The power of music

It has  been a hectic month. Tons of classes, a lot of socialising and loads of ( as the wife of the husbands best friend  would put it) 'guesting'. Almost all of the above has been very pleasant but left me looking ( and feeling) distinctly frazzled and frayed round the edges. The husband and the son  ,of course, find nothing amiss. Their logic being that maybe I was born frazzled and frayed ;with 'arched eyebrows'; and a  perpetual scornful look  and....( here I either tune off or flare up).The daughter  says nothing but I  see her looking at me once or twice.
It is evening. She comes to me and hands me her ipod. "Mum, why don't you take a walk on the terrace and listen to SOME  music?" I am on the point of rattling off  allllll  the things still left to be done but something stops me. I smile and say," yes".
I am going up to the terrace after many days- maybe more than a month. The first thing I see makes me stop in my tracks . I am overjoyed. My champa plant ( which I  had planted 3 years back ) has borne flowers. The ivory white petals , with delicate yellow in the middle, have brought to my roof  both fragrance and light. I stop to savor their beauty and am tempted to count  the flowers but the superstitious part of me urges me to move on . I  now check on the bougainvilleas and the hibiscus ( and also on the cycas). Making a mental note to plant spinach in an empty tray like pot, I  switch on the ipod.

 Hauntingly familiar music fills the silence of the evening, followed by equally haunting lyrics. I fall in love with Gulzar again ( after Aandhi, after his song ' dil toh baccha hai ji , after Maachis .... );with the Rajesh Khanna of 'Khamoshi'; with the music of Hemant da; with the beauty, pathos and  inevitability of love itself.  Picture Waheeda Rehman singing this :

Hamne dekhi hai In aankhoon ki mahakti khushaboo
Honth Se Chhuuke Ise Rishton Kaa Ilzaam na do...
Sirf Ehasaas hai Ye Ruuh se mahasuus karo
Pyaar ko pyaar hi rahane do koi naam na do....
Pyaar koi bol nahin, Pyaar awaaz nahin
Ek Khaamoshi hai sunti hai kahaa karti hai....
Honth kuchh kahate nahin, magar kitne khaamosh se afasaane ruke rahate hain...
Sirf ehasaas hai ye, ruuh se mahsus karo
Pyaar ko pyaar hi rahane do, koi naam naa do
Hum ne dekhi hai ....

The song ends and there is no sound for some time. I almost turn but another beautiful track stops me .This time it is Manna Dey in Kabulliwallah. The part of me that prays for a miracle for my country; the part that gets moist-eyed when the national anthem plays in theatres; the part that gets a lump in the throat when mom tells her first person account of the freedom struggle - that part of me loves this song:

Aye mere pyare watan, aye mere pyare chaman
tujh pe dil kurbaan
tuh hee meree aarajoo,tuh hee meree aabaru, tuh hee meree jaan...
tere daman se jo aaye, un hawaaon ko salaam...
hum jahaan paidaa huye us jagah hee nikele ye dum..
aye mere pyare watan...

This is followed by  Sanjeev Kumar's and  Suchitra Sen's interrupted love story :

tere bina zindagi se koi shikwa toh nahin, shikwa nahin
tere bina zindagi bhi lekin zindagi toh nahin zindagi toh nahin...
tum joh kehe do toh aaj ki raat chand doobega nahin
raat ko rok lo, raat ki baat hai ,aur zindagi baki toh nahin...

followed by the courtesan's wonder that was Umrao jaan:

yeh kya jagah hai doston yeh kaun sa dayaar hai.....
tamam umar ka hisaab mangti hai zindagi
yeh mera dil kahe toh kya ,yeh khud se sharam saar hai.....

followed by:

 ye  daulat bhi le lo ,ye shoharat bhi le lo
bhale cheen lo mujhse meri jawaani
magar mujhko lauta do bachpan kaa saawan
woh kaagaz ki kashti, woh baarish ka paani...

( many, many moons ago I  had the privilege of hearing Jagjit and Chitra Singh singing this ghazal. There was deafening silence in the hall , followed by equally deafening applause. )

followed by my anthem- 'The eye of the tiger'

Just a man and his will to survive
So many times, it happens too fast
You trade your passion for glory
Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past
You must fight just to keep them alive ....

Thirty minutes later I go down .It is a different me- not edgy, or snappy, or dissatisfied. I am feeling humbled, replete, beautiful- everything together. Difficult  to put down- but something like going to the cliffs of Moher and back. I have just heard some of my personal favorites (courtesy the daughter )and have realized that there is more to life than feeling shortchanged. I enter and find the family ready to sit down for dinner. Something must be showing on my face because the husband and son give me an interested look. ( I return it). The girl just smiles at me.

I now know why the good lord made 'daughter's day' and not a 'son's day!

My Struggle (Mein Kampf )

In the process of doing some research on Hitler , I  also ,but naturally, read up on his autobiography.  On going  ( read flipping) through  the book it seemed to me that Mein Kampf is more of an exposition  and a justification of Hitler's ideology and political views and less of an autobiography. But there were two things which I found striking : firstly, the title ,which translates to 'My Struggle' ,and secondly , an uncanny similarity between Hitler's thoughts and the thought process of our politicians.

The best thing about the book , for me, is the title. I am sure if any  of us was asked to pen our thoughts for a book titled 'My Struggle' we would have no problem/s in doing so. We would never experience logjams such as 'writers block' or paucity of material . This is not to say that life itself is a struggle -on the contrary life is joyous; truly a gift to be savored .It is when we come across  some others ( please note the 'some' as opposed to 'all' ) with  whom we do not share the same wavelength, or ,to put it more bluntly, are on diagonally opposite wavelengths, that the struggle begins. The struggle of being polite, keeping up appearances, not being rude (because one believes that life is a karmic cycle) etc . Of course ,there are other struggles also -struggle for freedom ( Gandhi) ;for independence ( most Asian women ); against corruption ;against cancer ...the list is endless and that is why I believe that 'Mein Kampf' is a universally applicable title.

Now, coming to the' similarities' between you know who and whom. Consider these Hitlerisms :

"If you wish the sympathy of the broad masses, you must tell them the crudest and most stupid things."
When I look at some of the gems spoken by our politicos it is hard to ignore the fact that either they are very naive or they believe the junta is and that is why they spout the  absurdities that they do.

Another one - "Life never forgives weaknesses."

Is this why our honorable and' honest 'P.M is perpetually silent? He does not want to acknowledge any weakness for the fear of not being forgiven?

 He doesn't know that the present has already judged him -as will history .And that  the judgment is not very forgiving !!

An authentic recipe for Machar Jhol

There are games and games .There are games famous people play and there are games that we, lesser mortals, play. One such game that we (people like us and not people like them ) play is the word association game. You know the one in which somebody tosses a word and the other person, without missing a beat, says the first thing that comes to mind. I don't know why, but we always play this game when we are stuck in traffic and since anyone in Delhi who steps out between 8.30 in the morning to 7.30 in he evening is karma bound to be stuck in traffic we play this game pretty often.

Well, here we were, stuck between a 'Mruti' and an alpha Scorpio, and also   with each other, when a voice from the back piped up with "blue". "Monday mornings”, I replied, and tossed back,” rat". "He", "She" came simultaneously and without missing a beat a scuffle ensued. I would (like any 'cool' parent) not have interfered but the occupants of the 'Mruti' seemed to be in serious danger of dislocating their neck and so ,to bring normalcy, I said,” fish". "Bongs", came  a very parochial reply from all the three occupants of the car. The traffic was moving by now and in the excitement of being in motion the game was abandoned...

The fish : bong  analogy came back to haunt me later in the day. My cook, who is a true blue Bengali -with jet black hair and flashing eyes and a flaming red hot temper ,came up to me. She looked different and I gave her a look and then a look over. She looked all happy, in an excited, anticipatory manner. She smiled and simpered ( at the same time),and said," "I will be cooking fish for dinner and so need to take the evening off". I opened my mouth, in indignation, but closed it, in resignation, looking rather like a goldfish (ouch!) myself. "Which recipe?”, I asked.

Quarter of an hour later I had a true blue, original recipe of machar jhol from someone who has left Calcutta but Calcutta has not left her. This is the recipe:

    

      Take about 500gms of  hilsa  or rohu fish (though between you and me, any will do). 

      Wash the fish pieces and rub a little turmeric and salt on the pieces.

      Keep for 10 minutes.

      Wash again. This will remove the 'fishy' smell .     

       Heat a little oil( mustard, of course) in a non-stick wok or frying pan. Spread the oil all over the pan . This will prevent the fish from sticking to the pan. 

      Wait till the oil is very hot, and fry the fish pieces on both sides (till they are light brown in colour). Keep the fish pieces aside.

      Then heat oil (mustard, get it right)again. Put in  ginger paste/grated ginger,( of about 1 inch ginger)2 green chillies chopped,2 tomatoes chopped, 2  onions chopped, 1 tablespoon garlic paste, a little haldi , about 4 tablespoon of yellow mustard seeds paste , a pinch( about 1/2 teaspoon) of hing/asafoetida,1/2 tablespoon fenugreek seeds, and 1/2 tablespoon kalonji (nigella) seeds.

      If you want it Hot then add 1 tablespoon red chilli powder. Stir fry for about 5 minutes on medium heat till the onions are cooked . Keep stirring as you saute.

      Now add about 4-5 tablespoon of tamarind paste and stir for another 5 minutes on medium flame. Add 1-1/2 cups of water. Cook for 5 minutes.

       Add the fried fish .

      Stir everything together (be careful about not breaking the fish pieces), add salt. 

      Put the heat to medium (incase in your excitement of having machar jhol you had put it on high) and boil. If you are using a pan with a lid, use the lid to cover the pan. This will seal the flavors.

      After 10 minutes ( 5 is becoming too repetitive) turn off the heat. Garnish with chopped coriander.

      Serve hot with freshly steamed basmati rice.

Of scooterists and driving in Delhi

I take a spiffy right turn, hum my current favorite ditty and throw a smile at this absolutely gorgeous, drop dead gorgeous- baby! I am cruising along at a comfortable speed of about 40 when I suddenly spot a two wheeler- no, not two wheelers and dealers, but a two wheeled contraption, bearing a striking resemblance to the one used by Amol Palekar in 'Choti si Baat'. I am understandably transfixed by the sight but, and herein lies the catch, so it seems are they. Yeth, yeth, I know I am using the personal  pronoun in the plural -they, and you will quite likely want to know who is the 'they'. I mean only the person sitting pillion can look at me because the other has to propel the lambretta forward ( a la Amol.P) in the aforementioned movie. But, here it was 'they' who were looking, gesturing and speaking to me. It was, you guessed right, another instance of traffic rules being flouted. There were not one but two riding pillion!  

Anyways, no one can accuse me of being socially challenged and so I too , sort of  ,acknowledged them .The girl sitting at the back waved her arms - I thought she was being slightly over enthusiastic and raised an eyebrow. Next,- it was the turn of the girl in the middle.   She contorted her ample body to turn and give me a ' look.' I raised my other eyebrow. But it was only when the scooterist also turned and gesticulated and mouthed something which certainly did not look as if he was asking for my autograph that I realized that something was wrong. I looked at the car door-not open. Check.seat belt-on. Check. Terrosist in the back seat-no. Check. I again looked at the trio. Heavens! They-yes all three of them- seemed to be having a problem with my driving. Well, well, well. I can take 'comments' about my driving from the husband and the girl and the boy , but from these characters? no way. I was mentally rolling up my sleaves and thinking of some of the 'choisest' (in  english, ofcourse) when I heard this screeching of tyres.

Guess what? the traffic police had just pulled up next to them and were handing out a slip ( challan? ) in just the way shown in movies .
What is it 'they' say about divine justice?

Sitaron se aage abhi jahaan aur bhi hain.....

There comes a time in everyone’s life when the sun’s rays don’t seem to be warm enough, when doors open out to bleakness and the windows in our room seem to be blocking our escape.   I think Iqbal wrote these wonderful lines for just such a time .  Dedicating these lines to my daughter & son, to my indiblogger  friends  and to myself.

                           Sitaron se aage abhi jahaan aur bhi hain

                             Beyond the stars there are world more

                             Abhi Ishq ke imtehan aur bhi hain

                            There are even more tests of passion

                            Tahi zindagi se nahin ye fizayen

                         This existence alone does not matter
                          Yahan siakdon karwaan aur bhi hain

                            There are boundless journeys more

                            Khana’at na kar aalam-e-rang-o-bu par

                                 Do not rest on what you have
                            Chaman aur bhi aashiyaan aur bhi hain

                           There are paradises more to explore

                            Agar kho gaya ek nasheman to kya ghum

                           Why worry if you have lost one abode
                                Maqmat-e-aah-o-fughaan aur bhi hain

                             There are a million addresses to claim

                                Tu shaheen hai parvwaaz hai kaam tera

                             You are the falcon, flight is your task

                                    Tere saamne aasmaan aur bhi hain

                             before you there are other skies as well

                               Isi roz-o-shab main ulajh kar na rah ja
                      Lose not yourself in the cycle of days and nights

                               Ke tere zameen par makaan aur bhi hain

                              Within your reach are feats even more

                           Gaye din ke tanha tha main anjuman mein

                    The days are gone when I was alone in a crowd
                            Yahaan ab mere raazdaan aur bhi hain

                        Now I have other secret sharers( friend) too

 

The secret diary of Mahesh Bhatt

Dear Diary, you know, and I know, that my life changed the day I read the book' The Importance of being Earnest'. I did not understand  much of what I read but what sunk in was the name of the author. He was some Wild (e )chappie and his success convinced me that to be successful one needed to be wild. I was just contemplating how best  to become wild and unconsciously repeating the word wild when voila! my tongue became wild. It was as if I had no control over it ! Words were spilling from my mouth faster than the speed of light . For a second, just that one teeny weeny,itsy bitsy second I was scared. My mind was racing - Whatthehellishappeningtome?  And then a life changing event happened-  the famous Bhatt insouciance was born. If my tongue was going to have a mind of its own so be  it- but I would Goddamn well  make sure that it would made  me famous.

Along the way to eternal, chronic ,unabating and sustained verbal diarrhoea I picked up a few neat  tricks for  my  trade. I realized that there were a few not so faint hearted who refused to be cowed down in the face of my tongue being let loose. For them I learned how to clench and unclench my teeth , wag my left eyebrow while keeping my right one raised , lean forward menacingly and keep a sneer on my face. All this to the beat of the words rolling off my tongue.The combination proved to be both unbeatable and irresistible . Unbeatable because no man,woman or child ( except my very own baby, Alia ) could dig in their heels in the face of this co ordinated and well rehearsed onslaught. Irresistible because the television news channels soon cottoned on to my worth. They understood the   importance of having Mahesh Bhatt on their unending Debate Hours. So, whenever the Congress and BJP spokespersons are at loggerheads I am called on to speak. And then, when my tongue and I take over ,there is blissful silence in the studio .Infact, many a times the host of the show takes it as an opportunity to sneak off for a quickie !! Now, now, you possessor of dirty minds- not those  quickies but the washroom quickie or the 'bum a ciggie' quickie. So sure are they of my capacity to speak on...

Of course, what has majorly helped, just between you and me, dear diary, is the fact that I learnt the Preamble of the Indian Constitution  by heart. Yes, cross my heart I did. So, whenever I am called on to hold centre stage I glibly use words like Equality, fraternity ( the latter comes in very handy for anything to to with the hindi film industry),  justice for all  ,secularism et al. These days I am making liberal use of the word secularism for Mr Modi. I know it is in fashion  to say Secularism and Modi in the same breath and I am not going to be left behind where being fashionable is concerned. However, last evening was a a narrow escape for me. I was sharing television  space with Swapan dasGupta  and liberally spouting words from the Preamble. Suddenly, Swapan got this really thoughtful look on his face. For one awful moment I thought he would ask me to explain what secularism means- actually means- not the rhetoric we spout( in my case my tongue spouts).  My heart missed a beat because in the hurry to mug up weighty words I had forgotten to look up their meanings. But  Nidhi Razdan realized the gravity of the situation and abruptly brought  in  the Congress spokesperson and the crisis was averted.

My baby, Alia, has the same ability to come out of tricky situations unscathed. So, when she couldn't answer a really tricky question on Koffee with Karan ( something about who is the President or Prime Minister of the country) Alia smiled charmingly and pouted and pulled up her gown and patted  her hair and threw back her head . In all this patting and pulling and smiling the host and the other guest got delightfully  diverted and the faux pas was history.
Now, I can go off to sleep knowing that Alia will carry  the Bhatt legacy of  insouciance very capably.

Restaurant Review : Indian Accent

We drive into a beautiful property, nestled in the middle of  Delhi's Friends Colony. The feeling is of being dinner guests at someone's house and I almost look for the doorbell. However, there is no need to ring a bell as the glass doors are pushed open by  Adonis himself. I suck in my tummy and exchange a good evening with the Greek God. He ushers us to our table for four . The dining area,opening out into a verandah adjoining a lush green garden, is beautifully appointed, very discreet and elegant, with white being the prominent color. One wall has three huge black and white framed prints of Delhi. Each table has a white conch shell . Inside the shell are two marigold flowers. Very understated and classy.

The restaurant has a chef's  taster menu and also the option of going a la carte. We are booked in for the latter. The drinks menu is exhaustive and innovative. Just when we finish ordering our drinks  bite size naans stuffed with blue cheese are  served , on the house. The naan is delightful and this more or less sets the food standards for the evening. We order baked paneer pinwheels with coriander pesto(410), potato sphere chaat with white pea ragda(410),  panko crusted bharwan mirch with goat cheese mousse and chilli aam papad chutney(410) and  sweet and sour bitter gourd  for starters . The starters come surprisingly quickly. The presentation is straight out of the Master Chef series and the taste is divine. There is no doubt in one's mind that what one is eating is the result of  painstaking research and the  labor of  someone's love for food. The only serpent in this garden is my own thought on seeing the portions-' is that all?' Yes, the portions are exquisitely tiny and even the coriander pesto ( our very own green  dhania patta chutney is served in an itsy bitsy  bowl )but these pinpricks are minor in the face of what is undoubtedly a  truly pleasurable culinary experience. After the appetiser plates are whipped away ,tiny pressure cookers with anaardana chuski are placed before us. Enchanting.

For the mains we order masala wild mushrooms,with water chestnuts and paper roast dosai ( 975) and a dish of khandvi ravioli with mixed cheese mash and khakhra crisp(695). No surprises - good ; tiny portions! For dessert we plum for dark and white chocolate kulfi lollypops(595). Six tiny lollypops stuck  in a lovely serving dish.The lollypop kulfis are o.k ish , very comme ci comme ca. However, the feeling of disappointment does not linger. It is banished by the sight of a tiny (!!!) Indian charpoy. The charpoy has four bowls - for the churans ,golis, aam papad and the best  peanut chikki I have ever had.

The best thing about the evening- the Greek God, the food, the ambience and the fact that the tummy is not overstuffed by humungus portions. In fact to let you in on a ( tiny) secret- the husband and I had some milk and cookies when we came back home.

 Would I like to go back- certainly.