st Century) mein, terrorism, road rage, mysterious flight disappearances ke chalte, lagta hai Yam Raj ne apne staff ko circular issue kar diya hai ki 'Focus on Targets. Please don't issue long life assurances in exchange of any vrats etc'.
Yaani KC ka vrat is all about buttering up your Saas and playing dressed-up dolls with your Sakhiyaan - nothing to do with life assurance.
Aur ye sachchayi har pati ko pata hai. Phir bhi ye allah ka banda apni vrat rakhne waali patni ki farmaishein sunta hai aur sirf apne guilty conscience (glani bhaav) ke kaaran uski har farmaayish ke liye haan kar deta hai.
Pachees paise ke dhaniye par daant khaane wala ye insaan paanch rupaye ki choodiyon ke 500 - 5000 rupaye bhi deta hai, maththi aur mithayi ki line main ghanton intezaar bhi karta hai. Aur to aur beewi ke shaadi waale ghaghre ke ghere ko uski aaj ki kamar ke hisaab se fit karwaane ke liye darzi ke talwe bhi chaat-ta hai. Bhale bechara khud ghisi hui jeans ko fashionable bata kar pehnta rahey.
Aur mehndi se hatheli par jo racha jaata hai usey is abhaage abhimanyu ka
chakravyuh nahin to kya samjein? Mehendi lagaane waali ke chunaav se lekar mehndi lagne ki baari aane tak ka ek poora reality show ban sakta hai.
Finally, ek hath hawa mein uthaaye, doosre ko us mehndi waali ko samarpit kiye huey jab patni raani kehti hain ki "Suno inhe 10,000 Rupaye dene hain " – tab is sheeghra hi deerghaayu paane waale (soon to attain longevity) ka dil jaise Shahrukh ki film ki tarah dharatal par dharashaahi ho jaata hai.
Mare huey mann ka kriya karm kar ke, jab tak ye veer baalak paise lekar waapas aatey hain mehndi ki dukaan ka jaise haal hi badal chuka hota hai. Wahaan jama hui anjaan naariyean inhein aise dekh rahi hoti hain jaise itni si der mein underwear ke size se lekar pichhle bonus ke saare raaz khole ja chuke hain. Aap ke paas jo kuchh mol bhaav karne ki rahi sahi himmat bachi hoti hai wo bhi jawaab de jaati hai.
Mehendi lag jaane ke baad patni ki jo majboori waali madad hoti hai wo shaadi ke ek-do salon tak romantic category mein fit ho sakti hai lekin uskebaad wo 'khaatoon ki khidmat mein salaam ‘ zyaada mehsoos hoti hai. Kisi tarah se soye huye bachche, beewi ke dupatte, purse, mobile, lense ki dibbi wagerah ko ye aadhi raat ke bhi baad sakushal ghar pohonchaate hain.
Vrat waale din tak glaani ke shikanje poorey kas chukey hotey hain. Rishta ek jagah, sirf maanveeyta ke aadhar par bhi ( even on humanitarian grounds) koi bhookha rahe aur aap uske heath ka bana khana kha rahein hon to moonh se pet
tak ka raasta aasaan nahin hota. Aise khaane se bhookh to maari ja sakti hai, tripti nahin ho sakti.
Lekin kya karein, mard jo thehre. Kabhi kisi se keh nahin sakte na ki bhookhi sherni ke saamne senti ho rahe hain.
Aise mein koi saali-saheli ya bharteeya sanskriti se door, koi angrez ye keh deti hai "Awwwww so sweet of her !
Wouldn’t you fast to appreciate her efforts? Mrs Falaani ka pati Mr. Dhimkaana loves her so much ki wo bhi hamesha saath hi vrat rakhte hain !”

Ek taraf to uss gaddaar Mr. Dhimkaane ke liye mann mein chuninda apshabdon (choicest of abuses) ki jaise machine gun chal jaati hai. Doosri taraf aap falsafaana (philosophical) andaaz mein ye samajhne ki koshish karte ho ki maanavta ka ant (end of humanity) kitna nikat aa chuka hoga.
Is samaaj mein ek taraf to saj-dhaj kar, hazaaron rupayon ki bali chadha kar saheliyon- bhabhiyon se dikhaawe ki hodh waale selfie syndrome ko pyaar maana jaata hai.
Doosri taraf ek bechaare maansik roop se pratadhit (mentally harassed) praani ko kaha jaata ki jo hua so hua , ab bhookhey pyaasey reh kar prem ki pareeksha do to maanein.
Aise samaaj mein maanveeyta ka bhavishya kisi chaand ke dikh jaane se andhkaar rahit nahin ho paayega.
Khair jab tak is tarah ke KC dukhi patiyon ki vyatha samajhne waali sanstha nahin khul jaati, maine to Modi style one-sided mann ki baat kar li.
Aap ki bhi koi madad hui ho to our achcha warna agle Karwa Chauth ke liye All the Best.

हम तो बाबू लोग हैं

८० के दशक में फ़िल्म हीरो के एक गीत के बोल थे "तू मेरा जानू है, तू मेरा दिलबर है"। दीन दुनिया और हिंदी अंग्रेज़ी की समझ से जूझते इस बाल मन में ये शब्द जानू अटक सा गया।  तब तक मिस्टर इंडिया आयी नहीं थी लेकिन इतना तो समझ में आ ही गया था कि स्कूल में मोग़ैम्बो नुमा शर्मा सर इस सवाल से कोई बहुत ख़ुश नहीं होंगे कि "सर  ये जानू क्या होता है ?"

फिर एक और फ़िल्म आयी जिसका नाम ही था जानू। बिना किसी के समझाए सम्पूर्ण भारत वर्ष और इस लेखक को समझ में आ गया की जानू dear - डार्लिंग, प्रिये -प्रियतमा जैसे किताबी संबोधनो का व्यावहारिक, प्रैक्टिकल अवतार था ( by the way that's how you pronounce it - its not ऐवटार its अवतार)। क्यूँ और कैसे कोई जान से जानू बन जाता है ये ना तो सुभाष घई साहब ने बताना ज़रूरी समझा ना मेरे समझने की उम्र थी। 

पिछले कुछ सालों से मार्केट में एक नया स्नेहकारी शाहकार शब्द का प्रचलन है जो जानू से ज़्यादा नहीं तो उतना ही विस्म्यकारी है। ये नया शब्द है बाबू । कहते हैं जब दोस्ती जान से आगे जाकर, जानू को लाँघकर, बेबी की हदें पार कर लेती है तो आपको अपने दिलबर में बाबू दिखता है। 

इसे वो sophisticated बाबू ना समझें जिन्हें किसी ज़माने में मधुबाला और नए ज़माने में याना गुप्ता धीरे चलने का आग्रह करती हैं । हालाँकि इस नए बाबू को भी गति, संगति और मति पे नियंत्रण रखने की उतनी ही संगीन ज़रूरत है। 

इसे किसी सरकारी दफ़्तर में ना होने वाले काम का महीन बोझ कंधों पर उठाए, नौकरी से आश्वस्त, रिश्वत लोलुप बाबू भी ना समझें। हालाँकि इन बाबू जी की सामाजिक स्थिति भी वैसी ही है - ये ख़ुद अपने आप को काम-काज और लोक-लाज से इतना परे समझते हैं कि इनके हवाले हुई ज़िम्मेदारियों और फटी जीन्स में पहले गिरने की होड़ लग जाती है। दैट्स बिकौज़ ही इज़ नोट ए बाबू मोशाय , ही इज़ बाबू नो-शाय। 

ये नया बाबू उन पुराने बाबुओं, जानूओं की छवि के विपरीत शायद कम वयस्क है। "मेले बाबू ने आज का काया ? " - यहाँ एक बाबू अपने बाबू से बच्चों की तरह तुतला कर पूछ रहा है की उसने आज क्या खाया। 

जानू के ज़माने में जहाँ फ़ोन और चिट्ठी का प्रचलन था आजकल के बाबू मोबाइल के ओर छोर अपना जाल बुनते पाए जाते हैं। सुनने में आता है की अक्सर  दोनो मोबाइल के बिल बाबुओं के जोड़े में से एक ही भरता है - शायद वो जिसे कुछ-कुछ कुछ ज़्यादा ही होता है। इन्हें ना तो 'साजन साजन पुकारूँ गलियों में ' वाले pain in the neck को झेलना पड़ता है ना ही अनजाने अपार्टमेंट के नीचे ' अरे मीना कहाँ है तेरा ठिकाना' पे नाचना पड़ता है। आज के युग में पिज़्ज़ा नहीं साहब बाबू लोगों का तथा कथित 'प्यार' है जो तीस मिनट से कम में फ़ोन पर भी मिलता है। 

इस बाबू को बेस भी पसंद है और फ़ेस भी - अपने बाबू के साथ साथ अपना फ़ेस भी हर समय फ़ेस बुक पर सजाए रखने का जैसे इसने अपने ना होने वाले ससुर को वचन दिया हो। 

आज का बाबू ब्राण्ड अवगत नहीं अपना ब्राण्ड ऐम्बैसडर ख़ुद है। श्री श्री बादशाह और साथियों के विख्यात शब्दों में  " इसे गाड़ी चाहिए लम्बी , इसे म्यूज़िक चाहिए loud। कहते तो हैं स्टूडेंट हैं but I doubt" । अर्थात : इनकी ज़िंदगी की प्राथमिकताओं की समझ में कुछ झोल है। इन्हें चरित्र नहीं चित्र सुंदर चाहिए जो ये एक तरफ़ तो अपने बाबू को रिझाने के उपयोग में लाएँ और दूसरी ओर अपने तथाकथित मित्रों से शेयर करने के बहाने दुश्मनी निभा सकें। 

सुनने में तो लगता है कि हिंदुस्तानी समाज को इस नए विदेशी जंतु से तुरंत छुटकारा मिलना चाहिए। लेकिन ज़रा सा टटोलने से आपको दिख जाएगा कि ये पूर्णत: देसी नसल है। आख़िर इस फ़सल का पेड़ वही था जो अस्सी के दशक में जानू के नाम से जाना जाता था। 

गीतकार समीर ने शायद कलयुग की इस चाल को समझते हुए ही कहा था -" धीरे धीरे प्यार को बढ़ाना है, हद से गुज़र जाना है। " बाबू लोग शायद उसी हद से गुज़रने का नतीजा हैं। 

कोट के अंदर की जेब

"जैसे जैसे उसके पाँव कमरे की ओर बढ़ रहे थे, उसके दिल की धड़कने धकनी की तरह तेज़ होती जा रही थीं। रात के २ बजे उसने पूरा घर छान मारा था लेकिन उसकी बीवी कहीं नहीं थी । दरवाज़े पर पहुँच कर उसके क़दम ख़ुद ब ख़ुद ही रुक गए। दिसम्बर की सर्दी में भी उसका माथा पसीने पसीने हो रहा था । इस समय उसकी हालत उस आदमी की तरह थी जिसके पास पेट भरने को सिर्फ़ एक १० रूपए का नोट बचा था और वो भी कहीं खो गया था। और अब उसका हाथ कोट के अंदर की आख़री जेब तक पहुँच तो गया था लेकिन वो हाथ डालने से डर रहा था। कहीं वो जेब भी ख़ाली हुई तो ?"

सुरेन्द्र मोहन पाठक के किसी नॉवल में इस प्रकार का एक घटना क्रम और कोट के अंदर की आख़िरी जेब का यह उदाहरण मैंने कई साल पहले पढ़ा था। मुझे नहीं लगता आप में से कोई उस नॉवल को जाकर पढ़ेगा इसलिए आपकी उत्सुकता शांत करने के लिए मैं बता सकता हूँ की उसकी बीवी उस कमरे में भी नहीं थी। 

लेकिन यह लेख किसी पुरानी किताब की समीक्षा नहीं है। मेरे लिए उल्लेखनीय बात थी कोट के अंदर की उस जेब का उदाहरण। वो आख़िरी जेब जो उन हालात में हताश निराश परेशान ज़िंदगी की आख़िरी उम्मीद थी। लेकिन मैं जानता हूँ की वही बेजान कोट की छुपी हुई जेब कभी वो तोहफ़ा भी होती है जो बिना किसी उम्मीद के मिल जाता है। 

मैं कुछ ७-८ साल का था जब मेरे हाथ ऐसे ही एक कोट में से कुछ रुपए लग गए थे। ज़्यादा नहीं यही कुछ १० -२० रुपये। रक़म अपने आप में कुछ ख़ास नहीं थी लेकिन एक ७-८ साल के बच्चे के लिए वो फिर भी काफ़ी थी। यह मुझे याद नहीं की उस नादान उम्र में मुझे कितनी समझ थी लेकिन यह याद है कि मेरी ख़ुशी उन पैसों से कहीं ज़्यादा थी। वो काग़ज़ भारत सरकार के "धारक" को किए वादे के नहीं मेरे स्वर्गीय पिता की निशानी थे। उनकी निशानी जिनकी शक्ल तक मुझे तस्वीर के माध्यम से ही पता थी।  ऐसे में वो नोट मेरे हाथ लगना जिन्हें तब से कुछ साल पहले सिर्फ़ और सिर्फ़ उनके हाथों ने कोट के अंदर की उस जेब में रखा हो सकता था - अपने आप में ये विचार आज भी मेरी आत्मा के क़रीब है। 

कई बार हैरानी होती है की उम्मीद - ना-उम्मीद, नीरस जीवन और बेतहाशा ख़ुशी के बीच की दूरी इतने महीन धागों से कैसे निर्धारित हो सकती है? शायद ये बारीकी धागों के उन रेशों की नहीं, जीवन के उन इकलौते पलों की है जो मायूसी को उम्मीद से, बीते कल को आज से बांधे रखते है। ज़रूरी नहीं कि हमेशा ये पल कोट की जेब के अंदर छुपे मिलें। ऐसे पल दरवाज़े की आहट, फ़ोन की घंटी, ख़त के बंद लिफ़ाफ़े जैसे मामूली परदे के दूसरी ओर दुबके छिपे हो सकते हैं। 

लेकिन ये ज़रूर है की एक बार वो छोटा दिखने वाला उम्मीद का नाज़ुक बड़ा पल जिस भी शक्ल में मिल जाए, वो शक्ल - कोट के अंदर के जेब की तरह - हमेशा के लिए आपकी उम्मीद भरी नज़रों से मिलेगी। 

सिर्फ़ दिल के साथ लगी हुई नहीं, बल्कि दिल के क़रीब, कोट के अंदर की जेब की तरह। 

Thought for food

"The trouble with writing is we all do a little of it from time to time.And some of us start to think, delusionally,maybe with a little time, little peace, a little money in the bank, and you get that room of your own you think 'Well shit ! I might be a writer too !'
We Accept genius in sports as something we cannot do......
....because What you have to be before you try to be (say) an (olympic) pole-vaulter is a Pole Vaulter." - The Gambler (2015)

The above is from a little speech by the protagonist in the movie, playing an Assistant English professor, trying to impress upon his students the value of talent and practice in the writing profession, instead of trying to force themselves as mediocre writers on the world.

I like my food as I like my literature - prepared tastefully and lovingly. I know I am not alone but it seems like I belong to a generation being pushed out of fashion. There are still award winning books, movies etc that don't make millionaires out of the creative geniuses behind them.
Call me the textbook definition of snobbish or snooty or a 'wannabe intellectual' but I have my individual sense of taste and I therefore expect the subject of consumption to be a child of love rather than an outcome of  a bastardised copy paste recipe. Either of them, Food or Literature, needs to appeal to multiple senses of a sensible being. Both of them need to simultaneously stimulate the appetite as well as provide that sense of gratification in their respective receptacles of absorption.

I would prefer my reading material to bear from sources that are original, polished and maybe prosaic to please the poet in me. I would want to sink the teeth of my mental faculties into  words that tingle my wit-buds and zap those grey cells.
I would rather let my mind be drooling for lingering ribbons of a language that lend to my lexicon rather than condemn my brain to pick bones off the ever degrading teenager slang (Irrespective of how ever many of those make it to recognised dictionaries).
Grammar to me, is the gravy that adds salt, spice and texture of gravitas and grace, not just to the words that form but the feelings and thoughts that lead to those words on paper.

I like my content served subtle and sexy - not too hot with flames of exaggerated simplification, but just simmering enough to allow a sensuous affair to rage between the writer's words and the reader's thoughts. That doesn't mean I mind crunchy or even saucy stuff with crude jokes or obscenity thrown in for a flavour but then even absurdity deserves a flair to make it funny. You can't serve a Hyderabadi Biryani with a chocolate chutney and get away with it !


Most importantly - my kind of text comes with contextual richness worthy of my time and effort. My attention deserves a good mind-full of thoughts to chew on rather than wasting my brains and brawn on a hollow bone of banter. In a world where the term 'food for thought' has been force fed ad-nauseam, "thought" and opinion really are suffering the same dichotomy of abundance and insufficiency as food itself.



"Have you ever noticed ? You could have the most intense one to one discussions with any individual. However, as soon as the same people are in a group, the level of intellect seems to fall to the lowest common level of intelligence !"

That was a great observational insight I had heard after what seemed like an eternity. At the face of it, it explains my sense of aloofness in a social gathering buzzing with conversation. On digging slightly deeper, I realised it might also be the reason behind my general disdain with the way my online reading habits have been over the last few years.

The platform of internet and social media had (still has) the potential of exchanging thoughts with those who care to approach with an open mind. A milieu of minds meandering towards a merry medley, mingling to generate a fusion of ideas.

But Alas! As the dish of social media was left out for too long, it had to go sour - it became just another big group of people, catering to the lowest level of intelligence and being part of a large mutual admiration club. The content served on social media is generally aimed at getting those microseconds of online fame. Doesn't matter if it is plagiarised, falsified or plain misrepresentation. Besides questionable sources, there often is too little in meaning and thought formation, if any.
Screen fatigue and Scroll-dumbness later you realise that the article you just read was never telling you anything new. And it didn't even make for a good read as the language was average, at best and nothing enjoyable.

Hence the sense in that statement above - the more people there are in a conversation, the less likely it is to have a sensible conversation for long. In terms of creative content posted online as well as offline, I have started using this equation in reverse. Too many followers (likes, forwards in online terms) to a single source mean -
Caution:
Tread carefully. Stupidity and Close mindedness ahead. 

Fact is, just like not everyone was born or brought up to be a pole vaulter or a cook, not everyone is meant to be a writer. While it is within everyone's right to throw together their choice of ingredients of thought into a bowl full of words, it is the reader's prerogative to refuse it politely - for reasons of language and/or opinions.

It's a foregone conclusion to me that freedom of opinion is not the same concept as equality of intellect. If humanity were a body, we would want to pay attention to the signals sent down by the cells that form the brain, not the ones sent up the rear end, where the sun of knowledge never shines.

Ideation is like fruits, the low hanging ones are in abundance but its the higher up ones that are pleasing and worth waiting, even paying for.

Pakora Passion

Its a mesmerising sight by itself when Sushil chops onions at lightening speed while simultaneously taking orders for Mangodas. He would be doing that one minute and then dexterously start frying mangodas in the next minute, surrounded by a crowd of people. All of them, with their eager eyes and their salivating mouths hoping and praying they would get a stake in the next batch of mangodas. The younger me, about 20 years ago, had a mental track of where I stood in that queue of mangoda lovers.  Sushil Mangoda Bhandar still has a huge fan following. His humble pushcart at a hardly clean spot, right besides a busy highway in Jabalpur is frequented, by rich and poor fans alike. What you get here for a mere 5-10 Rupees is a few grams of these crude, crunchy moong daal pakoras. Piping hot, placed on that earthy smelling leafy plate, flattened by his (presumably not so clean) palm, splattered on with a tangy chutney and chopped onions. Most people had a serving and waited for the next batch too. Almost the culinary parallel to the more recent concept of TV series cliff-hangers - just the right combination of quantity and content to keep you hooked for the next installment !

I happened to read an article by Vir Sanghvi that made me realise how unjust we have been in appreciating our dear old pakoras. Every Indian I know loves them, has stories of and around them but the mention of pakoras somehow lacks that awesomeness that it deserves. I trust Vir Sanghvi's research and experience when he proclaims that Pakoras (Bhajiya in central India or Bhajji as they are known in UK) are an Indian invention. Unlike the samosa, Vir suggests, we can claim credit for rest of the world's similar attempts at batter fried snacks like Tempura.
This piece is an attempt to stake my share in that passion and appreciation for pakora. Come celebrate the Pakora with me, as the Big B might say!

No doubt Sushil's Mangodas or Aalloo Bonda (Batata Vada) awakened the deep love of dish within me, but that wasn't in any way my introduction to pakoras. My family, like anyone else's in central India had pakoras starring in and as the morning breakfast, evening snacks or any time snack for that matter. The usual was thick cut potato or onion rings, dunked in a besan (chick pea flour) batter, fried to that crispy golden glow and that rich aroma of a special meal. Or bread pakoras with/without a filling of potatoes or mint chutney  - capable of converting any ordinary wet or sunny day into an "evento especial" (Khaas Mauka). To any Indian worth his/her Desh ki Mitti (soil of motherland) mere mention of a Barsaat (rainfall) should conjure up images of pakoras and tea. 

Pakoras, in all their simplicity, owe some gratitude to a supporting cast - dollops of tangy imli (tamarind) or Mint chutney, tomato ketchup, a helping of diced onions, a slice or two of white bread and at times a sprinkling of chaat masala. Put them all together as an unassuming but quick yet never failing sandwich with pakoras as the main filling. Better still if you replace sliced bread with buns (pav or bread roll) a-la vada pav. I like to take it slow and extend the pleasure - a bite of a pakora with just a touch of the chutney followed by biting off the onion as if an afterthought but what a great one at that.

However, the Shashi Kapoor to this Amitabh has to be Chai (the word Tea doesn't do justice to the Indian version) - something that can stand all by itself and yet neither can ever go without reminding you of the other. The bliss of knowing that a slurp of chai is to be followed by a bite of your hot and crispy pakora can only be paralleled by .... another sip of chai having chewed 86% of that pakora bite. 

There is another famous pakora shop that has to be mentioned here - the one in Sarojini Nagar, Delhi. Its like the Costco of Pakoras (Thok Vikreta - Wholesale Dealer). They are so busy selling pakoras that they don't even bother serving chutney with it - they just leave Jugs of it outside for you to pour it into plates for yourself. The Variety they serve extends from the must haves like Aaloo, Onion to also ran entries like Bhein (Kamal Kakdi - Lotus Stem) and Baingan (Egg plant or brinjal).

One of their star attractions is Paneer Pakora but I do have my doubts about it. That is the only pakora where I think the besan batter barely sticks around the paneer,  pretending that its making a difference. Like Uday Chopra in a Dhoom movie - or any movie for that matter. The reality is that Paneer is a rockstar by itself and I would gladly pay to eat a Cube or two with a green chutney, with or without a pakora or Tikka or Chilli Paneer facade around it.

However, good Pakoras, just like good times, are not enjoyable solely on the principles of  a carefully crafted recipe or expensive ingredients. They 'happen' with good company. The chai and chutney wouldn't add much if the pakoda session is between you and yourself. The monsoon rains or a train journey would still be just a nuisance with the crispiest of pakoras if you do not have that company to make it all worthwhile. 

In the spirit of a mirchi pakora, maybe it doesn't even need to be with a loved one. I guess anyone with interest in a tangy topic would anyday make a good pakora-mate. Like a colleague with the juiciest gossip about that office romance or a fellow passenger in the train with sufficient interest in politics or cricket or movies (and thats entire India except maybe 5-6 people). If thats not happening anytime soon, we could always have pakoras while having a flash back about past pakora sessions.    

Irrespective of how, where and with whom, here's to a life long passion for pakoras, always enjoyed best with a responsible choice for a drink and a tangy attitude to life! 

What's on my mind ?

Fb: what's on your mind ....

Me : face book, we need to talk.

Fb: Look, your friend just said something about the stupid ban on a great documentary in India. Do you want to say something about that ?

Me: err No ... Listen, its ...

Fb: would you like to tell him you agree? Just say 'like' and he'll understand.

Me : no, i haven't seen it, the documentary I mean.

Fb: why would that be a problem? Look 5 of your friends already agree with his thoughts.

Me: (looking at the names) not sure if any of them would ever watch such a thing but listen. Its not about that. I need to talk to you ... About what I think.

Fb : your friend just posted a picture of a party and says she had great fun with 3 others of your common friends.

Me: good for them. Listen , we used to have these exchanges when I told you what I thought of life.

Fb: another one of your friends liked that picture of the party. You have to like it otherwise she'll think you are jealous.

Me : no, I'm not jealous. I'm sure I was having a good time with my family while they were out.

Fb: all of your common friends either liked it or said they are sorry to have missed it. Don't you wonder why you weren't invited?

Me: I know who I want to hang out with and I don't need to publicise when I'm having a good time... With family or friends.

Fb: look how happy that family is vacationing at that exotic location. Do you want to tell them they are the bestest of families ?

Me: no. All families are best for themselves and therefore no family gets to be "bestest" ...

Fb : but one of your other friends thinks this family is the best.

Me: In fact I know she says that to every family pic she sees. That right there is an example of degrading both the language and your judgement when you apply superlatives to every thing that you see. That's kind of what I want to talk about....

Fb: you should like the pic. Otherwise they would think you were ...

Me : jealous ?

Fb: yes.

Me: as I said, I don't honestly believe there is anything extraordinary about that picture or family. I can only be glad for them having fun but thats it. Enough about others. I need to tell you what i think about life and ....

Fb: another one of your friend has shared a video and says "dat iz da kewlest trix seen in mah whole lyf". Like it ?

Me: please Fb. Remove him from my friend list. Or at least don't tell me when he posts stuff. I didn't go through all those years of education, write all those exams treating mah language wid da utmost ov ...... Oh my God. See what he has done? What YOU have done to my language?

Fb: you are over reacting. None of his friends seem to mind. In fact they always like his comments. Maybe its all right to spell that way. May be its all right if you get his drift.

Me: it might be fashionable for a generation which thinks its "cool" or "hot" or  ... whatever is the right temperature to be these days... Language has a certain beauty and art to it, when used the right way. I can't participate in publicly raping it just because someone thinks it is ok to do so. And I'll wait till their children start failing in class for their inheritance of bad spelling and grammar. For now, I will chose to avoid reading such garbage.

Fb: What you need is to pay heed to this witty line from your friend. She says ' Don't take life too seriously. You'll never get out of it alive' ! Nice, isn't it ? Like it !

Me : But that isn't her line.

Fb : So?

Me: She should have mentioned its a quote! She can't pretend she came up with that all on her own.

Fb: Don't you get it ? YOU are taking life too seriously. That's why you are objecting to such frivolous things. Just like it and move on.

Me : Maybe I am. Maybe its just a little thumbs up with a mouse click that no one cares about. But what about my better judgement ? Where do I get to practise it ? I didn't ask to read poorly edited, wrongly spelt, misquoted or even incorrectly quoted excerpts. Why should I promote those who do it ?

Fb: "Reality is an Acquired taste" - Robert Fritz

Me : Now that's just.... Actually that's a great line. I agree with it. I Like it. Who posted that ?

Fb: Who cares ?

Me: I for one do appreciate it. That's a great example of dense thinking expressed in so few words and I appreciate people with intellect, willing to put an effort to subtleties and assign credit where its due.

Fb: As your friend says "Judging person doesn't define them It defines us so I never judge people for what they say or do its only reflection what ...." See more ? Like ? Comment ?

Me: Yes I do judge people. Yes I do believe that says more about me than the people whom I judge. But I can't like that or even care to read more of that.

Fb: And what's your excuse this time ? You like intellectuals and the thinking kinds don't you ?

Me: I agree with the thought there but he too has butchered someone else's quote and stabbed it to death with poor grammar.  The way it is worded, its almost a contradiction. Coming from him, it comes across more as a thinly veiled attempt to present a 'holier than thou' attitude to rest of the world. Although I know he didn't mean it that way.  

Fb : So like it ?

Me: No. That means I'll avoid reading any more of his posts so I do not misconstrue his intentions.

Fb: ohhhhhh such a cute little baby holding her dad's finger. Like it! Your friend just posted it and there are already 12 likes. Quick or yours will be lost in the hump-of-the-camel "like" zone.

Me : what the ?? And by the way all babies look like little monkeys that close to birth. Mine did too.

Fb: ... And didn't he like the picture you posted then ? All of your friends liked it.

Me: but that's because .... (Deep sigh)
(Typing on Fb) Congrats to the lucky parents. Hope all is fine with mother and baby. She's so cute (smiley face) !!!

Fb: So. What's on your mind today ?

Me: Oh, never mind. It's too complicated for you. I'll talk to my blog. Let us stick to sharing cute pics and funny videos. 

दीवाली के इंतज़ार की यादें

बचपन में दीवाली पर लिखे निबंध एक सीमित रूप रेखा के साथ होते थे - कार्तिक माह की अमावस्या, भगवान राम की अयोध्या वापसी, नए कपड़े, मिठाइयां इत्यादि के आस पास बुना हुआ. अब सोचो तो ऐसा लगता है वो निबंध अपने आप में खुद दीवाली की एक रीत सी बन गया था, दीवाली के इंतज़ार की उन निशानीयों की तरह जो दीवाली से हफ़्तों पहले उसके आगमन का अहसास करवा देती थी. तब या तो मौका या दस्तूर ऐसा नहीं था की दीवाली के इंतज़ार से जुड़ी उन छोटे-बढ़े ख़ुशी के पलों को पिरो कर निबंध के बंधन में सजाया जा सके. अब जब समय और उम्र के साथ दीवाली का स्वरूप भी बदल गया है और इन्टरनेट के विशाल ह्रदय में हर ऐरे गैरे की यादों की किताब छाप रही है तो सोचा क्यों न ८०-९० के दशक की दीवाली से जुड़ी वो यादें भी लिख ही डालें? वो यादें जो हैं सब की लेकिन कहीं लिखने पढ़ने में कम ही आती हैं - यादें जैसे दीवाली से पहले के मौसम की हल्की हल्की ठंडक की, किराने की दुकान पर पिछली दीवाली के बचे छोटे छोटे पटाखों के अकस्मात् प्रकट हो जाने की और किसी भी बड़े खर्चे का दीवाली तक टल जाने की.

दीवाली का दिन भले ही हर घर के लिए,  हर साल के लिए अपने आप में अलग हो, उसके पहले के दिन सभी के लिए एक समान ही त्यौहारमय होते थे.  ८० और ९० के दशक में जब दूरदर्शन का बोल बाला था, तब दीवाली के आते आते टी.वी. पर प्रेशर कुकर, दीवारों के पेंट, कपड़ों एवं नए स्कूटर-टेलीविज़न के विज्ञापन धीरे धीरे बढ़ जाते थे. यह वो समय था जब बैंक सरकारी थे,  और कार ज़्यादातर लोगों की औकात से बहुत दूर थी. इसलिए कोई आपको गाड़ी, लोन और गाड़ी के साथ लोन, लोन के साथ सोने का सिक्का या सिक्के के साथ गाड़ी की नयी स्कीम बेचने नहीं आता था.

बैंकों और बैंक अधिकारियों का तब अपना एक रुतबा था. दीवाली के आस पास इन बैंकों के अगले साल के कैलेंडर और डायरी ज़रूर बंटती थी. लेकिन ये सब हर किसी को नसीब नहीं होता था. उसके लिए आपको भले चंगे बैंक बैलेंस वाला व्यापारी होना होता था. दूसरा तरीका ये हो सकता था की आप नियमित तौर पर पड़ोस के बैंक अधिकारी के बेटे टिंकू को स्कूटर पर स्कूल छोड़ने जाते हों. 

ये बात अलग है की बैंक सरकारी होने के कारण इस कैलेंडर पर ज़्यादातर सिर्फ तारीख या हद से हद कुछ फूल-पेड़ों की तस्वीरें होती थीं. 

अन्य व्यावसायिक संस्थान भी अपनी अपनी हैसियत से दीवाली पर कैलेंडर बांटते थे - छोटे हलवाई या जूते के दुकान वालों के कैलेंडर पर एक देवी या देवता की तस्वीर होती थी जिसके नीचे हर दो-तीन महीने की तिथियों वाला एक परचा होता था. हर महीने एक अलग फ़िल्मी तारिका या देवी देवता की तस्वीर वाले कैलेंडर के लिए आपकी पहुँच किसी अच्छे बिस्कुट के थोक व्यापारी, या शहर के बड़े सुनार या बॉम्बे डाईंग के सूटिंग-शर्टिंग शो रूम तक होनी ज़रूरी थी. पारिवारिक व्यापर के चलते हमारी किस्मत में लिखे थे ऐन्कर बिजली के उत्पाद और एशियन पेंट वाले कैलेंडर. 

कहने का मतलब ये की "मुफ्त मुफ्त मुफ्त " वाला दीवाली का शोर तब वैसा कानफाडू नहीं था जैसा अब है. 

उस ज़माने में दीवाली से पहले बच्चों के मीडिया के नाम पर सिर्फ एक सौगात थी - कॉमिक्स के दीवाली विशेषांक. रंग बिरंगे मुख्य प्रष्ठ, अनार, रस्सी बम और पटाखों की लड़ियों से सुसज्जित,  मुख्य पात्र की किसी नयी शरारत का आभास दिलाते हुए. मधु मुस्कान के सुस्तराम, चुस्तराम, डैडी जी, जोजो हों या लोटपोट के मोटू, पतलू, घसीटाराम और डॉक्टर झटका - दीवाली विशेषांक के हाथ में आने से ये आश्वासन हो जाता था की दीवाली अब हद से हद महीने भर की दूरी पर है. किसी अनजाने कारण से कैंसिल नहीं कर दी गयी है. मध्यम वर्गीय बच्चों के लिए थोड़ी महंगी, डायमंड कॉमिक्स के बिल्लू, पिंकी, चाचा चौधरी यूं तो सब से ज्यादा रंग बिरंगे और लार टपकाने लायक होते थे लेकिन ये बात समझने में पूरा बचपन और न जाने कितना जेब खर्च लग गया की वो सब ज़्यादातर नए पन्नो पर पुरानी कहानी ही होती थी. हिन्दुस्तानी संस्कार और बचपन की यादों के चलते यहाँ कार्टूनिस्ट प्राण को एक श्रद्धांजलि बनती है, वरना सच्चाई यही है की आज कल के बच्चे उनके झांसे में नहीं पड़ते और समझ जाते की हस साल मुख्य प्रष्ठ के अलावा कुछ नया नहीं होता था.

बड़ों के पत्र पत्रिकाओं में धन-कुबेर सरीखी लाटरी के इश्तेहार, और दिवाली की मिठाई के लिए ख़ास व्यंजन विशेषांक देखने को मिलते थे. 

  

उस ज़माने में अपने अमित जी (अमिताभ बच्चन जी) या तो फिल्मों में दिखाई देते थे या सफ़ेद कुरता पाजामा पहने, और शौल लपेट कर राजनीति से जुड़े किसी समाचार में. उन्होंने चॉकलेट को "कुछ मीठा हो जाये " की पुड़िया में बाँध कर बेचना शुरू नहीं किया था. यानी मिठाई की परिभाषा तब भी वही होती थी जो हलवाई ताज़ी बनाने का दावा करते थे और आप सपरिवार जाकर अपनी जेब अनुसार पसंद कर के खरीदते थे. 

पड़ोस का धोती बनियान वाला हलवाई हो या बड़े बाज़ार में सजी संवारी मिठाई की बड़ी दुकान, मिठाई के साथ डब्बे को नहीं तोला जाने का आश्वासन एक सा होता था. गत्ते का वो बटर पेपर वाला डब्बा, और उस में सजाई जाने वाली अलग अलग मिठाई. और उस दुकान की वो अनोखी हवा में मिठास घोलती सी खुशबू. ज़्यादातर मिठाइयों के नाम जाने पहचाने होते थे और वैसे भी बड़े साधारण रूप में नारियल से सजी होती थी. आज की तरह हर मिठाई किसी मुग़ल खानदान से सम्बन्ध रखने का दम नहीं भरती थी और न ही बिना बात के पिश्ते-बादाम-काजू से मेल जोल बढ़ा कर अपना मूल स्वाद खोती थीं. 

मिठाई के डब्बे को बंद करने के लिए कोई विचित्र मशीन भी नहीं उपलब्ध होती थी. सिर्फ दो बड़े बड़े रबर बैंड होते थे जिन्हें हलवाई का सहायक एक कुशल स्पिन बॉलर की तरह बड़ी ही फुर्ती से घुमा कर डब्बे को बंद कर देता था. उसके बाद डब्बे से रिसने वाली चाशनी जाने और आपके चिपचिपे होने वाले कपड़े जाने. यदि डब्बे के ऊपर कोई रंग बिरंगा सेलोफीन पेपर चढ़ा होता था तो वो या तो बच्चों के खेलने के काम आते था या फिर किसी के जन्मदिन का त्यौहार बाँधने के. 

 बड़े बुज़ुर्ग तब भी यही बताते थे की मिठाई की मिलावट और कीमतें आसमान छू रही हैं लेकिन हम बच्चों के लिए उसी मिठाई में साल भर के इंतज़ार का फल छुपा होता था - जी भर के न सही, लेकिन हाथ भर के मिठाई खाने की मनचाही मुराद का फल.

बचपन के उस किताबी निबंध में एक बात सच्ची होती थी - ज्यूँ ज्यूँ दीवाली नज़दीक आती जाती थी, गली नुक्कड़ में दीवाली के पटाखे और सजावट का सामान बेचने वाले खोपचे और ठेले नज़र आने लगते थे. जितनी ज्यादा ऐसी दुकानें, उतनी करीब दीवाली और त्यौहार का माहौल. 

इन मौसमी दुकानों पर मिलने वाले पटाखों का काम दीवाली तक साथ देने का कतई नहीं होता था. इन का काम था बच्चों की पटाखों की भूख को हवा देना. इन दुकानों के चलते, दीवाली से दस पंद्रह दिन पहले ही बम पटाखों की दूर दराज़ से आवाजें आनी शुरू हो जाती थी. 

पटाखों के मसालों की एक अलग ही महक होती है जिसका विवरण शब्दों में असंभव सा लगता है. लेकिन बचपन के लड़कपन में वो महक होती है बारूद और आग से खेलने की दिलेरी से भरी हुई. हालांकि दीवाली से पहले चलने वाले पटाखे खतरनाक कम और बचकाने ज्यादा होते थे - प्लास्टिक या टीन की पिस्तौल में भर कर या चप्पल से पीट कर बजने वाली मुर्गा छाप टिकली या कॉर्क,  ज़मीन पर पटक कर मारने वाला छोटा सा बम और वो छोटा सा काला सा, चिन्गारी देख कर भयंकर धुआं छोड़ते हुए फैल जाने वाला नाग़. 

बड़े और महंगे पटाखे जेब खर्च से लेने की जगह, माता पिता के साथ लिए जाने वाली लिस्ट में जुड़ जाते थे. वो लिस्ट जिसमें हर चीज़ दर्जनों और डब्बों के हिसाब में लिखी जाती थी. मसलन दो दर्जन अनार - १ दर्जन बड़े, १ छोटे. चार पैकेट राकेट - दो बड़े, एक छोटा और एक सीटी वाला. लक्ष्मी बम एक पैकेट और रस्सी बम दो पैकेट इत्यादि. 

अंत में जब पटाखे लेने जाते थे तब  लिस्ट का इस्तेमाल कुछ ऐसे होता था - 

" बताओ क्या लेना है ? "

"दो पैकेट राकेट और ..."

"हाँ भाई राकेट कैसे दिए ? "

"५० का छोटा, १०० का बड़ा पैकेट "

"क्या !!?? लगता है भूल गए हो की हर साल तुम से ही ले जाते हैं !"

" अच्छे से याद है जी. आप तो हमारे ख़ास हैं. लेकिन ये पटाखे पिछले साल वाले नहीं है, शिवाकासी से कल ही मंगवाए हैं, ख़ास आपके लिए निकलवाए हैं"

"अच्छा चलो चार पीस छोटे राकेट और चार बड़े पीस दाल दो. एक पैकेट फुल्झड़ी और एक पैकेट छोटे बम का दाल दो"

कई दिनों से बनायीं हुई लिस्ट की यह दुर्दशा होते देख कर मुंह खुला का खुला रह जाता था और कंठ रूंध जाता था. थोडा सा मिमियाने और मिन्नतें करने पर यह धमकी मिलती थी की "ज्यादा शोर मचाओगे तो ये भी यहीं छोड़ देंगे". इस वज्र से कठोर ह्रदय के सामने बड़े से बड़ा शैतान बच्चा वास्तविकता को तुरंत अपना लेता है. जो नहीं अपनाते वो भी जितने मिल रहे हैं उतने पटाखों को बस में करने के बाद ही अपना रोने कलपने का नाटक शुरू करते हैं. लेकिन उस लिस्ट का इस्तेमाल फिर भी होता था - स्कूल में मित्रों के सामने शेखी बघारने में की "इतने तो ले ही आये हैं छोटी दीवाली के लिए, पिताजी ने कहा है असली दीवाली के लिए और दिला देंगे." कौन आ रहा है देखने की कितने चलाये और कितने नहीं ?

थोड़ी ही सही, लेकिन दीवाली पर स्कूल की छुट्टियां होती थीं. छुट्टियों के साथ ही शुरू हो जाता था घर की साफ़ सफाई में योग दान. जैसे मेज़ पर स्टूल रख कर पंखा साफ़ करने का, खिड़की पर लटक कर धुलने के लिए पर्दे उतारने का. 

घर को सजाने के लिए अन्य सामान और मिट्टी के दीये भी लिए जाते थे. इन दीयों में तेल डालने से पहले इन्हें पानी में डुबोना होता था. भीगे दीयों से आने वाले माटी की वो भीनी भीनी खुशबू आज ढूँढने पर भी कहीं नहीं मिलती.

और तब, हालांकि ये सब करने में मन नहीं लगता था लेकिन आखिर तो सारी मिठाई और पटाखों का आयोजन माँ के ही हाथों में होता था. और मन मार के ये सब करने में भी मन में कहीं त्यौहार की अनुभूति हो रही होती थी. 

ऐसे में यदि दीवाली साथ मनाने के लिए जयपुर के चाचा अपने परिवार सहित आ जाते थे तो बात ही क्या थी ! बिना रोक टोक खेलने के लिए और ज्यादा बच्चे, और ज्यादा पकवान, मिठाइयां, और मज़ा. 

दीवाली से दो दिन पहले, धन तेरस पर नए बर्तन लेने की प्रथा है जो कि बाल मन के लिए एक बे मानी सा विषय है.  लेकिन उस दिन तक घर पर मिठाई देने वाले आने शुरू हो जाते थे. जो डब्बे बाज़ार से लाये गए थे वो या तो दूसरों को देने के लिए होते थे या फिर पूजा पर चढाने के लिए दीवाली की शाम तक बंद रहने वाले थे. वो सब डब्बे जैसे फ्रिज में बैठ कर चिढ़ा सा रहे होते थे की हिम्मत है तो खोलो और खाओ ! उन्हें हराने आते थे उपहार स्वरूप मिलने वाले मिठाई के डब्बे. वो डब्बे जो खुलते भी थे और खाए भी जाते थे. यानी खाने की दीवाली की अंततः शुरुआत हो ही जाती थी.

छोटी दीवाली या नरक चतुर्दशी. इसके नाम से ही लगता है मानो किसी बालक ने जिद को ही की माँ थोड़ी से दिवाली तो मनाने दो, छोटी सी ही सही. बस अब दीवाली का इंतज़ार और नहीं होता. रौशनी और आतिशबाजी की शुरूआत हो जाती है. कुछ पटाखे निकाल कर उन्हे छोटी दीवाली पर दोस्तों या परिवार जनों के साथ चलाया जाता है. कुछ कंजूसी से, और कुछ इस उम्मीद से की यदि कम हो गए तो दीवाली के अवसर पर माँ और पटाखे दिलवा ही देंगी. 

इस दिन बाजारों में भीढ़ अपनी चरम सीमा पर होती थी. हर कोई बाज़ारों में बिना भीढ़ के बावजूद, सिर्फ दीवाली के इंतज़ार में खुश-खुश सा ही घूम रहा होता था. हवा में हर तरफ मिठाई और गेंदे के फूलों की महक बिखरी होती थी. 

और फिर आता था दीवाली का दिन, जिसका इंतज़ार पिछले साल की दीवाली के अगले दिन से किया गया था. किसी महा नायक की महा फिल्म की महा रिलीज़ के लिए नहीं, टी.वी. के किसी ख़ास दीवाली वाले कार्यक्रम के लिए भी नहीं. किसी और के घर होने वाली ख़ास पार्टी और पार्टी के पीछे होने वाले दिखावे या ताश की बाज़ी के लालच में नहीं. सारे विश्व को किसी दूसरे का लिखा सन्देश मोबाइल या इन्टरनेट पर औपचारिकतावश भेजने के लिए नहीं. 

ये इंतज़ार होता था खुद दीवाली के दिन के लिए. चाहे किसी घर में भरपूर मिठाई या पटाखे न हो, खुशियाँ मनाने के लिए कोई बड़ा बजट या मौका न हो, दिन फिर भी ख़ास होता था. अब न तो दीवाली वैसी है न दीवाली का इंतज़ार ही लेकिन फिर भी साल दो हिस्सों में बंटा होता है - दीवाली के पहले और दीवाली के बाद