REMEMBERING ABBA

During the last few days, my wonderful daughter Anu has told me, more than once, that her friends think I am “super-cool”. Because I tease her about her crushes. Come back with some smart one-liners. Am internet savvy and actually have a blog!

Thinking about it, I realized my dad was pretty cool too, though we never thought so at that time.

I remember when I was going through this Rajesh Khanna craze. I was in the tenth and the movie “Mehboob Ki Mehendi” was playing in our theatre – Radhika. It was a Saturday and Abba (that’s what we called our dad), told me to bunk school and come see the movie since it was the last day!

I remember the time when I was trying to learn driving. I think I was in PUC I year and we were coming back from College and I got the driver to teach me. Abba was behind us and witnessed my attempts at driving. When we reached home, he told me: “If you have to do something, do it properly”. He got us our Learners License and ensured that all his three daughters learnt to drive. “He is giving his daughters too much freedom” grumbled our more conservative relatives.

I remember when our Logic lecturer, who hated “convent girls” humiliated us in every class. “No need to attend any of his classes” was Abba’s decree. “And you can tell your principal I said so”. For the next two years, as the hated (and hateful) Logic Lecturer would walk into the class from the front door, we would walk out of the back door. And he couldn’t do a thing about it, because we had informed the principal that our father did not want us to attend Logic classes! He must have been angrier to see our marks in Logic – easily above 90%!

I remember the times – so many times – when we wanted to bunk a class and go for a movie. All we had to do was call him and he would send the car to college to pick us up!

I remember the time he and a friend came all the way on their scooters to pick us up from home and take us back to the theatre to see the movie “Ab Aayegaa Mazaa”.(Or was it Kissa Kursi Ka?) To many Muslims it may seem blasphemous. But I remember during Ramzan, when we actually broke our fast in the theatre!

When we were kids, we had these vendors who would go around selling snacks in hand-pulled carts. One day, there I was buying some stuff when I saw a couple of poor urchins looking longingly at the snacks. I called them over and gave them some stuff. Soon, I was surrounded by so many urchins that I didn’t know what to do. Abba was watching from a distance and came to my rescue, paying for the entire crowd!

There was never any pressure on us to study. But both Abba and Mummy loved to read and surrounded us with such wonderful books and magazines, that all of us became voracious readers. We had the most wonderful collection of Classics brought out by Readers Digest and he let me have some of them.

I remember the speeches Abba would write – they were always short and witty. Mummy wrote longer, more serious speeches. My sister Nasira got dad’s speeches and I got the speeches written by my mum.

I remember his pride in my writing skills. He would tell his friends about my amateurish attempts at writing poetry and actually “commissioned” me to write a poem on his friend Mr Ghani. Years later, I detected that same note of pride in his voice when he told a friend of his: “She has her own flat in Bangalore”.

Of course, it was not always fun and games. There were spankings and yellings too (my brother and I got the worst of it – being the younger ones). I got a royal thrashing once for calling the maid a pig. The lesson was clear: show respect to everyone. It’s a lesson I think I have passed on to my daughter too (without the thrashing!)

My mother never bothered about money. I think she is the least materialistic person I know of. Abba was a little better but I think money per se did not mean a great deal to him. He was careful about spending money but got royally cheated by a whole lot of people. When it came to giving people their due, Abba was very, very clear. By ensuring that his sister’s kids got their share of the ancestral property, by giving them their due without fuss, he set a shining example for his children: “relationships are more important than money”. When I see friends and acquaintances fighting over property, I appreciate what a valuable lesson he taught us.

We did go though our bad patches. He had his faults and there were times I hated him. There were times when I felt he didn’t understand. Or didn’t care enough. But I know I was wrong. As a parent myself now, I know it must not have been easy bringing up three pretty liberal and ‘thinking’ daughters in a conservative place like Bellary.

I was always very protective about my mom and somehow felt I was closer to her than to my dad. But during the last years of his life, it was Abba who made the effort to reach out to me, to build bridges between me and my siblings. It was Abba who would bring me my old diaries and books. Who would make it a point to come and show me his new car and give me a ride in it. Who would call up and remind me that I had forgotten his and mum’s anniversary and was everything okay?

When he was hurt by what someone had said, he would share it with me and felt comfortable enough to cry in front of me. At such times, I never knew how to handle it. You think your parents are tough and you are the ones who will be doing all the crying in front of them…

In another 50 days, it will be a year since Abba passed away. He is in my thought constantly. I dream of him ever so often and I miss him so very much. I sometimes wish I had been nicer, kinder, more loving, more forgiving, more non-judgmental… I know now that consciously or unconsciously he shaped me into the person I am today. And if my daughter finds me cool today, it’s probably because I had a cool dad!

RUMAN

A child of tomorrow
Clinging to yesterday
Trapped between the old and new

So much like me
Yet so different!
A spirit bold and free

Giving so much
Yet unable to fill
The emptiness deep within

So strong
Yet so weak
A song incomplete

Dead to the world
Yet so alive
In the universe of my mind

My only consolation
That we will meet
Once again in the Eternal Life!

(Ruman was much much more than my niece. She was my daughter, my friend, my confidant. As I have mentioned in the poem above, she was so much like me, but she was so different too. And I loved her so very, very much. She passed away on June 25, 2000. It was one of the worst days of my life and it took me years to get over the grief. For months, I would feel tears just filling my eyes at the thought of her. I still miss her terribly and I pray for her - every single day. I wish she were still around... but wherever she is, I know she is watching over me and Anu, whom she really loved. May Allah rest her soul in peace)

FEET OF CLAY

My idol sat on a golden throne
Encrusted with gems and precious stones
Dressed it was, in a golden light
From head to foot it was pure white
From day to day, it used to sit
On the golden throne; I worshipped it
With gentle hands I'd clean the throne
And shine the gems and precious stones

The idol began to shake one day
I found it had feet of clay
No longer did I see a golden light
Smears of black marred the pure white
The gems and all the precious stones
No longer shone on the golden throne

Quickly I covered it with silken robes
Hid the feet from eyes that probe
But though the feet I could not see
The idol lost its charm for me

PARZANIA

Saw Parzania on Sunday. (Feb 4, 2007). What can I say about the movie? Powerful. Intense. Heart-wrenching. Truly, truly touching. Inspired by a true story, Parzania gives a true picture of the Gujarat riots and also raises some pertinent questions that many in the media never asked. Like, if the Gujarat riots were a spontaneous reaction to Godhra, how were tens of thousands of armed people mobilized? How did the attackers know exactly which homes/business establishments belonged to Muslims? Why were saffron flags distributed for Hindu businesses before the riots? The movie also reflected several findings of the NHRC Reports.

When the Intermission sign came on the screen, there was pindrop silence in the theatre. Nobody seemed to entertain the thought of snacks and soft drinks... it seemed blasphemous and trivial to think of stuff like that after the disturbing scenes that we just saw. The movie seemed to touch every heart. In fact, even after the movie ended, I saw a girl in the back row sobbing uncontrollably. It's sad that the film will never be released in Gujarat. It probably should. It should be released and seen in all those town/cities where communal riots claim thousands of lives. When will we learn? When will we stop slaughtering and butchering each other in the name of religion? When will we stop fighting with each other simply because we call our gods by different names?

The casting of Parzania was superb. And so was the acting especially of Naseeruddin Shah and Sarika, who looks as beautiful as ever. Must watch movie. Disturbinng but as one guy was telling his friend as we walked out of the theatre: "This is reality, man!"

CRY NO MORE

Cry no more
O tender heart
Cry no more
Tears will not
Change your fate
Cry no more

For long have I watched
Your trials and travails
The loneliness of your stand
The blistered feet
As you walked barefoot
On the scorching desert sand

I saw too
The pain in your heart
That gave you not
A moment’s peace
That wracked your body
With sobs and sighs
And soundless, pillow-muffled cries

Oh, don’t I know
Of the sleepless nights
That cast dark shadows
Under your eyes
The pills you pushed
Down your throat
To chase the ghosts away

And yes, a glimpse have I got
Of the Love that stirs your soul
A Love that makes the pain worthwhile
Puts wings on your feet
And on your lips a smile

This Love is sure to win
Dear Heart
This Love is sure to win
So cry no more
O tender heart
This Love is sure to win!

AN INDIAN SUMMER

The sun smiles
From cloudless skies
Beads of sweat
Form a crystal necklace

Thirsting eyes seek
The Ice Candy Man
Cold coffee spawns
An instant moustache

Streams of illusion flow
On McAdamised roads
Whirring fans stir
The lazy air

Lethargy creeps in
And snuggles on the bed
Dusty brown feet search
Cool mosaic tiles

Watermelon seeds fill
The empty bowl
Heat dissolves
In a red plastic mug

GUJARAT BURNS

A child in bandages, on a hospital bed
Confusion in his pain-filled eyes
Wondering why?

A man weeping, hands folded
Begging for help
That never came

Mother and child burnt alive
While the umbilical cord
Still bound them together

A brave young girl
Trying to smile
Through hard-to-control tears

Homes burning in flames of hatred
Terror walking the streets
With home-made swords

And as Hindus and Muslims
Fight over a Temple and a Mosque
Humanity is maimed, humanity is murdered
Humanity will never walk this land again.

(The pictures above, which appeared in Times of India during the Gujarat riots of 2002, and an interview I saw of Dr Bandukwala and his daughter, were the 'inspiration' if you can call it that, for this poem. I strongly believe that violence and terrorism should be unequivocally condemned - whether it is Islamic terrorism or Hindu militancy. When I used to read about Hitler's pogrom against the Jews, I used wonder how could the world let this happen. It's a frightening thought that such things can happen again and again, only the perpetrators change, the victims change, the spectators change... I pray that there may be no more Gujarats, no more Bombay Blasts, no more WTC bombings)