Punjab 1984

Eons and eons have been written and more shall be written till may be history and Man lays rest to one the most horrific incidents of recent times in India. I don’t knowhow to term it but yesterday watching a film directed by Anurag Singh made me rethink the time when I as a ten year old was asked to suddenly move to Chandigarh, as it was relatively safe. We were asked overnight to wear salwar suits as it made us blend in and not be conspicuous and to a ten year old girl it all seemed alien; except that school was shut and a whole lot of summer time was available.

However, the subject of the movie is 1984, Punjab and how an uprising made some martyrs, some fortunes and how misfortune descended on mothers, fathers, families were destroyed just because they were Sikhs and even Hindus were not spared.

The real villain of the piece is always the politician who kills, murders, inspires, instigates innocent mind to mayhem, chaos, kill, to kill innocent bystanders who are just numbers – his vote. The mother of the protagonist played by Kirron Kher is par excellence, her nuances of a broken mother who lives for her son is mesmerizing. One cries with her, smiles at her motherly instincts, laughs at her scolding’s, why because that’s what mothers are made of … I identify with her anguish, her spirit to search every day for her lost son, to hear just once that he is all right, to look at him once with her failing eyes, her spirit that remains strong , unbroken .

Diljit Dosanjh , is wonderful  , a brilliant portrayal of a youth whose life goes wrong not because of the  so called ‘ cause of Inquilaab but due to family feud over land; the curse of us Punjabis.

I was apprehensive before the release thinking that it would leave an impression , would again rekindle Khalistan and those dark days; and I was so wrong. It was again a self preservation instinct kicking in to save my children from being influenced not realizing that we need them to know , to  grow stronger, dig deeper roots and to learn from the lessons of the past . why be so fickle and weak to think a work of art would make us jump into the cauldron of revolution again ?The times of Bhagat Singh and Sukhdev are gone when people lived for others, were selfless, where blood was red and not divided by caste, religion , creed . Punjab, needs to reclaim it self from the shackles of drug, caste war and to reclaim its glory .  And, no one from outside is going to save us , not on face book, or on virtual media, or on television , or on those senseless debates , what we need is a collective on the ground change, together .

Aur , Ab

It was #late One Night when Lovely finally called Nitu and told her that it was time they decide whether they should take it step forward. Either they needed to take it to the next level to marriage or forget being friends.

Why dilly dally?And keep on delaying the inevitable. One way or the other they had to move on. He was ready for compromise to settle for companionship and to build a life. Face it , romance, building castles in the air for the youth , he needed to be practical as he had been all his life. Nitu , picked up his cell and said , Ji lets meet tomorrow for coffee at 11am at café Kudrat .It was going to be along night . She knew she want getting any younger and any knight in shining armour was not going to sweep her off her feet. I mean she had a long order but want that stuff for dreams. She needed love, romance, candlestine meetings, kisses, necking ,sex and she wanted the sanctity of marriage. Well, the  romance would come with the shackles of marriage and Lovely didn’t seem so bad.

After , a long talk with Imran the closet friend who dare not come out because of fear society an dits repressive attitude , she knew now the tough life he had and what a genuine guy Lovely is. We all have our crosses to bear and sometimes just flinging yourself in the river made one swim the current.

Next morning, she dressed with extra care , brushing the hair till it shone , and according to her whatsaap gang she wore it one side and the new lenses plus the kajal was worked in with perfection. In fact , a motto for today was keep the eyeliner neat and the chai sweet. She wore a lovely crisp chikankari suit and wore those lovely silver baalis.  She really now felt a candidate on marriage mart! On the other side of twon ,Lovley wore his favorite white linen shirt and  his jeans and his fav chappals. If she liked him and accepted him she would do with the whole package. He was tired of putting up a pseudo front.

They met at the café . The name itself was a strong indicator of the times to come and lives to be carved.

I like your honesty and your will to succeed, would you let me work ? Nitu asked.

Sure, that’s easy . Would you be my friend, companion, walk with me through the open skies, rainy days , in the moon light, listen to crazy music, dance for no reason ,eat fried noodles, golgappas, cry at soppy love stories and hold my hand? I cant quote faiz, kafka, or Gibran.. All I can give you is me , and to never make you cry and most importantly hug you till you the tears go and peace comes. He said.

She knew , she was his for life.

Part 3

They both sat opposite as if they were old warring countries; not ready to relent, one bit. They didn’t smile, budge or even smirk. It was a contest to see who would blink first. And, then they cleared their throat at the same time.

Everyone started laughing and Khan Sahib, the mamaji by emotions and not by blood said Baat kariye. An anglophile who was somewhat lost between the beauty and romance of the English writers and the old age romance and seductive hold of Urdu. He was a bachelor, a behind the scenes mamaji but someone who had every say in whatever was happening in the house hold. He seemed to materialize whenever anything important was going to happen; it was as if he had extra honing radar!

Lovely and Nitu looked at each other, and then he asked her what were her interests? He sounded like a duh even to his own ears but what should he ask this sadu ladki who looked as if she had beaten and made to sit here in someone’s 1960 vintage clothes. She gave a one word answer, reading.

That was the end. She thought how could she escape and then Bhaiya said, why don’t you take her for a drive? We will have tea when you come back.

OMG, this was worse than any C grade movie, it was so blatant and in the face.

He got up and said, Chalo . She got up and gave such a dirty look to Bhaiya and mamaji and started walking out wondering how she was going to escape him and his mooch.

The understated navy blue BMW was cool, she thought. And when he opened the door for her, he scored a point.

Then they started for their drive and there was silence. It was so quiet in the car, she could sense the silence. She wondered if she should give in to this arranged marriage and then discover love or a lifetime of misery. Should she assert her feminism and wait for love to open the door for her? Should she wait for some lawyer who would match her skills but would be a complete no –no?

Lovely wondered whether he should settle for her, this sadu, depressing brown spectacled woman who sat defiantly but was sitting like a mouse clothed in a tiger’s clothing!

What did kismet have in store for them?

Lovely Shovely/ Niti- shitu Part 2

No one ever told his story. It was always what the girl wanted or what she had in mind and they said it was scary and difficult for the girl in arranged marriage. Has anyone ever asked whether lovely wanted anything?

It was always, oh your father has died and you need to step up to look after the business. Why bother with studying? That can come later. Anyway, you didn’t score a great percentage in your boards. Family business hi to sambahalana hain, to kya farak padta hain.

His life was based on this chalta hain attitude. This is what was applied to his life. Work, work, work and now get married. It was obey the elders all the time. Why did he have to be a Ram manush? He should be a Casanova, painting the town red. His town was on the crossroads, thus so many girls in the four-city radius and here he was sitting in front of a sadu girl, who wore such a chatkila orange kurta and a tight pajama. Did she not know of fashion? Wasn’t it too ho tot wear such bright colors? And she was supposed to be an Urdu shayari lawyer madam with weird tastes in reading. Apparently, she read everything that was printed, thus the brown framed glasses.

She didn’t even smile, nor did she ask anything. A simple Namaste was what she said, and she sat down.

Lovely so named because his Dad thought he was a lovely baby and the name stuck. And, it was till date his name.

Lovely was a hardworking man, not a boy anymore, his beard had recently sprouted its first grey, and it didn’t bother him.

Why was he supposed to say yes to a girl who had called him Lovely shovely , written him off because he was not educated enough, was not sophisticated enough as she told her friend.

She might have vidya , but didn’t have buddhi..

And looking at her, he wondered what fate had in store for him?

And who was she to make fun of his name, with a name like nitu -shitu it was as if the Gods had conspired against him and were having the last laugh.

Hanuman ji , mein aap ko saal kela doonga , bachayo...

Allah mein, yay khatoon se mujhe bacha do...

Lovely - Shovely ki dastaan

Last week was Mintu- Shintu, this week it was Lovely – Shovely. Where did Bhaiya churn out these cartoons she thought? Agreed, he was a businessman with a fleet of 100 trucks, he had the entire UP under his sway. Even the CM Yadav who had a foot in his mouth perpetually asked him to arrange trucks for the transportation of grains etc. all over the largest state that could have ben a country by its own.

And, she was not even given the courtesy of knowing any details just a SMS from a friend who worked in the bank where janaab had his account; where his Mummy ji had mentioned to all sundry about their plans.

They were an old agricultural family, Punjabis who had displaced to UP looking for progress, prosperity, who were Sikhs in every way but now spoke Hindi. She was more at ease with Hindi, and the romance of Urdu. The utter sophistication, the ‘adaab” of Urdu, the poetry, fine arts swayed her more than Gurumukhi.

Her village was currently famous for two things, rape and more rape of minor girls and then hung for all sundry to view. She was ashamed, horrified and had warned her friend who lived in Lucknow to be careful for her two young daughters. It was a fashion now to send kids to summer school; no one had bothered with that before. Who wanted to learn about painting or theatre anyway? The rampant disorder of crime had left everyone shocked and stunned.

 Shaking herself back, to the present she didn’t know how to sidestep this particular problem.

Even trying to Facebook him had just shown a cover photo of trucks and a handle bar moustache at the profile picture. What was she supposed to do, swing at the handlebar mooch? Oh, why did she have to go through all this?

Braving the histrionics, and thinking about doing the chai samosa ghisa pita routine once more made her cringe. She used to laugh at girls who did this and had always thought she would escape this routine and would be swept away by the knight in shining armor. But, that was not the case. All that love was for the books she read!

Thinking of wearing her brightest orange with her tightest pajama just like Sadhana and her hair all straight, plus remembering what Rashmi had told her to side sweep her hair to distract the glasses she wore. Every woman was a woman and she had her vain side.

The bell rand, and Choti went to open the door, and she started fumbling and made loud noises and ushered them to the drawing room. They had come early. No open hair, just the normal bun and she was ready.  She couldn’t even iron her kurta; it would be what she wore, and no careful application of kajal. It was what you see is what you get, no artificial packaging.

When she entered the room after 20 mts of preening in front of the mirror and trying to look presentable; she was taken a back. The Lovely shovely was decent looking, the handle bar mooch was so reminiscent of Shikhar Dhawan. The beard was cut properly, clothes were keeping in with the times, the pink linen was pass, the jeans were decent and the essential chain, bracelet was missing. Where was the flashy phone that was so the ‘identity to name fame and claim ‘?

She sat down on the edge and looked at his mother.

For once her being educated and being Ms. Know it all had her fumbled. She needed her gang to help her. Lovley ji, looked at her and cleared his throat and spoke in perfect Urdu and asked her where had she done her law degree from ?

To be continued…