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!