Sari comes back

Whatever be the reason behind Vidya Balan's preference for saris, I am very happy to see the Deepikas, Kareenas, Dias and all the etceteras falling in line with her. After Rekha ji it is this indigenously pretty girl setting the trends in Bollywood. And what a completely rejuvenating experience this has been. Looking at Vidya so splendrously draped in six yards of shimmering silk, her elegant blouses making a sensuous statement and her magnificent jhumkas teasingly adding richness to her charm, is a delightful feast for the eyes.

The nauseating display of perfect bodies looking almost artificial in their finely chiseled beauty can take a break, while a rather imperfectly-moulded yet refreshingly beautiful real woman comes to fore.

I recently read that Vidya with her silk saaris and elbow-length blouses has become so uninterestingly predictable and that she is scared to experiment having gone wrong with her western outfits in the past. I dare say I have not heard another more ridiculously dumb remark. It smells of burning insecurity.
If Vidya is predictable in her saris I really wonder what all those scantily clad women who leave nothing to imagination are....????!!!!!

Call me traditional. Label me orthodox. But I strongly believe that being sufficiently and decently clothed is a sign of cultural refinement, human progress and a developed civilization.

Be it reel or real life, aristocracy and royalty have displayed their abundance and sensuality majestically covered in silks and chiffons rather than choosing to bare it all.
No wonder then that an innocent "hawa mein udta lal malmal ka dupatta" arouses much more desire and romance than a badnaam Munni's jhandoo balm or a Chikni Chameli's raunchy pauua...

Ek Rang Ye Bhi

Across the road opposite my house in Allahabad was the PWD Colony. We had not much in common with the residents there and most of the time lived in our separate worlds. I distantly remember some family names like The Goels, The Shuklas, The Senguptas, who we knew through chance meetings in the neighbourhood.

And there was also this one family who we hardly even spoke to, and yet quite certainly we shared a special bond with them. Their elder daughter was unfortunately mentally challenged. But it was a delight to see the dignified upbringing and care that she was receiving from her responsible and enlightened family.

I would often see her sitting with her mother engrossed in conversation oblivious of the world around them. The mother would sometimes be combing the girl's long black hair and at times trying to teach her to read and write.
Whenever our eyes met, we would exchange good-natured smiles.
My husband would gift her chocolates and biscuits on Children's Day.

Their unspoken reciprocation of affection would come with Holi Greetings.
Puri, kachori, paneer in a tasty gravy, seasonal vegetables cooked deliciously, dahi baras, two-three varities of papad, assorted snacks and the gujhias......all arranged on sparkling brass trays, with spotless white crocheted covers would come just in time for a delayed lazy lunch as my children returned home from the neighbour's house drenched in colours...

Amazing how the splendid colour of selfless love and regard manifests itself so silently, so sweetly, so memorably....

HAPPY HOLI :))

I am Sorry

It has been fearfully disturbing. This realisation that has so unexpectedly dawned upon me and comes haunting recurrently. I have suddenly realised that I have absolutely no idea how many people I might have hurt. 

To be fair to Myself I would insist that most of the time the act was unintentional. And to be fair to others (read my victims!!!) I will honestly admit that a couple of times I have hurt people knowingly (and justifiably).

"Justifiably" because I feel they had hurt me first. And that I was hurt much more by them, than they by me.

I also realised that the human body is immensely blessed. It has amazing healing powers. It can endure a lot. But the soul is delicate, fragile and weak. 

This may sound ironical to our belief because the body in its physical form withers, weakens and dies, while the soul is said to be immortal. And yet I think the soul is not empowered to mend itself. 

Once hurt, the soul is scarred forever. But the body usually bounces back after every suffering.

Another thing that I learnt as a child was that God forgives everything if the repentance is heartfelt. But He does not forgive us for the pain
that we cause to His Creations until that person (or creature) forgives us. And so wouldn't it be much better to stay hurt than be hurtful...
(How fair will this be to "I,Me,Myself" is another question)

For the moment imagine the silent distress of a heart that took the blows of someone's mindless egoistic maliciousness.

I don't know how many souls I have agonised. Hence in a bid to ease the anxiety that has come with the "awakening" that I have had, I keep
reiterating and "convincing" myself that any human being is a mixed bundle of virtues and sins. And it is in this form of one's life that
one is most vulnerable to temptations. So if I did really hurt someone (knowingly or unknowingly) it was only to stop getting hurt myself.

It was a pure and innocent act of self defence.
Come on! I have to be fair to Myself first.
But this argument has not helped ease a baffling conflict the three of us (I, Me, Myself) are having.
What I may do to save Me from Myself though, is seeking a sincere apology from each one of the people I have known.

However the Me inside Myself knows this is easier said than done.
Of the two most important people whose forgiveness I should have sought long ago, one is no more around. I mean my father. And the second, my mother does not have an e mail account (considering the fact that I am
sending this apology through an e mail).

Why is it so difficult to express ourselves to our dearest and most loved ones? why do we hide our pain (and often our love too )  from them? Why do we take them for granted? And why do we assume that they would always understand us and our silence ?

I have realised that once in a while our dearest and the most loved ones also need to be told quite simply and openly of our love for them.....and of the grievances that we might have with them .....
Why do we never think of apologising to ( or complimenting ) those who mean the world to us? This much we owe to those who make a happy difference in our life. And to ourselves too. 

By writing this I am trying to make amends and 

reach whoever I can. Forgiveness they say is Godly. And hence I have encouraged myself to seek it from noble souls who may be a lot more humane, kind and generous than I have known them to be.

Sorry may not be a big word. But its the only word I have right now.

So here's sending a sincere apology to all those who I might have hurt intentionally or unintentionally with an earnest hope that I ll be understood and forgiven 

💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝

All is well (by God's grace)

After the initial excitement of being true to the wedding vows ("I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health....I will love you and honor you all the days of my life" etc etc...) I thought of getting a little practical!!!
A careful scrutiny showed that The Almighty had after all shown some partiality to the fair sex and did not include "in business and on official tours" in the list of vows exchanged...so without a feeling of having disobeyed Godji's commands, I made up my mind never to accompany Husband Ji on a business tour!
The comfortable environs of my home were so much more luxurious and engrossing than the boring confines of a splendrous hotel room where all by myself I would hardly know what to do while husband-dear-husband busied himself in an endless chain of discussions/meetings.
Yes! I could go out to see places of tourist interest, check out on some nice eateries or just shop-n-hop around....Alone?
In the twentieth century when I was a newly married woman that was still a far-fetched idea, which hardly ever crossed the minds of females-from-respectable-families (At least the kind I was brought up in).

So it was decided. While my husband would be on a business tour, I would utilize my leisure to pamper myself, doing whatever pleased me...... like rearranging the furniture in the house or eating oil-dripping spicy food or weeding the flowerbeds (getting my hands and nails real dirty!!!!)....and of course watching television late into the night. On his return he would be face to face with a thoroughly spoilt brat !!!!

But six years and two children later one is a lot more wiser! I also learnt to adjust and adapt!!! I think even the man learns his lessons. He tries to become not just a good father but a better husband too. So when he asked me to accompany him on one such trip to Delhi I agreed, much to the delight of our children.

There were two important things on our joint agenda.
a) Taking the children around Delhi
b) Visiting my Mumanijaan's "maaika". (Her mother had expired a couple of months ago, and we had still not been able to visit them)

Not being able to find even a day off Javed arranged for the safest way for me to take the kids around: Delhi Tourism Department's luxury bus ride across the City. It was just perfect. Comfortable vehicle, non-interfering passengers and a helpful guide, who even took care of my children! The day went off very well.
But it was not going to end before some unforgettable drama!!!

The bus had taken off from the Tourism department's office, and assuming it to return there my husband promised to meet me at that same palce in the evening. But to my utter surprise the ride terminated at a completely different place. I was horrified. Delhi is so chaotic. Suddenly it looked monstrous too. But the obliging Guide offered help when I told him about the situation.

There was no other option, and so wiping off fear from my face I walked behind him with the children. The place was pretty crowded, I could have lost his sight in just a second. He did not realise that for me and the children it was hard to match his speed. But somehow we managed to pull through.

The office staff made us comfortable with tea and biscuits. And then the wait began.
Minutes passed like hours. I lost the count of them. But Javed did not come... I called up his meeting venue and was told that he had left, I tried the hotel. He had not returned to the room yet. This was getting worrisome. Even the children were now feeling the discomfort.
I was sure he would not go to my relatives' place without me. But even then I decided to check out with my cousin.
"Oh!Dearest Zohra Baaji....where in world are you?!! Javed bhai, and of course we all are so extremely worried about you and the children. He called up four or five times!!!" Exclaimed my cousin in one breath.

I narrated my side of the story to her. Gradually we calmed down, much relieved that the ordeal was over. And as I replaced the receiver back in place the concerned faces around me relaxed too, brightening up with genuine happy smiles.
Javed came in about fifteen minutes later.

He said he had come to the office at the appointed time and was told that the bus ride terminates at another place. He immeditely rushed to that place, terrified at the thought of the worst that might happen and at the same time praying that no harm should come to me and the children.
Meanwhile I had used my intelligence, and we ended up crossing each other quite like Bollywood films.........
But all is well that ends well.

It was dark outside and a bit deserted too as we walked towards the parking lot. Javed a little ahead of me, Faizi holding his Abba's hand in a secure grip, talking incessantly and Usman perched proudly on his arm, quietly observing the world through keen eyes.
I had contained my urge to burst into tears far too long.....but on the dark deserted road where no one would see, the stream had broken all barriers even before I knew !!!
An elderly man crossing the road stopped by to ask :"Is everything allright beta? Why are you crying?"
I just smiled through my tears of immense unspeakable joy...

Hope against Hope

The evening was cold and dark as I entered a fenceless compound that had been brazenly encroached upon. The dilapidated structure, a little further down the path, which was house to at least two families stood bravely bearing the painful scars of a mulilated relationship between two brothers .

Had prepared myself for sad faces and a glum meeting as I rang the door bell reluctantly, as if still seeking an excuse to avoid this encounter. The excuses would have worked, in fact no one would hold it against me had I chosen not to visit this couple. But it would be a little cruel on my part if I had not come. I would hold it against my ownself for a long time, if not for the rest of my life.

The lady of the house opened the door. Wearing a musturd color neatly embroidered woollen shalwar kameez and a smart maroon jacket, hair styled elegantly, she was smiling. My lips also curled into what must have looked like a smile...
I did not know if her's was an artificially pasted one. But I knew mine was. It was just not the kind of atmosphere that makes one happy.

She welcomed me to the huge and graceful drawing room. It perfectly reflected the personality of its owners. Our conversation began on a much expected gloomy note as she and I discussed her husband's health. He was suffering from cancer and the condition was not getting any better even after getting the best of treatment available.

Both her sons are away from home for work. She is a Professor, now deputy director of the training institute that trains the teaching staff of the University. Her husband had a flourishing business before his health made it impossible for him to go on working. She said she would happily move to another job if it would take the couple closer to at least one of the sons, and away from this daily grind of unpleasantness. Surely if all their prayers cannot be answered at least this one should long have been.

Not that I did not sympathise with her, but helplessness thy name name is human being. I wanted to get over with this uncomfortable feeling of powerlessness at the soonest. The first opportunity I got, I told her most politely that I would better leave. But her hospitality amazed me.
"How can you go without a cup of tea?" She asked me, and without waiting for an answer, she was already on her way to the kitchen.

Over hot cups of adrak-waali-chaai and samosas we chatted of other things. It was like a break she had been most eagerly seeking. I could feel the sense of relief she was experiencing from being able to put the agony of a painful existence behind her, if only temporarily.. She was beaming like a winner at having wrested from the clutches of suffering more happiness than life allowed for her.

She then took me to the adjacent room to meet her husband.
He was so weak and frail that from under the mass of a shimmering sea-green silk razai his head popped up with some difficulty to rest against the pillow...
She instinctively went to his side and made him comfortable.

He had to make an effort to speak, but he talked pleasingly. Right in front of my eyes was a lonely middle-aged couple, struggling to stay afloat in the midst of devastatingly stormy high seas.

For every smile that lit up her husband's face I saw her shine with a thousand rays of hope. Life is strangely very easily optimistic.

Her smile was for real.
And this time round mine was real too.

Au Revoir Lucknow :-)

Lucknow has never been a place of residence for me. But strangely it has always been a part of me. Most of my lost-and-found bonds in life have a bit of Lucknow in them. It hass been always there for me. Has been kind to me. Generous to me. Being in Lucknow has been like being in a mother's protective care.

Have travelled the winding route from Allahabad to Lucknow countless times with family in our station wagon-ish car. But this time it was different. For the first time I was travelling in a bus. Allahabad to Lucknow. And it was also different because this time it was a trip for the family. The sole purpose being connecting with the family in Lucknow. Just that much. No business and work strings pulling me apart. So I was at peace although the bus was running far too much behind my schedule. My younger son and I were supposed to join cousins and their children for lunch at a place near Hazratgunj.

The evening was dusty and grey as the bus reached its destination at Alam Bagh Depot after what seemed to me like having spent an entire lifetime in that bus!
From the bus depot to my cousin's place, I would have preferred a leisurely ride in the cycle rikshaw, but it was already well past lunch time. I knew how disappointed my hosts must be, hence we took an auto rickshaw to speed up a bit on a winter evening that darkens even before it really sets in.

The house was as warm and inviting as it always had been. It was like my own. Nothing was apparently amiss. Yet I knew everything was not the same. One of the most affectionate person of the household, the adorable caretaker, that wonderful guardian who could play all the roles from being a gracious host to being a concerned elder had left us forever, leaving an emptiness that could not be filled even by a crowd of thousands.

A hot hurried shower refreshed our bodies tired with sitting for over four hours in almost the same position. Cozy cups of tea were followed by a lavish "lunch" which brought back the aroma of a cuisine that belonged to the days of those long lost expansive kitchens which once buzzed with activity in my parents' ancestral Kothis. The fragrance of hand-ground masalas and the clay choolahs, the distinctive smell of rotis being cooked on the heavy iron tava kept inverted on fire, and corriander leaves and green chillies being ground with a few garlic cloves into an appetizing chutney....memories of the days that are now found only in the pages of Family History.

In the coversation that went hand-in-hand with the meal , we travelled the path to our most loved places of those enchanting yesteryears...the courtyards, the corridors, the "beri" and "amrood" trees, the huge rooms within rooms...we shared our present with the past, we brought to life in our conversation the people who had once-upon-a-time lived in those enchanting dwellings and had been a part of our growing up.

Between my cousins, their families, me and my family there was so much to know and say. I was with the people who had supportively shared my family's downturns and were now mellowly joyful to see us mercifully blessed by The Almighy God.

Crouched in the warmth of colourful soft Jaipuri razais, away from the cold and frigid world outside, I could have lived my life in that dream-like togetherness. But soon it was time for dinner. Delicious once again. The unforgettable shakarkandi-ki-kheer and strawberry souffle merit a fond and special mention.

Then a drive through deserted foggy avenues of the City to reach Lucknow Railway Station some time before midnight for our train to Delhi.
The night was lit with silvery street lamps, glowing through the fog like mysterious far-away stars. But bright enough to show the way through darkness.

That night as I boarded the train I was loaded with a bountiful treasure of happy moments to cherish all my life.
The goodbyes that night were expectant au revoirs...till we meet again  Lucknow .... !

Sweetest Dard e Dil-li :))

A few hours more than twenty-four spent in the wintery warmth of Delhi were very special and extremely emotional as each passing moment connected family fragments in a happy reunion.
The platform was cold, foggy and dusty at about noon as my younger son and I alighted from the comfortable confines of the airconditioned compartment of the train that brought us from Lucknow to New Delhi.

The morning I spent in Delhi was invitingly sunny and the fragrance of nostalgia filled every little space around me. As my son navigated his way expertly through the majestic blocks of Connaught Place, I remembered the time, not so long ago, when I used to take the children around these very exquisite corridors during our winter holidays in Delhi...shopping, eating and having so much fun.

Commuting in those days used to be a nightmare in Delhi. But now the Metro is amazingly swift and convenient. We had to buy a couple of things before reaching my cousin's place in Jamia Nagar. Having done that we got on to the Metro. Everything perfect so far. But within a few minutes of being in the Metro my son realised that his wallet was missing.
The money he was carrying and his cards were gone....and we were like, "Oh! My God....what are we going to do now???!!!!!!!"

Frantic calls to get the cards blocked were made simultaneously as trying to get an FIR lodged for the missing things. Then a visit to the nearest branch of our bank to arrange for cash. All this took up most of the afternoon.

At my cousin's place everyone was waiting over "lunch". When we finally reached her place tucked away from the hustle and bustle of a polluted over-populated Delhi, the sun had already begun calling it a day. We were all ravenously hungry. Freshening up was hurried. But the sumptuous supper that followed was deliberate, lazy and so completely engrossing. Endless cups of tea and an unending chatter came to a halt as tired bodies succumbed to the coziness of luxurious silk razais in a room filled with the fagrance of affection and fondness.
After a comfortable night, morning came rather gradually and indolently as the Sun fought its way through the stubborn fog.

For the "breakfast" at another cousin's place at Akbar Road, we reached half an hour before noon!
The vastly spread out green lawn was filled abunduntly with the reclining rays of the Sun, mellowed in intensity as if shivering in the face of a bully called Winter!!!
The paradoxes of the morning were no less amazing as freezing arms bonded in warm embraces, and in the biting cold of the North we relished steaming hot idlis, dosas and sambhar perfected with rich authentic aroma of the South.
As the Sun spread its rays over the plentiful flower beds there was colourful resplendence all around.
We were in another world, where no dust, no pollution and no frosty feeling could ever reach...