In remembrance of UMA CHAUDHRI

Uma, my sister…

Nov.11, 2008.

3.45 pm - The luggage’s been loaded in the waiting taxi. She is ready for the train that will take her home. To Delhi. Scheduled departure from Bombay Central, 5.40 pm. Chots is with her. We hug, knowing that she’ll be back in a month – she whispers, “Don’t forget what I told you (about controlling my weight and [J] my temper).” My thought: “I won’t see her again” is immediately dismissed. As the door gently closes, with her sitting behind the cabbie, Shishupal yelps as never before; in concern. I have to really hold on to him. With a final wave of the hands, the taxi turns around the corner. I come up, and decide to get some work done. As I wait for my laptop to boot, I smile to myself as I set a reminder on my mobile for 5.30 to call her as she boards the train (she was so unused to this stupid cell!) Checking my e-mail, I see an acquaintance has sent a picture of Kohlapur Mahalaxmi. I decide that it will make a nice desktop pix, ok fine… celltop pix if you must be so particular, on my cell, I feel. As the downloading gets completed and I bluetooth it to my mobile, it begins to ring as if on cue, flashing her face. It’s not even 5! “Boy, did they get there fast!” I take the call.

It is Chota. He is barely audible. There is a lot of noise/disturbance: “An… accident. We are …Nair Hospital. No need to rush. I’ll see you at the gate.” I pick up the car keys, get into the car, realize I have forgotten my sunglasses and the mobile. I get them and head towards the hospital – it’ll take at least an hour. I make good calm coverage till I hit Dadar station on Tulsi Pipe Road, when suddenly, the traffic suddenly comes to a halt. Crawling, I cross Dadar station flyover – it’s 5.45pm. At a break in the divider a civilian helping the cops recognizes me and frantically signals me to divert – “A truck has overturned on Lower Parel!” he explains… I do as directed, only to hit another traffic snarl; at one point, traffic from four directions deadlocks our movement. Realising the hopelessness of my situation, I immediately call Chota. I update him and I ask: “How’s Behenji?” A pause, then, “Ab kya bataoon aapko. Behenji is no more.”

Pause. Silence. Vacuum. The traffic starts moving and I move with the flow. It is dark by now. And I don’t know where I am going. Strange unvisited roads – I am lost; I feel lost. The traffic won’t let me change lanes and takes me with it. I come to a flyover in front of the Lower Parel station – where the hell am I? Gradually, the traffic thins and I, badly needing to go, see two large garbage bins. I squeeze the car in between the two. As I alight to find directions, I spy a public toilet. Having relieved myself, I ask the attendant the way to Nair Hospital – he doesn’t know. I step outside, look around and see a lone panwalla. I approach him and find myself saying, “Ek 555 ka packet dena.” I light a cigarette and ask him if he knows where the hospital is. “Oh straight down, take a right at the first signal and you’ll come to Saat Chauraha.” I know the way from there.

The hospital is most eerily quiet. I see two cops. I get off from the car to enquire. They obviously are expecting me. They lead me to the Casualty lobby and gentle assure me, “Never mind the car, it’s parked all right.”

Chota, head bandaged, is being examined – he’s told to get a skull x-ray done. “A tempo coming from the opposite side on the Lower Parel flyover suddenly veered and hit us head on. The driver was also severely injured. A cab following immediately behind emptied its passengers and carried the two of us to the hospital, where, on arrival, she was declared DOA.”

It suddenly dawns on me that the traffic jam I was caught up in – as were literally thousands others - was because of this very accident.

Chots has already called up Bakul (who’s shooting in Ooty) and Amey, who was also shooting (fortunately in Bombay). Amey chucks up everything and is on his way to be with us. Brain scan done, Chots is taken away for a chest x-ray!

An old attendant – funnily called Mao! – takes me to a rickety door below the staircase and unlocks the door. There she lies on a stretcher, a trifle undignified, but in deep sleep. No blood, except for minor scratches and a large swelling on her right cheek. Helplessly, and calmly, I can only watch.

Now, to call the family.

First Manju, at Hissar. “Why are you sounding so serious?” she laughs. I tell her.

Then Montreal. A very sleepy Malika (it’s early hours there) answers – I tell her; pause, then, “Let me call Dada.” A shaken Yash comes on line. Poor guy will have to inform Nalini, who, on hearing the news, can only say, after a long-ish pause, “WHO?”

Then Connaught Place. Daksh picks up the phone, “Hello Nana!” “Call Mahesh please,” I say.

The cops take over. They are gentle, kind, patient. The paperwork is completed by 12.30 am. Inspector Mangeshkar advises us to come with him to the police station and collect her bag retrieved from the shattered taxi by a passing patrol van.

Without fuss or paperwork or red tape, he gives us the bag.

Unspoken, Amey takes the car keys. It’s 1.30 am when we return home. Amey is told to return to shooting and that I will be at the hospital by 7.30 am to get her home, after the post mortem – mandatory after an accident.

Nov.12, 2008.

Nitin Sukhija comes there to help. A little later, Vijay Subramani joins us. But things are only completed by around noon. For once, I am grateful to cinema – the face value is most helpful in clearing formalities with maximum ease and minimum pain.

Vijay travels in the ambulance; Nitin and I are in the car. We get home by around 1 pm. I immediately take off for the airport to pick up Manju and Mahesh.

En route, Manju mentions how she is unable to cry at such occasions. The first thing she does at seeing her, lying there on the floor, is to break down! Liar.

Lots of friends are already there. Kapil, Anil Saxena, Mainak & Neehar, Nalini Uchil, Anusha, Fardeen, Poonam & Rakesh, Nishan, Shrikant, Vishwajit, Acharyaji¸ her partner-in-cards Vinisha and some neighbours. Nitish Bhardwaj and Asif also come in.

As her arthi is readied in the driveway, the pandit asks Manju to apply a sindoor bindi on her forehead. Manju, knowing, how she would have hated one, adamantly applies a tilak instead! I drape a silk saree across her. Nalini is on the phone all the while. “Touch her hands for me,” she requests; Manju does so, on her behalf.

Funeral at the Oshiwara electric crematorium is scheduled for 5 pm. Others land up there – Pavan & Veena with Savita, Nikhil, Bhimsain Bhai saab accompanied by Anshu & Youla, Alok Gupta, Rahul Chowdhary, Gyan Sahai, Jeewan Uncle.

Some photographs are clicked as the last rites are performed and then at 5.45 pm, she is consigned to the flames.

Nov.13, 2008.

Manju and Mahesh depart by the noon flight to Delhi. Nitin Dara has used the Fourthwall office to organize my evening flight to carry the urn to Delhi. The girl at the Jet check-in thoughtfully does not release the seat next, so Behenji gets to travel in her own seat! For free!

At 9.30 pm, Banwari picks me at the airport and we reach CP. Roopali & Daksh are putting up a brave front. Ashok & Sangeeta and Pawan Yadav have joined us. For the first time at CP, there is no booze!! See, how things change! An SOS sms is sent to the in-flight Malika bringing Nalini from Montreal! They get in by 2.30 am and indeed, are carrying THREE bottles of Caribbean rum!

At 5 am, we – Kanwalji, Manju, Nalini, Mahesh, Malika and me - get into Kanwalji’s Scorpio (driven most expertly and thankfully by Akshay!)and take off for Garh Mukteshwar to consign the ashes to the holy waters of Ganga.

We are back in Delhi by noon.

The Chautha puja is at 4 pm. Besides her four offsprings – Manju (along with Kanwalji), Meera, Mahesh & Nalini- other guests include Meenakshi, Akshay & Kerath, Urmila Mamiji (from Jhansi), Pushpa & her daughter Bhavna, Asha & Pooja, Rahul & Monisha, Rohit’s wife Hareeta, Randhirji & Ushaji, Shakti & Renu Singh, Kamal ji & Shashiji and Kaajal Jindal, Ramu Shastri, Hari and Chanda Behenji alongwith Veena (Bhopal Bhai Sahib's wife) & her son, Abha Singh, Veena and her sister and several more (I feel a bit sheepish here J) and lots of friends like Pradeep & Anuradha, Dr.Bansal, Deepak & Anju Gulati, Indu Sarna, Virender Sirohi, Bobby. Memory is hazy here with so much on my mind. My profoundest apologies to all those not acknowledged

Thus the official mourning was over.

Now, just us family… to pick up the pieces.

Farewell Uma!

Farewell Sister!

Farewell Mother!!

_______________________________________________________________

The Aftermath.

Nov.14-16, 2008.

The usual activity of going through her stuff. “I never knew she had SO many sarees!” exclaims Manju, then gingerly hands me her gold chain she was wearing last – it has a strand of her hair. “Keep it,” Manju is gentle. Her perfumes and costume jewellery are distributed among Meenakshi, Malika, Richa, Roopali. The antique silver coins go to Mahesh, Mandar, Maral, Daksh, Rishabh, Keerat, Chota and me – amazingly, they are the exact number!

No, no one has forgotten Chots – who is alone in Bombay; alone to re-live those agonizing moments. Manju: “I am so glad that she went away in his laps.” Nalini insists she cannot go to Montreal without meeting him.

16^th evening I return to Bombay; Bakul is there at the airport to take me home.

Nov.22, 2008.

Mahesh organises the Barveeni pooja at CP. That done, Nalini flies to Bombay. Malika is already here. Vir drops in late night.

Nov.23, 2008.

The Terveen hawan is conducted with a limited number of friends present – Mr. & Mrs.Acharya, Anil, Bakul, Vijay and Amey. Yash, poor chap has been on the line all along, closely following all proceedings, ”What do I do with the diya burning here, Mamu?” the child asks. “Replenish it for the last time and let it go out on its own,” I sagely advice. (In case, I’ve forgotten: Sapna too was in constant touch… phew, remembered this just in time!)

Now, it’s over. Malika vanishes that night and the next day, I see Nalini off to Delhi.

So, thank all of you who were with us in this anguishing moment. I need to commend Manju, Mahesh & Nalini for conducting themselves with dignity. She would have been proud of them!

And no, she didn't go unnoticed - she made headlines! At:

http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=TU1JUi8yMDA4LzExLzEzI0FyMDM0MDE=&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom

__________________________________________________

Pictures of her through the ages are being uploaded at her very own site:

http://picasaweb.google.co.in/umachaudhri

Please forward all your contributions to:

ravibaswani@gmail.com

and we’ll put them up for all of us to share.

*For example, the photo of hers at the very top was received in rather poor and cracked conditions. But Chots has ‘photo-shopped’ it. So don’t worry about the quality of the pictures with you. We shall try and ‘polish’ them as is humanly possible.

On INDIA's 61st Independence Anniversary

Recently, the news that more than 80% of Bombay Municipal Corporators could not sing the National Anthem - since they didn't know the words! - truly appalled me and set me thinking! Though I admittedly don't have the same problem [:-)] it dawned on me that I barely know our National Song (that's "Vande Mataram" for the ignoramuses!).
So, I thought, let me share this with you all.
Take a deep breath and...

THE NATIONAL ANTHEM
Jana Gana Mana (Bengali: Jôno Gôno Mono) is the national anthem of India. Written in highly Sanskritized Bengali, it is the first of five stanzas of a Brahmo hymn composed and scored by Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore. It was first sung at the Calcutta Session of the Indian National Congress,on 27 December 1911. Jana Gana Mana was officially adopted by the Constituent Assembly as the Indian national anthem on January 24, 1950. The music for the "current version" is said to be derived from a composition for the song by Ram Singh Thakur, although some dispute this.

A formal rendition of the national anthem takes about forty-eight to fifty-two seconds. A shortened version consisting of the first and last lines (and taking about 20 seconds to play) is also staged occasionally. Rabindranath Tagore also composed the music for another Indian poem Vande Mataram.



Jana Gana Mana – the tranliteratiom
Jana gana mana adhināyaka jaya hē
Bhārata bhāgya Vidhātā
Pañjāba Sindhu Gujarāta Marāthā
Drāvida Utkala Banga
Vindhya Himācala Yamunā Gangā
Ucchala jaladhi taranga
Tava śubha nāmē jāgē
Tava śubha āśisha māgē
Gāhē tava jaya gāthā
Jana gana mangala dāyaka jaya hē
Bhārata bhāgya vidhātā
Jaya hē jaya hē jaya hē
Jaya jaya jaya jaya hē

Jana Gana Mana – the Translation
O! Dispenser of India's destiny, thou art the ruler of the minds of all people
Thy name rouses the hearts of Punjab, Sindh, Gujarat, the Maratha country,
in the Dravida country, Utkala and Bengal;
It echoes in the hills of the Vindhyas and Himalayas,
it mingles in the rhapsodies of the pure waters of Yamuna and the Ganges.
They chant only thy name.
They seek only thy auspicious blessings.
They sing only the glory of thy victory.
The salvation of all people waits in thy hands,
O! Dispenser of India's destiny, thou art the ruler of the minds of all people
Victory to thee, Victory to thee, Victory to thee,
Victory, Victory, Victory, Victory to thee!.

VANDE MATARAM
Vande Mataram (Sanskrit: vaMdo maatrma\ Vande Mātaram, Bengali: বন্দে মাতরম Bônde Matorom; English Translation: Bow to thee Mother ) is the national song of India , distinct from the national anthem of India "Jana Gana Mana". The song was composed by Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay in a mixture of Bengali and Sanskrit and the first political occasion where it was sung was the 1896 session of the Indian National Congress.
In 2003, ‏BBC World Service conducted an international poll to choose ten most famous songs of all time. Around 7000 songs were selected from all over the world. According to BBC, people from 155 countries /island voted. Vande Mataram was second in top 10 songs.

History and significance
It is generally believed that the concept of Vande Mataram came to Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay when he was still a government official under the British Raj. Around 1870, the British rulers of India had declared that singing of God Save the Queen would be mandatory. He wrote it in a spontaneous session using words from two languages he was expert in, Sanskrit and Bengali. However, the song was initially highly criticized for the difficulty in pronunciation of some of the words. The song first appeared in Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay's book Anandamatha (pronounced Anondomôţh in Bengali), published in 1882 amid fears of a ban by British Raj. However, the song itself was actually written in 1876. Jadunath Bhattacharya set the tune for this song just after it was written.

"Vande Mataram" was the national cry for freedom from British oppression during the freedom movement. Large rallies, fermenting initially in Bengal, in the major metropolis of Calcutta, would work themselves up into a patriotic fervour by shouting the slogan "Vande Mataram," or "Hail to the Mother(land)!". The British, fearful of the potential danger of an incited Indian populace, at one point banned the utterance of the motto in public forums, and imprisoned many freedom fighters for disobeying the proscription. Rabindranath Tagore sang Vande Mataram in 1896 at the Calcutta Congress Session held at Beadon Square. Dakhina Charan Sen sang it five years later in 1901 at another session of the Congress at Calcutta. Poet Sarala Devi Chaudurani sang the song in the Benares Congress Session in 1905. Lala Lajpat Rai started a journal called Vande Mataram from Lahore.Hiralal Sen made India's first political film in 1905 which ended with the chant. Matangini Hazra's last words as she was shot to death by the Crown police were Vande Mataram.
In 1907, Bhikaiji Cama (1861-1936) created the first version of India's national flag (the Tiranga) in Stuttgart, Germany in 1907. It had Vande Mataram written on it in the middle band.
A number of lyrical and musical experiments have been done and many versions of the song have been created and released throughout the 20th century. Many of these versions have employed traditional South Asian classical ragas. Versions of the song have been visualized on celluloid in a number of films including Leader (film), Amar asha and Anandamath. It is widely believed that the tune set for All India Radio station version was composed by Ravi Shankar.



Vande Mataram – the transliteration
vande mataram
sujalaam suphalaam
malayaja sheethalam
shashya shyamalaam
Maataram, vande maataram
Shubhra jothsana pulakitha yaminim
Phulla kusumitat drumah dala shobhinim
Suhasinim, Sumadhura bhAshinim
sukhadaam varadhaam, maataram
Vande mataraam

Vande Mataram – the translation
My obeisance to Mother India!
With flowing beneficial waters
Filled with choicest fruits
With Sandal scented winds
Green with the harvest
O mother! My obeisance to you!
Ecstatic moonlit nights
The plants blooming with flowers
Sweet speaker of sweet languages
Fount of blessings,
Mother, I salute you!

SAARE JAHAN SE ACHCHA
Saare Jahan Se Achchha is one of the enduring patriotic poems of the Urdu language. Written originally for children in the ghazal style of Urdu poetry by poet Muhammad Iqbal, the poem was published in the weekly journal Ittehad on 16 August 1904. Recited by Iqbal the following year at Government College, Lahore, now in Pakistan, it quickly became an anthem of opposition to the British rule in India. The song, an ode to Hindustan—the land comprising present-day Bangladesh, India, and Pakistan—both celebrated and cherished the land even as it lamented its age-old anguish. Also known as Tarana-e-Hindi (Urdu: ترانۂ ہندی "Anthem of the People of Hindustan"), it was later published in 1924 in the Urdu book Bang-i-Dara.
Iqbal was a lecturer at the Government College, Lahore at that time, and was invited by student Lala Har Dayal to preside over a function. Instead of delivering a speech, Iqbal sang Saare Jahan Se Achcha. The song, in addition to embodying yearning and attachment to the land of Hindustan, expressed "cultural memory" and had an elegiac quality. In 1905, the 27-year old Iqbal was still in his idealistic phase and viewed the future society of the subcontinent as both a pluralistic and composite Hindu-Muslim culture. Later that year he left for Europe for a three-year sojourn that was to transform him into an Islamic philosopher and a visionary of a future Islamic society.
In 1910, Iqbal wrote another song for children, Tarana-e-Milli (Anthem of the Religious Community), which was composed in the same metre and rhyme scheme as Saare Jahan Se Achcha, but which renounced much of the sentiment of the earlier song. For example, the sixth stanza of Saare Jahan Se Achcha (1904) is often quoted as proof of Iqbal's secular outlook:

mażhab nahīñ sikhātā āpas meñ bair rakhnā
hindī haiñ ham, vat̤an hai hindostāñ hamārā
or,
Religion does not teach us to bear ill-will among ourselves
We are of Hind, our homeland is Hindustan.

In contrast, the first stanza of Tarana-e-Milli (1910) reads:
chīn-o-arab hamārā, hindostān hamārā
muslim hain ham, vatan hai sārā jahān hamārā
or,
Central Asia and Arabia are ours, Hindustan is ours
We are Muslims, the whole world is our homeland.

Iqbal's world view had now changed; it had become both global and Islamic. Instead of singing of India, "our homeland," the new song proclaimed that "our homeland is the whole world." Two decades later, in his presidential address to the Muslim League annual conference in Allahabad in 1930, he was to propose a separate nation-state in the Muslim majority areas of the sub-continent, an idea that inspired the creation of Pakistan.
In spite of its creator's disavowal of it, Saare Jahan Se Achcha has remained popular in India for over a century. Mahatma Gandhi is said to have sung it over a hundred times when he was imprisoned at Yerawada Jail in Pune in the 1930s. The poem was set to music in the 1950s by sitar maestro Ravi Shankar and recorded by singer Lata Mangeshkar. Stanzas (1), (3), (4), and (6) of the song became an unofficial national anthem in India, and were also turned into the official quick march of the Indian Armed Forces.
Rakesh Sharma, the first Indian cosmonaut, employed the first line of the song in 1984 to describe to then prime minister Indira Gandhi how India appeared from outer space.[8] Current prime minister, Manmohan Singh, quoted the poem at his first press conference. The song is, however, little known in Pakistan or Bangladesh.



Saare Jahan Se Accha - the transliteration
Sāre jahāñ se achchā hindostāñ hamārā
ham bulbuleñ haiñ us kī vuh gulsitāñ hamārā
ġhurbat meñ hoñ agar ham, rahtā hai dil vat̤an meñ
samjho vuhīñ hameñ bhī dil ho jahāñ hamārā
parbat vuh sab se ūñchā, hamsāyah āsmāñ kā
vuh santarī hamārā, vuh pāsbāñ hamārā
godī meñ kheltī haiñ us kī hazāroñ nadiyāñ
gulshan hai jin ke dam se rashk-e janāñ hamārā
ay āb-rūd-e gangā! vuh din haiñ yād tujh ko?
utarā tire kināre jab kāravāñ hamārā
mażhab nahīñ sikhātā āpas meñ bair rakhnā
hindī haiñ ham, vat̤an hai hindostāñ hamārā
yūnān-o-miṣr-o-rumā sab miṭ gaʾe jahāñ se
ab tak magar hai bāqī nām-o-nishāñ hamārā
kuchh bāt hai kih hastī miṭtī nahīñ hamārī
sadiyoñ rahā hai dushman daur-e zamāñ hamārā
iqbāl! koī maḥram apnā nahīñ jahāñ meñ
malūm kyā kisī ko dard-e nihāñ hamārā!


Saare Jahan se Achcha – the translation
Better than the entire world, is our Hindustan,
We are its nightingales, and it (is) our garden abode
If we are in an alien place, the heart remains in the homeland,
Know us to be only there where our heart is.
That tallest mountain, that shade-sharer of the sky,
(It) is our sentry, (it) is our watchman
In its lap frolic those thousands of rivers,
Whose vitality makes our garden the envy of Paradise.
O the flowing waters of the Ganges, do you remember that day
When our caravan first disembarked on your waterfront?
Religion does not teach us to bear ill-will among ourselves
We are of Hind, our homeland is Hindustan.
In a world in which ancient Greece, Egypt, and Rome have all vanished without trace
Our own attributes (name and sign) live on today.
Such is our existence that it cannot be erased
Even though, for centuries, the cycle of time has been our enemy.
Iqbal! We have no confidant in this world
What does any one know of our hidden pain?


Oh! By the by, the BMC legislators then passed a resolution so that only the tune of the National Anthem would be played in the esteemed House henceforth - & thus no longer would they be bound to mouth the words!!
MERA BHARAT MAHAAN!!

And yes, on my part, I propose to have learnt VANDE MATARAM by our next Republic Day! Promise!!

A TRULY LAUDABLE EFFORT!!

US kids held in radical Pak madrassas

Islamabad: A Pakistani filmmaker has launched a campaign to secure the release of 78 American teenagers from a Taliban-backed madrassa in Pakistan and asked the US to step in to check students’ enrolment in radical seminaries to close “the pipeline to jihad”.
Imran Raza, who helped secure the release of two US teenagers of Pakistani origin, found up to 80 other boys and girls in Karachi-based Jamia Binoria madrassa while shooting Karachi Kids, a documentary on American children in Pakistan’s seminaries that will be released next week.
Raza’s film focuses on Noor Elahi Khan, 17, and Mahboob Elahi Khan, 16, the two brothers from Atlanta who were forced to study at Jamia Binoria. When he met them three years ago, the brothers wanted to take the “first plane back to America”. Three years later, the boys had been “brainwashed” and said the madrassa had made them “better human beings”.

[Pix; Courtesy Times of India]

The siblings sent to Pakistan by their father, were enrolled in Jamia Binoria, considered one of the most radical seminaries in Pakistan, in August 2004.
“I am grateful for the safe return of the two American children to Atlanta from a Taliban-backed madrassa but the mullah claims to have up to 78 more in his institution. The headmaster comes to the US once a year and personally recruits American children to enrol in his madrassa,” Raza said on his website.

“The remaining 78 children must be returned to the US. This pipeline to jihad must be closed...It is imperative that members of Congress and the state department undertake an accounting of just how many Americans are in the other 20,000 madrassas in Pakistan. Hundreds remain behind,” Raza said.
Raza is also running a campaign on his website karachikids.com asking people to help “spread the word”. He encourages internet surfers to display a Karachi Kids Banner on their blogs or join an affiliate programme to help free other American children of Pakistani descent who are still at madrassas.
US-based Raza has since been joined by many others in his campaign. US Congressman Michael Mc-Caul urged President Pervez Musharraf to help free the brothers and have them returned home. PTI

I say HATS OFF , Imran Bhai!!

A little over ten years ago, a tall lean hunk aspiring actor from Punjab, landed up at my place, looking for 'a break'. Clearly, he had no experience at this and it was evident that he was in an impossible situation. But the bugger was so darned earnest that I decided to go by my instinct and asked him to drop in at the sets of "Just Mohabbat" that I was directing (& acting in). Somehow, I felt that the "Punjab Connection" would work with my producer, who, in any case. rarely found it difficult to say "No" to me :-)
Sure enough it worked! For the measly sum of Rs. Fifty, he was hired as the junior most assistant in the direction department.
That set him off! He never wanted to act after that - the bug of the joy of creating bit him so hard that his life took an altogether different course. (& that's where he met the serial's costume designer, Roshan and immediately fell head over heels in love with her and shortly thereafter, married her.!)
His passion and energy very soon had him leap frogging over his senior ADs and in no time (five or six years?). he was the apple of Balaji Telefilms' eyes.
His last assignment was their "Mahabharat", which began telecasting a day after he lost the battle against blood cancer. Aged 33. Only.

IF SHRI SHAKESPEARE COULD READ THIS!

As Bill (of the Shakespeare fame) in his days would have said:

To be, or not to be, that is the Question:

Whether ‘tis Nobler in the minde to suffer

The Slings and Arrowes of outragious Fortune

Or to take Armes against a Sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them: to dye, to sleepe

No more; and by a sleepe, to say we end

The Heart-ake, and the thousand Naturall shockes

That Flesh is heyre too? ‘Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish’d. To dye to sleepe,

To sleepe, perchance to Dream; I, there’s the rvb,

For tn that sleepe of death, what dreames may come,

When we have shuffel’d off this mortal coile,

Must give vs pawse. There’s the respect

That makes Calamity of so long life:

For who would beare the Whips and Scornes of time,

The Oppressors wrong, the poore mans Contumely,

The pangs of dispriz’d Loue, the Lawes delay,

The insolence of Office, and the Spurnes

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himselfe might his Quietus make

With a bare Bodkin? Who would these Fardles beare

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscouered Countrey, from whose Borne

No Traveller returnes, Puzels the will,

And makes vs rather beare those illes we haue,

Then flye to others that we know not of.

Thus Conscience does make Cowards of vs all,

And thus the Native hew of Resolution

Is sicklied o’re, with the pale cast of Thought,

And enterprizes of great pith and moment,

With this regard their Currants turne away

And loose the name of Action.

Then, in modern times, the olde Enlishe became:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing them? To die; to sleep;

No More: and, by a sleep to say an end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub:

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuddled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause. There's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who could bear the whips and scorns of time,

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely

The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy lakes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

That undiscover'd country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have,

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.

Of course, in today’s times, when ‘who has the time?’ this famous soliloquy would become in the sms 4mt sumthng like ths::

2 B nt 2 B: tht is the ?;

Whthr ts nblr in the mnd 2 sffr

The slngs & ROs of outrajus 4tun,

2 tk Rms agnst a C of trbls,

& by oppsng Nd thM? 2 di: 2 zzz:

No mre; & by a zzz 2 sy V Nd

The ake, & the 1000 ntrl shox

Th@ flsh is air 2? ts a cnsmmasun

Dwowtly 2 B wshd. 2 di: 2 zzz,

2 zzz: prchnce 2 drm: ay, thrs the rb,

4 in tht zzz of N, wot drms may cum,

Wen V hav shffld of this mrt ,

Nst giv us paws. Thrs th rspkt

Tht mks Clmty of so lng lfe:

4 hu wud the whps & scrns of ,

Th opprssrs rong; th prd mn’s cntmly,

Th pngs of dsprzd’d luv, the ‘s Dly,

Th inslns of ofis, & th spms

Tht ptnt mrt of th unmrthy tax,

Wen he hmslf mite hs qYtus mk

Wth a bodkin? Hu wud thse fRdl

2 grnt & swet unda a weRy lfe,

Br tht th dred of smthng aftr N,

Th undscvrd cntry frm hus born

No trvllr rtrns, pzzls th wll,

& mks is rthr thos illz V hv,

Thn fly 2 othrs tht V no not of

cnsns dth mk cwrds of us all,

& th ntv hu of rslusun,

Is sckld , wth th cst of thot,

& Ntr of grt pth & mmnt

Wth ths rgrd thr AC/DC trn a-ry,

& lse th nm of axun.

Heh! Heh! Not bad, eh?

A Shoody, Shabby, Shady Affair!

Some months back, the highly esteemed Sahitya Akademi, based in New Delhi, announced a Literary Translation in the Indian Literature Golden Jubilee Competition. [I failed to see the incorrect usage of the English language therein :-)]
For a lark, "Paglee" written by Ravikiran "Chots" Shastry, was submitted by yours truly. Surprise of surprises it was awarded a Consolation Prize! I was informed that a "glittering" function would soon be held. Now, at a level, I was thrilled - for Rabindra Bhawan,

where the Akademi is housed in New Delhi's Mandi House, was my breeding ground for my 'education' in theatre, since, till recently, the National School of Drama was also operating from the same premises.
So...
Then came a letter [just in time to beat the financial year ending deadline, no doubt :-)] that it was being held in the Akademi's Conference Room (2nd floor) in BOMBAY!!
Now what follows is pathetically hilarious!
The Bombay Chapter of India's sole Literary Apex body is housed in one of the dingiest habitat ever!


Wait, there is more...!
On arrival, we discovered that the ceromony was to be held in the basement!! There was no body to receive the guests, and though it was the scheduled time, sloppy workers were still trying to 'pin' banners (of the lowliest variety, I might add!

.

In the dingy excuse of the basement, all and sundry were doing there thing. After a while, as the local dhaba chokra poured out styrofoam cups (only a quarter full, mind you, since such were his instructions!) of lukewarm tea, you partook of the 'refreshments' soaking the samosas in water thin chutney.
Then, as abruptly, the ceremony began. There were barely thirty forty people at the function!!



Speaking in a mike which none could hear, Shri A.J.Thomas, Editor of the Akademi's Enhlish Journal said something which none could decipher. After ten minutes of droning, the Chief Guest and the Award presentation Guest spoke. Subsequently, the award ceromony was quickly gone through.
Then, after his speech, Sh.K.S.Rao, Regional Secretary, somewhat reluctantly called on the winners to say something; "but ONLY for two minutes!" he admonished.
Phew! And then as unceromoniously, it was over.
ONE question intrigued me throughout: Why wasn't it held in New Delhi?
ANSWER: "Bhai, then you'll have to pay these 'winners' train fare and boarding expense!! Instead, let us fly to Bombay and have a paid holiday in Bombay!! After all, what better way to exhaust the sanctioned funds for the current financial year!!'
- And then they went home, happily ever after.


WAIT, WAIT!!
There is more!! (How could I forget?)
Somewhere in the midst of the proceedings, an oily clerk sidled up to me and gave a BLANK travel voucher to sign "where the x-es are," he whispered. As quietly, I did as ordered - [we had been assured that the admissible local travelling fare would indeed be forthcoming, after all.] Then, slipping me an equally blank envelope, he started to slither away. But I was faster. Grabbing the back loop of his trousers, I pulled him back and hissed, "You have made me sign a blank form! Fill in the amount, you rascal!!" "Okay, okay, you do it yourself."he mumbled. "How much?" "Rs.250." "HOW MUCH?" I was aghast! "You think I came by bus, or what?" "Heh, heh!" he triumphantly informed, "But that is what has been sanctioned, you see!" "Give me back that voucher!" I growled. "Wait, wait," he stammered, "Why don't you talk to my boss?" "GIVE ME BACK THAT VOUCHER!" I snarled. Quaking, he returned the document, which, with immense relish, I tore into four pieces, right in his face.
P.S. - I hasten to assure my dear readers that none of this disturbed the proceedings!!