Remembering Hatchya Begum

Not many people knew her real name. But a lot many in the town knew that her quiwami siavai and kachchey queemey ke kababs were gourmet delights to die for. 

Her assemblage of perfumes and lipsticks , and the way she cherished each piece was incredible   

Her botanical knowledge had the best of horticulturists looking up to her. 

Her expertise in house-keeping could bring insecurity to the biggest names in the profession. 

 

She was meticulous, systematic and thoroughly devoted to her femininity. 

She was Hatchya Begum. 

I met Hatchya Begum when she was in her mid-sixties. 

In my heavily laden treasure of memories the picture of my first meeting with this sparkling  bundle of femininity is enlivening and fresh like the morning dew on rose petals. 

It was in the winter of 1983. 

After Christmas and before New Year. 

The most festive period in the whole world ... 🎊🎁💐💐💐

And very special for me as I had just been married 💝💝💝

Hatchya Begum came to meet me as I was recovering from a spell of severe cold and fever.

Interestingly my feminine instincts were intact inspite of the fever 😊  

I still remember she was wearing a sober green embroidered sari and a matching long sweater , she was so full of affection and warmth , her fair complexion glowed in the mild winter sun rays sifting through the spotless glass windows , while her strawberry-red lipstick set her lips on fire. 

She was elegance personified as her presence filled the room abundantly with the fragrance of her imported perfume. 

Her long jhumkas studded with emeralds and the matching neck-piece was perhaps a heirloom 😊

A small clove-like gold ornament adorned her nose and her large eyes looked at me from behind the clear glasses set in a golden frame, perched gracefully on her nose. 

I was informed that she lived next door and our houses had a common wall running through the courtyard. 

She was to become my closest and most affectionate sympathiser in the years to come as her constrained longing for my well being became very evident with the passage of time. 

She gave me useful tips to ease the process of settling down in a completely new environment after marriage. 

Her advice / suggestions to me on housekeeping , cooking and even carrying myself according to place and occasion came with amazing tact that they seemed like casual notings . 

She invariably satisfied my ego showering me with praises , specially if some guests were around. 

Her husband, a retired officer of the government of India , a thoroughly devoted educationist was respected by everyone for his professional expertise and honesty. 

Even after his retirement , he kept himself involved in issues related to education , that was his passion as he worked till his last breath for the cause of women's education and emancipation . 

His command over Urdu and English was impeccable , so much so that he often guided local writers in their work. 

He was also instrumental in making many a rich and spoilt brats in town become decent and successful householders excelling in business and personal affairs alike. 

Marrying such a remarkable man , who solved problems as if they were playthings , was perhaps the best thing that happened to Hatchya Begum. 

While he allowed her the freedom to grow as an individual , he was always there for her , looking after her as if she was an infirm child.

By the time I met them , they had attained an enviable completeness and strength in their relationship that was not captive to its culmination into their parenthood. 

Their marriage seemed so profoundly blissful and they were so intensely in love with each other that their togetherness truly defined what a marriage should really be like. 

Is it easy to have such a fulfilling bond of fondness ? 

Certainly not. 

Hatchya Begum and her husband must have built the world they lived in with loads of patience , maturity and trust shared over the years 

Surely their efforts were well rewarded 😊

She loved shopping , he liked to earn enough for her to spend.

He had a passion for food , she saw to it that every meal on their dining table turned out to be a feast. 

He fussed over her smallest requirement. 

She bought for him lovely gifts. 

Being with Hatchya Begum was always a wonderful experience. 

Her contentment with her own self oozed out like a soothing balm and she spread a sense of cheer all around her. 

One of her greatest attributes was that she never spoke ill of anyone. In fact I have this very firm belief that she avoided speaking about people who had made her unhappy or those whom she did not like. 

She talked (often repeating herself many times over) about the joyous experiences with family, friends, and even servants, animals and plants that had brought her pleasure. 

She could go on talking profusely about the various species of flowering shrubs, ways of cooking fish in unusual spice combination or doing extraordinary patterns in knitting and crochet, but one hardly ever caught her back-biting 😘

Be it dinners, lunches, mendhi ceremonies, marriage celebration, birthday parties, "milad" gatherings or any other event , there was not an invitation that she did not honour. 

From the most powerful and richest in town to the modest and poorest , whoever conferred upon her the distinction of being lovable and special, she returned the gesture with equal graciousness. 

Tell her a secret and it got buried deep inside her, like a coral in the deep sea bed. While you unburdened yourself, you also had the satisfaction that your secret was safe with her ! 

Hatchya Begum was like Spring Time : full of youthful energy , so much in love with life , so warm and vibrant. 

She made trivialities seem special and important.

It was this quality that endeared her to many. 

She never missed an opportunity to be happy And as I look back I think her strongest trait was that she loved whatever she did. 

The elaborate arrangement that went in to planning an important journey , or preparing for the day ahead over a cup of tea in the verandah after a refreshing morning walk were equally important and enjoyable for her. 

She celebrated every moment that she lived. 

Too good to be true? 

Yeah ... one might think so. 

After all perfection is the virtue of God. 

But Hatchya Begum was a mortal human being. So she was not perfect too. 

She had her share of shortcomings. 

I have read this somewhere :

"The purpose of a relationship is not to have another who might complete you; but to have another with whom you might share your completeness". 

And if this be true, then Hatchya Begum's greatest shortcoming was her total lack of confidence in living life all by herself. 

She feared loneliness. 

She was devastated after the death of her husband and for a couple of weeks it seemed like she was making an effort to breathe in the suffocating vaccum that had come into her life 

She however displayed astonishing fortitude and surprised everyone by gradually and gracefully coming to terms with the most tragic reality of her life 

She did not break down while taking the most painful decision of her life : to leave the house that she had shared with her husband and move to another city to live with her nephew and his family. 

One by one she started sorting out things that she and her husband had held close to heart like one would hold their child close to bossom over more than fifty long years making a home for themselves

Much of these possessions had to be discarded

Each time she gave one of her cherished treasure to someone , she seemed to grow emotionally stronger and move one step forward in learning to live without the protective sheild of her husband's love ... 

For a long time after she left , her house remained unoccupied. But then we got new neighbours. A young couple with two small children. 

The place came to life once again, but never quite get back the enthusiasm , fun and merriment it had seen when the aged and childless Hatchya Begum and her husband had occupied it. 

It was wonderful to have her stay with us during her last visit to Allahabad 

By some sheer coincidence it was around the same time that I had met her the first time. 

A lot had changed since then. 

Hatchya Begum had had three fractures in both her legs, her eyes and ears were not as sharp as they used to be.

Age had weakened her body, but her spirit to remain happpy was still like a gushing mountain stream. 

She loved life and so she loved people too. 

In return people loved her. 

 

Hatchya Begum had another uniquely gratifying quality too. She liked to bring people together and let new friendships blossom. 

There was a stream of all sorts of people visiting her everyday 

So there were some beautiful reunions too 😊😊😊

Hatchya Begum always seemed at peace with herself. Yet by quite a queer paradox she also seemed to be searching something constantly. 

Deep inside she was vulnerable with a heart that broke easily 

But I never asked about her unfulfilled desires because for me she was a most splendid celebration of womanhood in its enterity . 

Absolutely charming and as enchantingly unique as her name , she has made a special and unwavering place for herself in our hearts 💐💐💐

Are Muslims Terrorists

After every terror attack anywhere in the world, Muslim names, individual as well as groups, pop up as being the perpetrators of the ghastly acts that put Islam to shame and the entire community is made to feel guilty. It is like as if the entire Muslim community should be crucified for the crimes of some among them. And that it is the benevolence of non-Muslims that the Muslim community is allowed to live on this planet.

I am sorry, but I strongly denounce this kind of charitable sympathy and for all that it means I am not ready to take it. I am a person with some self respect. I know for sure that most of the people from my community across the world have nothing to do with all these killer activities going on. We just don't fit in this kind of setup as there is absolutely no benefit that we could possibly derive out of it...not even the so called "ticket to heaven". Most of the Muslims had nothing to do with the creation of Pakistan. In fact Muslims of North India have their hearts bleeding as their families split and I have seen tears roll down a lot many Hindu cheeks when they remember their friends who had to leave their Motherland as they had been looted of all that they had and driven away from their place of birth mercilessly while on the other side of the border Hindus had to face similar brutality.

I have been observing with some interest the timings of any kind of terror act in the recent times. I have also been observing with a lot of pain how voices of sanity are being ridiculed. Every time skeletons from the past are dug out by the warring groups and any meaningful dialogue which could bring about peace for at least our coming generations is slaughtered at the altar of selfish academic and political interests. Realms of paper and hundreds of hours of air time is being devoted to war of words but nothing seems to have come out of it.

I am neither a politician nor an academic scholar. And I am very happy that most of the common people are not. But the sad part is that this makes us vulnerable to the immoral agendas of vulturous power-seekers. The brainwashing is so perfect that no one gives a thought to the fact that there are good and bad people everywhere and in all communities. And the youth who opt for carrying out these terrorist activities are certainly not guided by love for their faith. They are brainwashed by a coward who himself does not have courage to die for whatever his cause may be.

Hemant Karkare had said in an interview that he was looking at individuals and not any community or organisation while carrying out his investigations. For as long as he was probing cases against Muslims it was fine. When Hindu names started coming up, he started getting threatening messages. Leading right wing leaders openly denounced him and his activities. They even have the right to take the law in their hands and ironically go about doing all kinds of anti national activity in the name of religion and patriotism.
They have asked for the proof of Muslim patriotism and loyalty to India far too many times.
It is now their turn (to prove theirs.)
Also the RSS, BJP, Shiv Sena, MNS, Ram Sene, Bajrang Dal, VHP etc notoriously and openly disregard the Constitution of India. It is astonishing how law of the land seems a helpless onlooker when the representatives of these outfits make an evident mockery of it.

The youth who stray into the deadly world of terrorism are perhaps either in it for money or attention. They have been either deprived of love and affection or the comforts and necessities of life. However their sin still is unpardonable. All the existing bunch of terror mercenaries must see for themselves what their fate invariably is...the dead terrorists in the Mumbai attacks are not even getting the proverbial "do gaz zamin" for their dead bodies. And what have their families or the community gained as a result of their activities ?

The terrorists (who actually perform the acts of terror) are certainly not human. But what shall we call (and how shall we punish) those who divide people, preach hatred, mock laws of the land and make terrorists out of insecure persons...?


Zohra Javed.

Raj And Azmi : Two Sides Of The Same Coin

I have a feeling: Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) and Samajwadi Party are feeding each other. They are the true friends in need of each other in Maharashtra. After splitting from Uncle Bal Thackeray, Raj is still struggling to find a foothold all across the state.

Samajwadi Party and the Bahujan Samaj Party also would like to register presence in Maharashtra in a bid to spread wings and increase their cadre from regional to national levels. So when Raj unleashed his terror on the North Indians, and Behenji was preoccupied with her legal problems, the opportunity fell directly in the eagerly stretched out Samajwadi hands. The party grabbed it hawk-like!

And now the common man is witnessing another political tamasha that threatens to become bloody considering the "national-patriot" Abu Azmi and the "regional-patriot" Raj Thackeray's zeal for their respective ambitions.

For the time being Shiv Sena's legendary roar seems nothing more than a slightly loud murmur, to which the Marathi Manoos and the Bhaiyya from the North can dare to be indifferent at least for the present.

Abu Azmi's adamant arrogance matches perfectly with the Thackerays' wildly violent love for Marathi Manoos. In insisting on taking oath in Hindi and playing the National language v/s Regional language card, Azmi went a bit too far. It is rather unbelievable that he is staying in Maharashtra since 1973, has been in public life for a long time, hopes to sit in the Maharashtra Assembly, and yet never tried to learn Marathi.

One would have accepted that since he is not very well-versed in Marathi, his request that he be given the documents and important papers in Hindi, although he could have opted for English as well, be granted. But I cannot buy the argument that he could not speak even a sentence or two in Marathi for the oath-taking ceremony even as a token of his regard for the people of Maharashtra.

But is this kind of divisiveness not evident elsewhere too? Unfortunately it is far too evident across the globe. The politicians really don't have to work hard on this. Religion is one big issue and region, language, caste, etc. follow closely as being the infallible potent remedy for instant fame and unlimited power. Asians v/s Non-Asians, Muslims v/s Non-Muslims, North v/s South, Northern Hemisphere v/s Southern Hemisphere...the list goes on! The potential for dividing people is immense.

However can emotions vary in their intensity when expressed in different languages? Pain, love, compassion, hatred and all the human feelings for that matter are felt with much the same force and degree by all human beings. How do you feel a sorrow in Hindi, Marathi, Urdu, French, German...and similarly joys need not have a language to spill out.

Thus the feelings, as expressed for instance in "Mee lek laadki ya ghar chi..." and "Babul ki duaaein leti jaa..." express with equal sensitivity the "bidaai" of a girl after her marriage.

And the lessons that one learns from the life of a fisherman's travails at sea will not be different in Hindi or Marathi.

"Waadal vaaraa sutla ga..." and "O! Maajhi re, apna kinaraa nadiya ki dhaara hai..." are so much alike when it comes to emotions expressed.

I pity the Abu Azmis, the Thackerays and their likes for what they are missing in their lives. And which all their money cannot buy, but which their compassion could make so easy for them to have. The common man for once can be much better off than these fighting netas if one chooses not to get carried away by their rhetoric. We, the people must realize our responsibility which is very well expressed by Sahir Ludhyanvi in the following lines:

"Nafraton ke jahan mein hum ko,
Pyar ki bastiyan basaani hain;
Door rehna koi kamaal nahi,
Paas aao to koi baat baney..."

Zohra Javed

Maa Tujhe Salaam

"Vande Mataram" has such beautiful words that even those who do not
understand Sanskrit and Bengali are hypnotized by their rhythm and serenity.
Vande Mataram, I think is a beautiful song and must be critically examined
for its beauty and literary value.

In a BBC survey in 2003, out of about 7000 songs from almost 155 countries,
"Vande Mataram" was ranked second in the selected top ten songs. It is a
part of a novel and not a religious song at all. The reference to Goddesses
Durga and Lakshmi are a way of expression of the deep respect the poet has
for his Motherland, and should not be a contentious matter for the Muslims
because Muslims consider God as one and Hindus also, as I understand
believe that all the different deities are the various forms of One Supreme
Creator. Hence the difference is not in principle, but in practice.

Also I do not agree with the argument that since Vande Mataram is a part of
a somewhat anti-Muslim novel, the song is Un-Islamic. This is perhaps the
most ridiculous reason ever to be given. A couple of years back, as we all
know this matter had come up and at that time I had asked Dr.Asghar Ali
Engineer, the well-known Islamic scholar from Mumbai about it. He had said:
"It all depends on how we look at it. It is more a political than a
religious issue. For Wahabis even reciting Fatiha at someone's grave is
un-Islamic. But for Barailvi Muslims it is quite in keeping with Islam.
'Vande' has two meanings: one is showing respect and other is worship. In
the later sense Muslims will never agree to sing it but in former sense no
one would refuse to show respect for one's Motherland. However, the whole
issue has become political and BJP is using it for minority-bashing as
usual. Some Muslim leaders also take confrontationist attitutde benefitting
the BJP and its likes. Let us not forget that the best tune for Vande Matram
has been composed by Rahman, the music director."

Hence I think it is very clear that this issue is actually a non-issue. It
has been discussed earlier also and if one may care to remember the then
H.R.D. Minister Mr. Arjun Singh had declared that, to mark the 125th year of
its creation, celebrations would include singing "Vande Mataram" in all
institutions. Muslim reaction was much as expected, like it is this time
round, giving an opportunity to anti-national forces to enliven their
communal agenda once again.

One must not forget that at that time Arjun Singh had withdrawn his
circular, and emerged as a secular figure in the eyes of the Muslims. This
time round it is being said that the "Fatwa" has been issued in the presence
of the Home Minister, Mr.P.Chidambaram, who has of course, denied it on
record.

I agree that there should be no forcing anyone to sing it. Love cannot be
forced. It has to happen naturally and out of one's reverence for a
particular object or being. Same is true for God and one's Motherland.
During our Freedom struggle Vande Mataram was a form of greeting used by the
freedom fighters and it used to boost their spirits and morale. Hence I do
not want the religious leaders and political parties directing me on how I
follow my Constitutional freedom as a citizen of this wonderful country that
has been so beautifully described in words by the poet in Vande Mataram.

Zohra Javed

My Memories Of 31st October 1984

(I am not a political person. Hence these following lines are an expression of my anguish and my observation of the situation, at present and what it was 25 years ago, as a human being. I am not making any scholarly statements. Also I strongly condemn the anti-Sikh violence that followed Mrs.Indira Gandhi's assassination.)

As 31st October draws near the treasure chest of my memories opens its heavy-hinged cover to bring out a recollection of the fateful 31st October 1984. A day that numbed India. A day that apparently changed India's destiny. A day, the memory of which will never cease to create tremors in the Indian political and social circles.

31st October 1984, was a usual morning, pleasant as the winter was slowly setting in. My husband Javed, had left very early that morning on a business trip to Lucknow and would return late in the evening. Mother-in-law had gone for a month visiting
her younger son then posted in Nagpur.

I had been married for almost ten months. Was taking my time adjusting to the new environment of the East Uttar Pradesh town of Allahabad. I was born in a small West Uttar Pradesh town, and lived most of my life before marriage in the Western Ghats
of Maharashtra. So it is not difficult for one to imagine the toning and adjustment my body and brain had to undergo to settle down in Allahabad. The Indian diversity is really beautiful but at times can be taxing too!

That morning I had my day's schedule chalked out. As the sun rose to fill the backyard with warmth and brightness I took out my woolens kept in huge wooden boxes hardly opened and largely untouched through the year. They had to be spread in the open as the first step to getting them ready for wearing. I was going to be tied up with this work in the day.

While the cook got busy in the kitchen, my father-in-law went to the garden after breakfast. He would read the newspaper or just relax in his easy chair near the flower beds close to the lawn. He loved the chrysanthemum blossoms and would invariably have some tips for the Mali in planning the layout of the garden for the winter. He was joined there by his younger brother, who lived next-door.

The morning went by smoothly. The cook had finished her work and wanted to go home. Fine.
My father-in-law had come in, it was lunch time already. We ate quietly, which was also usual. He retired to his room for the afternoon. I had just about cleared the lunch table and was putting the leftovers in the fridge, when the telephone rang.

The caller spoke in a shaky voice, that kind when one is not sure of what he is saying. I took some time to recognize the speaker. He was Javed's uncle. His words hit me like a bolt from the blue as he said:
"I just heard Mrs.Gandhi has been shot dead!"
He was giving some other details, but I was not listening.
My mind went blank with shock.

It took some time for us to come to terms with reality.
BY late evening the aftermath had started unfolding and the backlash against Sikhs had begun. Frightened and insecure masses, and here I mean the common man irrespective of his religion and
region, discussed the situation, very apprehensive of the future, which suddenly seemed extremely unpredictable.

Indira Gandhi: the woman with a charming smile, a serene exterior, an apparent feminine vulnerability, yet an interior made of solid iron that had endured personal and professional downturns with amazing fortitude.
None of those deep painful scars could make a dent on the contented and dignified face that she presented to the world. Whatever her political philosophy and ambition be, she was a comforting sight.
In a way the slogan "India is Indira,and Indira is India" was symbolic of her importance, and dominance which can hardly be denied.
Such a powerful and intelligent woman had fallen to the bullets of her own bodyguards. Could there be a bigger paradox?

What would India be after her?
More so after her dreadfully sudden assassination for which none except the perpetrators were prepared.

That debate continued. The fears of well-wishers of the Indian democracy twenty five years back were not unfounded. Today whatever be one's political leanings, we all know that the untimely loss of Mrs.Indira Gandhi has been devastating for the masses who form the bulk of the Indian nation.

As I join the Nation in paying my respects to the Woman who stood tall in her service and loyalty to our Motherland, I am awed by her sense of responsibility and dedication. She had no parallel. Even after twenty five years of her death, India awaits a leader as dynamic, as sophisticated and as charismatic as Indira Gandhi.

Ajit: The Human Being

Ajit, the man who redefined the Bollywood villain with his series of impeccable performances in films like "Zanjeer" and "Yaadon Ki Baraat", was as suave and refined as most of the characters he portrayed

His performances had the ease and conviction of a true veteran, which made those on-screen characters immortal and unique 

Born Hamid Ali Khan in 1922 in Golconda, he belonged to a traditional Pathan family, where acting in films was a taboo. 

Hence he had to run away from home to pursue his dream of acting in films.  

It is said that one of his directors adviced him to change his name from Hamid Ali Khan to something shorter , and after some thinking zeroed on Ajit 

Ajit , who was not comfortable dancing and romancing women on screen , would soon realise that he was actually destined to meet success and glory as a villain 

He decided to listen to good friend Rajendra Kumar who suggested his name for the villain's role in "Sooraj" ... and the rest ,as they say , is history ... 

One Sunday afternoon I was returning from a friend's place and saw a big fancy car parked under the huge Banyan tree in front of our bungalow in the residential colony of the company that my father used to work for. 

Wondering who the visitor could be , I entered the drawing room to see a blurred face behind cigarette smoke , sitting comfortably on the diwan . 

Dressed in an off white pant and shirt and a maroon sleeveless jacket was the man who I had seen smuggling , planning murders and raping women on the silver screen ... !!!

Unbelievable as it was , honestly I don't remember how I had reacted to his presence that afternoon 

I have some very distinct images of his personality etched in my mind ...

His firozi silk kurta and lungi , his presence at the dining table , his smile , his voice ...  

He used to speak so charmingly with a delicate sense of humour that's so alive in my memory even now 

He used to like the serenity and the green open spaces in our colony , so sometimes he would also join his family spending the day with us 

That would be so much fun 

Mummy's friends used to come over to meet him and get bowled over by his grace !!!

His apartments in Bandra and homes in Hyderabad would always be full of guests , family and friends as he used to welcome everyone with affection and specially look after the needy among his family and friends with respect and benevolence 

Discovering actor Ajit Khan has been an interesting journey for me 

In a rare interview with Ameen Sayani Ajit said that Salim-Javed whose story "Zanjeer" had been rejected by the top heroes of that time were looking for an actor to play the role of Vijay , and Salim Khan told Ajit Khan over a cup of tea that he wanted to narrate the story to Amitabh Bachchan 

Ajit was working with Amitabh Bachchan at that time ... They got together ... "Zanjeer" happened ... and that opened the gate of super success for the super hit trio Salim-Javed-Amitabh Bachchan  

A couple of days after his eldest son got married , Ajit Saheb was giving an interview , and was asked about his favourite onscreen mistress "Mona Darling!", to which he smilingly replied:

" I ve let her go now ... "

Our Bandra visits lost all charm and we missed him terribly when he shifted to Hyderabad with his family 

The initial fright which we as children had , had given way to a respectful awe for him that has remained even after he is no more. 

I wish I could have visited his Hyderabad home when he was alive 

It would have been an enriching experience to watch an erstwhile busy Bollywood actor relaxing in his farm house telling stories and playing with his grand children ...

Photo Courtesy : Anil Verma 

Photo Courtesy : Anil Verma 

Photo Courtesy : Ajit Saheb's family 

Pic Courtesy : Ajit Saheb's family 

Pic Courtesy : Salim Khan on Facebook 

Pic Courtesy : Facebook Groups Ajit ( The Lion ) and Film Actor Ajit 

Pic Courtesy : Salim Khan on Facebook 

When Ismat Aapa came knocking .............

The vastly spread out residential colony nestled among Nature's bounties with huge, well-ventilated stone bungalows that had lawns, out-houses, and backyard kitchen gardens, and the old Bombay-Poona Road winding its way up the western ghats running right in the middle, was never really asleep. Deep into the night also one could hear the laboured dragging of loaded trucks climbing up or down the road. But the residents had got used to all of it. And loved every bit of that beautiful place.

For my family this place was and still is very special in more than one ways.
It was my father's first posting after he joined Tata Electric Company that produced hydro electric power. It was here that my mother came after her marriage. It was here that I came to have my first experiences in school and social life.
It was here that the legendary Ismat Apaa kissed me!

I was a few months old at that time, so this one is from the wealth of my mother's memories rather than my own.
My father was a shift engineer in those days and on that particular day he was doing morning shift. It was still early in the day, the morning breeze giving a welcome kiss to the warmth of the sun as it spread its glory. The traffic on the road was gradually picking up. The sleepy colony would soon be buzzing with activity too.

My mother decided to give the kitchen a thorough cleaning. So she had all the utensils and containers out in the backyard washing space, and herself dressed in the traditional western Uttar Pradesh Muslim attire of a gracefully flowing gharara, topped with a short kurta and complete with a long wide lacy dupatta took to dusting and cleaning before the maid arrived.
It seems I could not have asked for a better toy-land as I started checking out all those boxes and containers making strange sounds playing like the most melodious music in my ears.

Mummy and I were so engrossed in our respective activities that Mummy was taken aback with the presence of the visitors who were by now almost upon us 😊!

Four very sophisticated and meticulously dressed people. Among them, the woman a celebrity Urdu writer who my mother could have recognised even in her sleep.
And yet the great Ismat Apa had the courtesy to introduce herself in the most humble manner , and said she knew my father through some common friends when he was staying at Churchgate.

Ismat Apa was accompanied by her film maker husband Janab Shahid Latif and a couple of others.
The contrast was striking. My mother and I in our soiled clothes, our hands and faces testimony to the vigorous cleaning that was going on 🤗,  while Ismat Apaa and company so immaculate and refined, the fragrance of their expensive perfumes filling the already pleasingly refreshing air.

My young and inexperienced mother was baffled having to handle a situation like this all by herself 🙂. Suddenly she had a "brilliant" idea 😄 , she told the visitors:
"Saheb and Memsaab have gone out, leaving the baby with me. I'm her  governess!"
Ismat Apa  looked closely, her sharp eyes taking in all, but giving away nothing.
Was there in her eyes perhaps  a mischievous smile so fleeting that Mummy hardly noticed 🤔😊💖?

Then she picked me up affectionately, planted a sweet kiss on my cheek and said to Mummy:
"Tell your Mem saab when she comes back that we are going to Khandala and will return in the evening. We'll meet her on our way back!"

The visitors started walking towards the gate, to Mummy's great relief, when Ismat Apa turned back, looked at my Mom in the eyes and said rather authoritatively,
"And you! Take care of the baby ... the air is still pretty cold for such a small child. She should be wearing some warm clothes."

In the evening as Ismat Apaa, Latif Saheb and friends sat dining with my parents, sharing among other things the morning incident amidst laughter and fun, Ismat Apaa looked at Mummy with motherly fondness and said:
"Do you really think I would not know the difference between a "bibi" and a "baandi 😊🥰😄 ???"

Zohra Javed