Law-makers, Law-enforcers and the Common Man

I am a very ordinary citizen, a home maker, who hardly tries to meddle with the law of the land, and have not really asked for many rights from anyone leave alone the government. Have always tried to be as good a citizen as can possibly be while trying to mind my own business, paying my taxes and bills on time.

And surely I'm not the exception. In this vast democracy of usually law-abiding citizens, people as a rule do not actually dare to meddle with anyone's affairs anyway. We are conditioned very early in life to rest assured that no harm can come to us because we are lucky to be born in a democratic country, where the Constitution has promised us some basic fundamental rights.

Those who do not have the first hand knowledge and experience with the working of the system, believe in this sacred sermon, but are surely and sadly indeed, in for a shock at their first brush with the law and judiciary.

There have been numerous instances where law and order has shown itself to be in a state of decay. Here I am not talking of how inefficiently both NDA and UPA governments have been tackling the terrorist menace. With absolute power at their disposal, they let themselves appear as sitting ducks, saying shamelessly that there cannot be a foolproof system to check terrorism. I put on record that I am not satisfied with this lame excuse. But for the moment let that be.

Just days back the nation saw a wailing mother who had lost her son because the child could not get medical aid on time. This was beacuse the road and traffic was blocked for the Prime Minister and his entourage to pass.

I could not bear to see this piece of news on television, but in the evening Sardesai and Vikram, on their respective channels, sat dissecting the unfortunate event, the guests even putting "ifs" n "buts" to the story, saying "...if this is true..." etc etc...
Can there be more cruel heartless rogues than in the bureaucracy and the corporate world?
What happened to IndiraJi or RajivJi inspite of all the security?!!
And Madhavrao Scindia, Rajesh Pilot and some others like them? Are we to believe that they were killed in accidents?

I don't think anyone from among the common people going about their daily routine, has the time or the inclination to see which VIP or V VIP is going in which car. The best security measure for our endangered political class would be to travel silently in an ordinary Maruti 800 without fanfare. And also dress up like normal people.
Let the PM, CM and such other VIPs who call themselves the peoples' representatives also experience traffic snarls and potholes. At least the wait at a signal would perhaps introduce them to the people they represent.

Also let me be a little blunt and ask a question that nags each one of us:
Has a PM, CM or other VIPs come to live eternally on this planet?
And if one day they also have to die why are they so scared? Why do they make others die instead of them?

Rules should be for the smooth running of the system, and to ease the peoples' distress. But usually, under the pretext of following rules and abiding by the law, the common man is thoughtlessly harassed, be it at traffic signals or various government offices, making him distraught and disillusioned.

My younger son's name has been entered wrong in his class XII marksheet. To just get one word corrected my son and I have been running from pillar to post for the last one year, and the officers admit that it is a genuine case, but they cannot help, "rules have tied our hands", says the senior most officer who now has to sign the papers. So I am back to square one and do not know what to do.

It is time we become more practical and instead of asking for new rules and laws, let us ask for the existing ones to become more friendly to the common man. And then let these better laws be implemented too in the right spirit. The basic question that needs an urgent answer is:
Are the laws there to kill and trouble the people or to save their life, property and honour and to help them live in peace?

Hate Love Stories...???

I have joined what they call a mobile library. It works this way: you fill in a form, pay an annual fee in lump sum, and their man comes (at irregualr !!!)intervals to your home with a bagful of novels and magazines, from which you can choose and
keep the books for about a fortnight...or of course till the man shows up again. Suits a slow and relaxed reader like me very well. I was told that I can give my choice in advance also so that on his next round the librarian could cater to my request.

This was a delight. Ever since the children have grown up and my household responsibilities have reinvented themselves, I've started a wonderful journey of rediscovering myself. It is a joyous experience. And a rather unheard-of one in today's fast-paced life, where taking things easy and living each minute of the day as per one's own liking is either considered to be a criminal waste of time or the refuge of the lazy. But I know it is a luxury of which people are regrettably unaware of.
Or simply cannot afford to have due to a demanding lifestyle, that includes work pressure.

As I am on this expedition of rediscovering myself, I often sit back and think what I have missed or had to give up in life because I had more pressing duties. I realised that spending time with myself is wonderful. Sitting in my home or going out all by myself, tending to the plants in my balcony, rearranging the furniture in my house, buying colourful cushion and table covers...listening to old Hindi songs and reading.

Reading reminded me of my collection of Mills and Boon novels, which I had so graciously given away (one by one to anyone who asked for it) years ago when I had found my real-life "tall-dark-and-handsome" life partner. So now I asked this mobile
librarian to get me Mills and Boon books. He looked at me as if I was from Mars (or more appropriately Venus?!!!).
After his long pause and my expectant gaze, he said very slowly,
"Ma'am! You will actually read them?!!"
I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, but don't have much to spare so keeping my cool I said: "Yes"

He looked at me sheepishly and still not sure, he told me that people actually never asked for M&B...even the young girls preferred more "realistic" stories, often based on the writer's own experiences as they were closer to life. The youth today were no day-dreamers.
I should have known. My children had laughed out loudly when I had asked them to present me with Mills and Boons on my birthdays.

I had to think seriously about this.
Was I being ridiculous and out of sync?
Was it some other fantastic world that I was living in ?
Was I trying to run away from realities?

Oh! My God! It was not so serious after all I hoped.
But it kept nagging me and I kept exploring the issue.
And then one evening the picture clicked.

We wanted to go for a family outing. Usually it would mean a film and dining-out or dining-out and film in that order. But it seemed really difficult to decide on the film. Men of the house preferred Hollywood...but I am a complete desi in every sense
of the word. Nothing but "Bollywood and associates" works for me. Disappointingly Bollywood had not come up with even one good film in quite sometime. Violence and sex were the only subjects they were churning out in the name of "realism" and "being different" (which was indeed far from "being different" as they all would turn out to be remakes of this-or-that).

Then "Jab We Met" happened. Some years back "Hum aap ke hain kaun", "Dilwaley Dulhaiya Le jaaengey", "Kuchh Kuchh hota hai", "Dil Chahta Hai" had also worked wonders with the audiance. But somewhere down the line, somehow, tender love and sweetness seemed to be goning out-of-date. We are convinced that films are a reflection of the transition the society is going through. They mirror current situations, and we must face facts.

So I seriously wondered if love had become obsolete. Had it gone out of fashion? Worrisome thought it was.

But thankfully not so worrisome when I thought of the success of "Jab We Met" in most recent times. I am thoroughly convinced now that love and honesty can stand every test. These are the only two things that work for Bollywood... and fortunately for everyone and everthing else too. Time can never fade the magic of love. And the integrity that honesty brings cannot be traded.

It is a huge comfort to know that love is always in fashion. Let it be coupled with honesty. It can then reach new horizons.
Whoever said "I hate love stories" must think it over again...

Mere Chehre Mein Chhupa Hai...

I was quite at my wits' end, trying to control my temper to avoid creating a scene at the office of the mobile phone company that had been working like a goddamn government office. This was my third visit there for as petty a work as getting one of my two connections cancelled. But now at last they seemed to have decided to listen to my requests and give up their untiring efforts to convince me to carry on with both the numbers.

Sitting with a deadpan expression, not looking at the boy processing my request, and in fact not even caring what he was doing, I remembered how irritated my father used to get at the manner in which these "trained" boys and girls worked, pressing various keys on a machine called computer, they hardly ever exerted their own brain for a bit of intelligence or innovation.
My father had always kept pace with time, but this present work culture used to often annoy him because he thought it was just too robotic and killed all of one's own thinking power

Taking a turn from the memory lane and coming on to the road I was treading at present, I realized to my great relief that my work had been done. So I got up taking a deep breath and exhaling out hard, more a tokenism, to throw out the negative vibes from my system.

And then I heard someone say,
"Excuse me Madam!"

I looked at the man. He was a sober-looking well dressed man sporting a neat beard. For a second I thought he's going to give me some more "advice" on the mobile service and how keeping at least two connections is beneficial.
So I braced myself up for a counter-offensive!!!

But his was a simple question:
"Are you Mr. Rahman's daughter?"
His voice full of earnestness and devotion, and his eyes looking at me respectfully .
As I tried to smile a little, still puzzled at the situation, he told me it was way back , more than about twenty five years, when he was working in the same division of the company where my father was the Superintendent.
And now, after about a quarter century later, looking at me, he was sure I had to be Mr. Rahman's daughter!

I was not surprised at the respect for my father in his voice.
Almost anyone ... family, friends, colleagues ... there would be hardly anyone who would speak of my father otherwise.
But I was surprised that he recognized me as my "father's daughter".

Out of the air conditioned office, under the open cloudy sky, with the gentle breeze kissing me on the cheeks, I forgot all about my displeasure with the mobile phone company. There was not much traffic on the black smooth coal tar road. As I crossed the road my dupatta flying with the breeze seemed to envelope in its expanse some pictures, some faces, some events from the past ... and so I let it fly... and I let loose the flight of nostalgia too ...

It was a long flight at the end of which I understood why that man could instantly connect me with my father. And I was very happy that while for me my father is always around, in the memories that he has left behind, for others too he has not faded away.
He lives on not just through his memories and good deeds, but in images too ...
My father lives on in this world through me ... what a wonderful thought that was!!!

But it was not all.
What happened next was an unexpected awakening.
A realization.

I felt an intense sense of responsibility to live up to his values and principles. The qualities which endeared him and immortalized him in the memories of so many people should not die with him.
He had gone away.
But his goodness that had touched so many hearts was thriving and alive.
I must live up to those values.
That is the only real tribute and homage I can pay to a man who, who was my father, but not only for me, for a lot many others, he can never be a "dead-and-gone" case.

Timeless Ties

In an old black and white picture in the family album there was this girl, some years older to us running after my brother as he was seen chasing a flock of hens in the vast courtyard of our ancient family home in my native town. I was told that she
was the daughter of a doctor who was posted on government duty for some years in my native place and had stayed in a residential block in the sprawling campus of my grandfather's kothi.
This was many years ago.

But the memories had remained as happens at times, when in this voyage of life you meet people who instantly seem to be one of your own. Doctor saheb and his family had carved out an irreplaceable place for themselves in the hearts of my family. Those ties remained firm and strong although they never came back to my native place after their transfer.
Initially letters were exchanged with intense enthusiasm. Then the pace slowed and then as life moved from one phase to another, though memories lingered, the keeping-in-touch became more of a ritual on Raksha bandhans, Holi, Diwali and Idd.
That also withered with time, but strangely the bond remained.
I was to realise later that this relation was too deep, too unswerving to just sink in the sand of time.

In a providential coincidence doctor saheb's wife met my mother's cousin, Baaji Aapa on a train journey.
The two women hugged each other affectionately, taking their time to settle down. Then began the exercise of exchanging notes and measuring the water that had flown down the bridge while they had been going about their ways. She informed Baaji Aapa that after doctor saheb's retirement they had settled down in Allahabad. Their daughter happily married and the son now an officer in the Indian Army.

And then by another unbelievable coincidence some years later I went to Allahabad. Unbelievable I say because there had been not even a remote chance of me ever landing up in Allahabad.
But there I was most unexpectedly and very happily married to an Allahabadi ...!!!

My mother and her younger sister  told me to search for doctor saheb's family.
We had an address to go by. I searched in the telephone directory.
Made a few calls to the people who I thought matched the description. But that got me no where.
So once when my mother was visiting, we decided to go and find out who was living at the address given by doctor saheb's wife.

The house looked deserted and even before I opened the iron gate with some hesitation, a voice inside warned me of some misadventure, but I brushed aside the thought. I did not want to spoil mummy's child-like excitement.

The lawn was unkempt, but someone had been watering it because the greenery was
thankfully there; the flower beds were full of weeds, the front door was locked, but in the open space on the left that took you to the backyard, there was a clothesline with some clothes hung out to dry. On an old worn out wooden chair and an ordinary cot woven with rough coir were spread some colourful woollens...shawls, caps, sweaters, socks...
The winter was setting in.


Mummy and I looked at each other. A little unsure we walked towards a door that was ajar. A fair woman of medium height, neatly draped in a cotton sari, a deep red round bindi perched proudly on her forehead , was perhaps about to go into the next phase of her daily routine. Her payals stopped their sweet jingle as she stopped in her steps looking up questioningly at the sound of our tiptoeing.

Oh! Yes she knew doctor bhaiyya and his family. But they did not live in Allahabad any more. Their daughter was doing well, her children had grown up, they were doing very well too.
And their son was a "big officer" in the Indian Army. Happily married, two sons and a lovely wife.
Great! I could see mummy's eyes light up with joy.

The woman went on with her loud and incesssant chatter for some more time, smiling and laughing, which apparently seemed unnecessary. I was watching my mother closely as she was taking in each word that the woman uttered. Very attentive not to miss anything at all in the details that the woman was giving about doctor saheb and his family. But I could also sense mummy's impatience at the time this talkative woman was taking to give out details  about  Doctor Bhaiyya and Bhabi's present location and address.

My mother could have burst out and perhaps admonished the woman in an unusual bout of anxiety, but something kept her patience going and she listened quietly as the details about doctor saheb's family and his stay in Allahabad poured out.

And then the woman paused, as if exhausted from her own chatter.
After what seemed eternity she, almost inaudibly said something. Most certaily  she did had not wanted to utter those words. Now we knew why she was talking of everything else.

But had we heard her right ???
Mummy's eyes suddenly widened with disbelief before numbness took over.
And what should I have done? I should in all probablity have been indifferent. It hardly should have been of any concern to me. After all how much did I know or associate with a doctor and his family who at some point in time, had been close to my mother's family. And who I do not remember as having seen, leave alone met in my life...

But how do you really remain indifferent when you hear of death?!!!
We were informed that both Doctor Saheb and his wife were no more.

The search for them was complete. It was sadly a "dead end".
When Mummy spoke despair and helplessness was evident as she remarked with a sigh, "We should not have insisted on looking for them. At least there was this hope of running into each other sometime... at some turn in life... out of the blue..."
Her voice trailed off as tears filled her eyes and emotions choked her throat yet again.

I wonder why do people not allow their past to rest in peace? You meet so many people in various phases of life. Some stay with you longer than the others, some just fade away while some others stay forever. So let that beauty be. Let us stop chasing the past. I would like to believe that if one has to meet someone it will just happen.

But no. Even if one wants very earnestly to let the past be, it keeps coming back. Our past is already a part of us. We know everything about it. And the best part is it has gone, never to return. Therefore we love it so much.

I could not help smiling cynically when in an intersting coincidence I am entrusted once again with a similar task. This time the search is for a Parsi lady in Mumbai. My first effort to locate her has drawn a blank. But I have my fingers crossed as I go about it not giving up.

Blossoming And Blooming After Forty!

Human beings have tried since times immemorial to win over death and erase the advancing years from the face of time. To remain forever young has been singularly the strongest desire of the living...and among women it is perhaps the only aim in life! It is therefore not surprising to note that very few of my gender have learned the art of ageing gracefully. How shocked most women are when a twenty-plus shopkeeper calls them aunty, although we do keep a good track of our looks and stare into the mirror for as long and as often as possible.

I don't know how many women before me have done this, but surely I made an interesting discovery. And as is true of all other discoveries, this one also just fell in my lap while I was trying to figure out something else. I found out, quite contrary to my perception, that for a woman life actually begins to bloom after forty!

At about forty a woman enters the best phase of her life. She has by this time sorted out many of the difficult matters in life requiring attention and tactful solutions. She is through some of the toughest decision making moments and has come out triumphant, she has by this time worked honestly to put her marriage on a solid base, making adjustments and asserting herself as per the demands of the circumstances.

Almost two decades into a marriage, she is now a much contented person, as a serene sense of accomplishment dawns when she sees her hard work bringing in rewards. All through her earlier years she was living for someone...trying to be an obedient daughter, a dutiful wife, a caring mother, a submissive daughter-in-law...but now she can let her hair down and live for herself...she deserves it after all...and now she also has the time to spare for her own self.

So at her fortieth birthday every woman must ideally sit back and relax. Then chalk out a plan for the future to enjoy this beautiful phase to its fullest. A hobby that had to shelved can be revived, or a socially relevant cause can be taken up. Anything that would make her happy.

The sheer enthusiasm it brings is amazing. Now is the time when a woman can really pamper herself going to the movies, plays, concerts, visiting friends...or just window-shopping!
She can work to please herself doing things she always wanted to.

But of course this is not the end of her responsibilities. In fact she is now a friend, philosopher and guide to her children, and so her role, although a little different now, is still very pertinent. She has to help her children take sensible decisions in life giving them enough space to grow on their own.
She has to prepare herself to let go of her offsprings when they are ready to take on the responsibilities of life on their own.

After forty although many of her problems may seem ironed out, it is important that a woman pays attention to her specific needs. She must take good care of herself, excercise regularly and eat well keeping in mind the special requirements of her body at this transitional phase.

She must also once in a while go and see her doctor to keep fit and healthy. She must essentially prepare herself for grey hair and wrinkles of maturity, while being independent and happy and forever remaining an important member in the family and also an asset to the society.

So, calling all the fortunate forty plus females to take on the world with a renewed vigour as the best is yet to come...the glorious period in life has just begun...

Zohra Javed

The Helping Hand And A Reassuring Smile

One may have a lot of courage and fortitude, but human beings need to share their joys and worries to keep their system normal. Man is, as they say a social animal and needs to be looked after and cared for. This is more than evident in times of a crisis.

I have realised with experience that in difficult times, everything seems to stand still around you. The clock ticks, but the time does not pass. The world moves around with its usual fervour, but nothing means much in those dark hours. The feeling of being in a vaccum is suffocating. The mind is blank and the eyes don't see much. Therefore there have to be real human beings around who can make that dark, difficult phase a wee bit more tolerable and less painful.

It also helps to look around and its not difficult to find hundreds and thousands of people in much worse conditions, people who have nothing but courage to fall back on.

Like one of those unfortunate women living in the Dharavi slums of Mumbai whose son fell down fromthe terrace of a four storey building. The trauma that she went through as a mother and the bigger trauma that her misery brought was untold.
Her dry lips and horrified eyes did convey her shock as she moved like a programmed robot in the hospital corridor.
But she bravely held herself together.
She did not loose hope in one of the worst times of her life.

There is another woman selling saris going door-to-door trying to raise enough money so that she can meet the expenses for the treatment of her only son who is suffering from thalassemia. Under tremendous pressure and mental agony she deals with customers haggling for a better bargain and many times may not strike a deal even after much sincere effort. But with each passing day she seems to grow stronger in her fight with Fate, and every sunrise is a new beginning for this courageous woman, who in a weak moment did admit that she may not ultimately win against Fate.

And there is Dr.Shah Faesal from Kashmir who has topped the IAS list this year. He breaks down often when he remembers how his father was butchered like so many other innocents, and sacrificed at the altar of the conflict in the Kashmir Valley.
He has endured so much that has scarred his life forever. However he did not cow down to the extreme distress in his life. It actually went on to make him stronger enabling him to face the challenges in life with greater fortitude.

But I was not thinking about these brave persons the day my mother suffered a heart attack. Looking at her helplessly as she went through the discomfort and pain, it was only her agony that mattered. And as she lay in the hospital with some tubes attached to her organs, a small screen displaying some numbers that showed her condition to be stable, in my own insipid state of mind I could not even infer that life is all about some joys here, some pain there, and the magic act of sharing where joys shared are doubled and pain shared is halved.

So as I sat in the waiting area of the hospital with my siblings, there were others too whose relatives were in the Critical Care Unit and who were as anxious as we were, or perhaps even more than us. I did not look at their listless faces and sleepless eyes. A queer definiteness deep inside me said that it would not help ease my nerves.
But there had to be something that would.
Prayer?
Yes! Prayer always helps.

So prayer it was. The distracted mind was hardly at peace.
Concentration was difficult.
But just a couple of words with God were soothing.

And as hours passed giving way to a new dawn, those listless faces and sleepless eyes, which had hitherto scared me began to denote ex-pressions of support and an unknown connection began to develop. Although the smiles were mirthless, the eyes still frightened, the mind not yet at peace, there still seemed to be a reassurance in the air as we exchanged feeble smiles.
I realised the power of a smile then. Even if that was just a frail curve of the lips, the exercise had tremendous potential to relieve the nerves of tension and pressure.

Also supportive were friends and family whom I can never thank enough.
And among them all, stands out the one who reminded me to come out of my condition, look around and discover that I am not alone, and neither am I nor my mother helpless...
all I need to do is gather my guts and realise my potential to sail through.

Hence I say that while one may have a lot of courage and fortitude, yet one may tend to forget, due to baffling situations in a crisis, certain basics of keeping their feet firmly on the ground. At such emotionally stressful times human beings do need people who can remind them to share their worries and come out of their troubles fearlessly.
At one time or another, in life we all need a helping hand.

Bonds of love...in times of pain

Uncle Vishi was tall, fair and aristocratically towering.
His wife was short, fair and always draped in exquisite silk and rich cotton saris, with tasteful jewelery that complimented her saris with a deep feminine sophistication that was near absolute.
His shoes were always well polished and in tune with his aloof and snobbish personality. His oval fair face shone with self-confidence that was a shade arrogant.
The wife seemed more humane, soft-spoken and friendly. Someone with whom the children could easily take liberties. But not with him. He was a frightful disciplinarian. As near a perfectionist as God would allow in this imperfect world!

My siblings and me and Uncle Vishi's children were the best of friends, spending summer afternoons reading stories, and evenings playing badminton. And so were our mothers, going out shopping and visiting friends together.
Can't say the same about our fathers. Uncle Vishi was my father's boss.

Years passed and by a leap of fortune my father got promoted to match Uncle Vishi's position. But that apparently brought the end of our togetherness. Our families went to different division of the company and we hardly met except in some inter-divisional function etc.

But years later by some twist of Fate we were destined to meet in much different circumstances and more than a thousand miles away from Mumbai.

It was a pleasantly cold evening in Allahabad. I was hurriedly getting the famous "special" Allahabadi guavas packed properly into a neat basket. ("Special" because as they ripe they become reddish from outside and look like apples from far!)
Uncle Vishi had called up a day or two back from Banaras that he and aunty would pass through Allahabad by the evening train en route to Mumbai.

I can't explain my feelings at the thought of meeting Uncle Vishi and his adorable wife after so many years. So much had changed for us in the time that had passed. I didn't know what they would say...but more painful for me was to decide what I would say to them...and how would I bring myself to say all that?
In a confused moment of emotionally charged dilemma, nostalgia gripped me tight. Suddenly I felt my vision becoming hazy and realised that my eyes were brimming with tears.

When I reached the platform, the train had already reached and I saw uncle Vishi pacing up and down restlessly near his compartment, aunty standing near by looking up anxiously as if not sure if I would really make it to the station in time to have a small chat with them.

It was not just age that had matured and mellowed Uncle Vishi. He and aunty looked like a ghost of their past glowing selves. They had lost their lovely daughter to a venomous brain tumor a couple of years back and with her had gone the light of their lives.
Even then Aunty had taken the tragedy bravely and looked more in control of her emotions. But for all I could make out, Uncle Vishi was a broken man. His daughter had taken away with her his pride, his confidence, his snobishness...whoever thought daughters were a burden should meet Uncle Vishi at least once.

I realised that some friendships bloom even in the absence of face to face meetings and actually blossom into becoming the strongest bonds of love to be shared in times of pain. I hugged uncle spontaneously and he held me lovingly placing his hand over my head in a gesture of blessing me from the depth of his heart.
My fear of The Perfectionist had gone. He was no more the dreaded disciplinarian whose sight made children run for cover!

A few more years went by. And then I lost my father. Uncle Vishi and aunty came to meet me and my family. We went inadvertently to our past. Uncle remembered the evening at Allahabad station. He said,
"It must have looked strange to the onlookers and passersby...a Hindu man hugging a Muslim woman so affectionately!"

And after a pause, which I'm sure he took to control the emotions choking his speech, he added:
"But that was the most affectionate hug that I got in a long time...in fact the only one that made me feel the presence of my daughter...!"
And saying so his hand impulsively reached to bless me like he had done at Allahabad station, placing his hand lovingly over my head...
And I felt the presence of my father all around...