Am off to Bombay...

If my Air Deccan flight takes off, that is. Have received two regret messages and one regret call over the last 24 hours by the airline’s executives telling me the flight has been rescheduled. So, from 5.30 pm it was rescheduled to 6.50 pm and now I am told its 7.30 pm.
If this was not enough a dampener, it has suddenly started raining in Hyderabad. The breeze is awesome and I am cursing the rain god for being so insensitive. Why couldn’t it rain when I was sweating it out literally all these days. Now when am headed to a hot n humid Bombay, am so tempted to enjoy the cool breeze here.
Or perhaps I should not curse the rain god, after all. For all you know the god of showers has masterminded my flight delay so that I can get the best of both worlds__ enjoy the cool weather in Hyderabad and then reach my parents in Bombay who I am so longing to meet. :)

Update: flight rescheduled to 8.35 pm. and its pouring here...plus thunder and lightning!! I dont think air deccan will take off today, at all.

Kya kehna!

My friend, Monica, angry with her colleagues from other cities criticising Mumbaikars for their indifference towards Mumbai came up with this gem:
"A city is like a husband. I can criticise it as much as I want, I don't want others to do it."
Wah!!

I completely disagree with your colleagues, Monica. Have not seen a more proactive set of citizens anywhere except Mumbai.

Thanks for dividing us

Thanks to the vote-hungry politicians of this country, we are more divided than perhaps ever before. As if dividing the country’s Hindus and Muslims was not enough, now we have a division among classes, castes, sub-castes…What next Mr Politician? Division based on dialects, complexion, size…
And look at the co-called opposition party not even whispering a word against the policy…too scared to lose its vote bank. For that matter, how come none of the political parties are keeping mum on the subject. Let the students be lathicharged. Let industry leaders and those heading prestigious institutions express their reservations on reservation. Mr Politician cannot see anything beyond votes. So what if it means ripping apart the country social fabric and compartmentalizing every community.
Here’s to more ghettos in the country… wherein one generation will grow up grudging the other (for no fault of theirs), blaming them for their repeated failure of not getting a job or an admission. But, let the country stay divided, Mr Politician would be thinking. Better to woo one set of people for votes than a united country.

SRK

Listening to `Yun Hi Chala Chal’ from Swades while doing my work and cant help thinking of how cool SRK looked in those denims and cool blue shirt. Ah! My heart skipped a thousand beats perhaps when he did his little jig in the song … I was watching him spellbound… wanting to rush to screen and dance with him.
I know the world loves to hate him but I have had a crush on him from the time he first appeared on television in the serial `Fauji’. I have been a loyal fan ever since.
(pic:indiafm.com)

Sarkar

Routine Responses when you call up ANY government department or try to get through any sarkari babu.

Me: Can I speak with XYZ?
Govt dept (GD): Who is calling?
Me: ABC from DEF publication
GD: Saar is `in’ lunch
Me: What time should I call then?
GD: After 3.30 pm?
Me: But, lunch time is till 2 pm. I will call at 2 pm
Phone line disconnected

Huh!!

So try to get through the next in command

Me: Can I speak with….
GD: Who is calling
Me: ABC…
GD: Madam is in meeting
Me: Give me her mobile number
GD: we don’t have it
Me: put me onto any other official. I need very basic information
GD: Nobody has information. Only madam will speak.

Yeah.. sure.


The best responses collected over the years
Sir is taking nap madam. (I was told at 3 pm!)
Sir has gone home, madam. He cannot be disturbed (I was told at 4 pm)
Fax us your question. Sir will get back to you in a week’s time (have they heard of newspapers?)
I told sir that you want to speak to him but he is in a meeting and will be free only tomorrow now. (I was told after being put on hold for 5 mins)
You tell me the question. I will then decide whether saar will speak (a smart secy once told me)

MY FAV:
After having rattled a long question to a senior minister on his mobile.. he said: ``I will answer, ma… but I am taking my bath.’’
Why did he carry his cell phone to the bathroom beats me.

Stage performances

I have a truck load of stories on this topic i.e. my performances on stage. None of them are about me proudly walking up on stage to receive an award or a certificate of appreciation or the audience clapping wildly for me.
They are about my undying interest in the performing arts and how these performances have now become funny anecdotes that I narrate often to people who, I hope, listen to the stories without being judgmental.
Thanks to a dear friend who reminded me of one such incident, I am tempted to narrate a few of my favourite funny moments. But, will restrict myself to a couple of stories for now. More will come soon.
Each time I hear a celebrity say, oh I started acting at the age of 7 or 9, I mutter to myself… yeah sure, who is to check, baby. Its not sour grapes but my skepticism finds its roots in my horrendous stage debut that I made when I was in class IV.
On a freezing cold Doon morning, a couple of senior girls walked inside our classroom, had a hushed conversation with the class-teacher, following which they sized up all the children in the class. Then, one of them asked, “Who wants to act in a senior school play?” Me, the enthusiast, raised my hand, jumping a bit to catch their attention. I succeeded. I was chosen. Acting in a senior school play was no joke and I would proudly walk out of the classroom acting all-important every morning for rehearsals, the class teacher nodding in approval.
I was so excited about the play, that a few `minor’ details skipped me. Like, I was given no dialogues, I had no idea when my part started or ended during the rehearsals. I was too busy imagining my jealous classmates watching me act in a senior school play. To add to their jealousy, I would discuss the fancy clothes that I might be asked to wear for the play.
I never told them I had been asked to wear the oldest or the most worn out frock I had.
Well, the D-day arrived and I was all excited about my debut. My classmates too were excited, at least they told me so. Anyway, the play started and my friends waited for my part eagerly. I was standing backstage waiting for the prompter to signal my entry. When she did, I entered the stage, a girl dressed like a nun came and hugged me and took me to the other end of the stage, left me there and walked back to deliver some dialogues on the stage. Yes, my part was over. I just had to walk from one of the stage to another. I was told later I was a destitute child who was given shelter by Claudine Thevenet.
It was then I realized why they chose me for the part. I was a skinny scrawny girl who was almost always assumed to be malnourished (those who know me well, stop laughing a this line!).
I was predictably ragged after the play. “Hey, why did you have to go for rehearsals,” asked one `friend’ while another said, “were you there at all?”. Huh.
I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. I still thought my classmates were jealous of me as I could officially bunk class for a good one month. :)

My next stage debut was no better, perhaps worse.
My mom, yes, my mom was directing a play for a summer vacations cultural fest in Ashirwad Enclave, a nice peaceful residential area in Dehra Dun. Children from the entire colony were participating in some event or the other. Some were dancing, others singing. I was in Class VIII and was neither fitting among the kids nor the adults. There was just one more girl my age who did not wish to put any performance.
So, I was waiting to be included somewhere, anywhere. And I was given a role in the play my mom was directing. Some kids were made lawyers, another a judge, two of them witnesses… my mom was unable to find a `darban’ for the play__ a court sequence__ who had to announce the next witness. Since I was the only jobless one around, I was told to become the darban. All I had to do in the play was stand straight, wearing a red blazer in that heat, and call out names of witnesses followed by `haazir ho’.
And I did that staring at some of my friends in the audience who giggled through the play. It was funny for me too as I stood at the corner of the stage, wearing a moustache, a pagdi, holding a wooden shaft and looking bored, waiting to call out `haazir ho’ to a witness.

The Sound of Music

During the hectic shopping for my wedding on a sunny humid afternoon, I was losing my cool, as always, wondering whether I would be able to reach office on time. After the last sari was purchased, I was rushing to Bandra station, perspiring profusely, frowning, checking the time, hoping that I don’t miss the 12.14 pm local to VT. While sprinting through the congested pavement outside the station, I heard the lilting notes of the Kishore Kumar song, `Aa chal
ke tujhe, main le ke chaloon ek aise gagan ke tale'.
I was no longer in a rush to catch the train or even reach office. I was at peace, suddenly and strangely. I stopped for a bit to catch a few more lines of the song. I walked up the staircase at the station humming the song. I even got the train.
This might sound repetitive to those who have read my previous posts, but then, I am obsessed with music, correction, good music.
Nothing brings me more peace than listening to songs, particularly the ones my mom used to sing to us__ 'tum na jaane kis jahan mein kho gaye', 'oh aasma waale shikva hai zindagi ka', 'o sajna, barkha bahar aayi'__among many others.
It is strange how songs almost effortlessly change my mood and bring so much peace of mind. Yes, I know of music therapy and other such alternative therapies, but the soothing effect music can have on in day-to-day life surprises me no end.
Like this morning, having been maid-less for a good two weeks, the housework was getting on my nerves. Interviews of prospective maids who claimed to be too eager to work but said no to most of my requirements were adding to the disgust and the disappointment of being without a good domestic help. As I turned to the kitchen on a yet another gloomy morning, I turned on the radio, Vividh Bharati, and to my sheer delight this perhaps long forgotten radio station was playing Talat Maehmood’s “Mohabbat hi no jo samjhe, who zaalim pyar kya jaane”.
The song worked like a magic wand. The morning started looking beautiful. The pile of unwashed utensils was no longer an eye sore. The cooking was suddenly fun. I even made morning tea almost after a week and enjoyed my cup reading the morning paper with Shiv Kumar Sharma’s santoor recital in `Sangeet Sarita’ programme that was playing then on the channel.
I dressed well to work and am still humming Talat’s melodies that am sure will keep me happy for the rest of the day.
Here’s to the sound of music!

"Please cooperate, madam"

I heard this request made at least 100 times over the four days I spent reporting on the family of K Suryanarayana, the Hyderabadi engineer beheaded cruelly by the Taliban last Sunday.
The day the news of his kidnapping broke, I rushed to Suryanarayana’s house in a city suburb, wondering how awkward it would be for me to meet the family when they must be so devastated.
I was too naïve.
When I reached the house, it was teeming with mediapersons and a bewildered family was being asked repeatedly by camerapersons and reporters to “cooperate” with them and say something to the hundreds of cameras trained at them. “Madam, madam, please, madam, cooperate. Say something. Anything.” the camerapersons pleaded to Majula, Suryanarayana’s wife, who was crying inconsolably and was perhaps getting more flustered with the sea of inquisitive strangers in her house.
I wondered how this regular middle class family was coping with the sudden media attention, their household, their grief being discussed threadbare on national television and newspapers.
Meanwhile, I heard the “please cooperate line” yet again, several times, being repeated by reporters seeking exclusive interviews with the family, with Manjula, Suryanarayana’s parents or his children. The same line was repeated ad nauseum once again for interviews with the second wife, when she surfaced.
I heard “please cooperate” even at the funeral in the cremation ground, when OB vans were parked outside and cameras were recording the last rites and the wails of a heartbroken, devastated family.
I wondered whether the family thought, even for a fleeting moment, that had Suryanarayana not died in such unnatural circumstances, Manjula and the rest of them would have been spared of this public display of a very personal grief.
I still remember the Sunday morning when the news of Suryanarayana’s death broke. I saw Manjula sitting in her own house but surrounded by more strangers than her own family. Did she not wish to sit in a corner all by herself and cry her heart out than being besieged with reporters, now offering their condolence but still looking for information they can use to pad up their copies on how the family received the news of their loved ones death.
I wondered whether she would have still attempted suicide had the news of her husband’s second wife not been made public.
But, most importantly, I wondered why personal space was invaded.
Because, the family was too humble to say no to the media or did not know how to handle it. Because, the media kept asking them to cooperate and that the media attention was in the best interest of Suryanarayana. Or, because, they were ordinary people who had no right to their space, even if they wanted to be left alone to mourn a family member’s death.
I thought of the last reason when Pramod Mahajan passed away a day after Suryanarayana’s funeral. There were no images of a shattered family shot inside their homes or the hospital. Manjula was filmed even in the hospital when she was being given first aid after she gulped down a bathroom cleaning liquid. The media stood guard outside the hospital where Mahajan was being treated. I wondered why they didn’t barge into the five-star hospital and ask the family and the doctors to “please cooperate”.