Happy days in Bilimora villa

Last week I wrote about how the Villa that used to be has been converted into one concrete shanty. But thankfully my last memories of the Bilimora Lokesh Bhuvan are mixed…good regarding the building, life with some nice cousins & lots of bad …I don’t want to dwell on either..

But I want to re-trace the road to my aai’s (mother's) roots..the few memories that I have are mixed yet they always remain. Now Bilimora falls on the western railway track on way to Delhi. It takes as much time to Bilimora as to Pune (Central line). Now if i narrate this whole episode of my life one would think that we were like little princesses to the outside world.

We would travel by trains that were named after queens or princesses… like Deccan Queen Pune and Flying Ranee (Queen) to Bilimora!! These still exist. Nothing as a child was more imaginative than these names. I really thought the Pune train was for a queen & Flying ranee meant as if the train trudged at a flying speed!

Once at the station, it used to be amazing ride on the Kutcha muddy road to the Sardesai villa. The horse carriage owners knew who the family was & where we lived…as I child I always believed that all the people in this world lived in such huge houses as ours…see, every holiday either we would visit this town which was maternal home or Pune –where my baba’s sisters stayed. The eldest lived in a decently big house & younger atya in a bungalow. So, I thought all people lived in big homes.

The reason my grandparents had this sprawling villa was the family were partners of Guj Chem Distilleries & some other firm, none of this ever interested me. Today there are only acres and acres of flat land, with nothing on it. But as a kid my story was different…

Now here as we entered the vicinity, the first structure on the right was the Ganesha temple, exclusively for the family. Huge place…with a big porch, place for the priest & his family to stay & play. It was old tilted construction typical to a village. Then on the left was a mini playground a pit with loose sand & open space with slides and some metal jungle gym kind of thing & yes the first swing! There were plenty of trees that aligned a wall and a biggish garage. Though I do not remember seeing the cars parked there. Instead they would line up outside the door of the villa.

A little ahead the right ahead was a huge garden. It had a lawn wherein my dada ajoba (maternal grandfather) & we would take walks, have evening tea sometimes or sit as a family, when suddenly we would remember to have family bondings…There was NO television in those days even if there were black & white ones, this huge monstrous place had none.

There would be a fleet of cars lined up…9 cars, including one Impala & a grey Dodge! Where the cars went rest of the time I don’t know..i was too small to concern myself with these happenings. Often I saw no car & often all were parked there. I NEVER ever saw a petrol pump in that area as a child, so I would wonder who or what filled the fuel tanks of these cars..i always thought my grandfather, dada ajoba was a magician!

There was a small board that said, “Trespassers will be prosecuted & beware of dogs..” on the left was the entrance to the villa. It had metal criss cross grill across the door. On entry on the left was the wooden swing, some chairs & sofa. Right above the swing where my dada sat a stuffed head of a bear…its scary at nights when suddenly our eyes fell on it..as if roaring to get at us..it had powerful eyes though. I forget wc was the second animal! Then the walls would be covered 3-4 lizards when we all cousins would sit together to say our shlokas (Prayers) in the evening. Dada would ask us to forget they are on the wall & continue with our stories or shlokas. It tormented us kids why elders never realised it, i wonder.

Next to that was a secluded section, where we some 15 odd cousins were bundled together in the afternoons, so that all could fight, play or sleep peacefully. It was called the guest house..within the mansion…hehe..yeah it was secluded but also was always cool somehow. There was a big hall one opened into the guest room & the other was my ajoba’s study room, wt book cases, table, bed, all his carpets & yoga carpet.

Dada loved this room. He would do yoga, meditate & breathing exercises which amused us. He would lock us noisy pesky cousins. go inside to the courtyard jump & call out to dada ajoba. I remember the odd noises he'd make that amused us , then. The guest room was amazing…it had the first bath tub wc I ever saw in my life. It was bluish-sea green colour. It was something out of this world!

We once rebelled - according to my family under my leadership –considering I always got into trouble for rebelling & sticking my neck out I wonder how it was called leadership!! Now this guest house section would be converted into a getaway for uncles and aunties to eat non-vegetarian food –mostly fish & drinks. I remember sneaking there with the smells & have tried fish..ofcrouse that was rebelling, so got the usual beating for it .

Also, 1 imp factor to be noted is i felt my dada was a visionary or his forefathers were …coz nearly every room in this mansion had an attached bathroom, toilet in those times!! Wow! We were by ourselves usually as a result a lot of things happened among us. Fights, physical abuse & groupism... Not necessary in that order or always.

Nxt to this isolated space was a mango room. It was a semi-store room most often empty except when the mangoes from the farm or wadi as it was called. Yes we would go there, jumping around trying to pull down mangoes or steal fm neighbouring farm. This part of the house was where I was also beaten often by 2 of my cousins. One male – who has a son- another a cousin sister –who’s life has been on the downswing ever since I recollect. The beating had for years left scars on me emotionally that took its toll on my adult life for years till i came to terms with it. Which im glad b'coz i realised i am the maker of my happiness or enjoyment & no one can ruin it.

Next to this room was the god’s room, where my aai aji (mother's mom) spent lot of her time. She would make garlands, offered innumerable flowers, prayed and it was a sanctimonious room. I would ofcourse would choose a pretext to peep in & look at my aai aji, she was always a person of curiosity. We had little rapport & communication, but of immense curiosity for me. Ajoba was more like a teddy bear & we’d be all over him harassing him& he indulged in every grand child of his eeuqally…Aai aji was one tall, lean lady who like my doll aji (father’s mother) wore a nine –yards saree, lugda.

Me & the gods have not been in sync for over half my life me thinks…not really...but i avoid such prayer rooms seriously. Because twice a day I would be forced to go & say all the prayers in sanskrit, oh it was traumatic. They say the Hindus have some 3 lakh odd gods, if one had to see the numerous idols & photos that were in this room, they‘d think the gods had descended in this villa! More so the gods were pampered by this aaji. Freshly plucked flowers were offered twice a day, fresh garlands & the fragrance of flowers & incense did smell nice.

Then on the right was a dark dingy entrance to three rooms…now I am confused if they were 2/3. One was where we kept our bags –my sister / me & it was Sudha aunty's room. She passed away early, though I do remember seeing her. The other was shut & last was aai aji-dada’s room. Often they would sleep in the air-condition room where we would be bundled on the first floor. I think this was the only room which I’m told had an AC otherwise too it was pretty cool. There were 2 rooms that were led from this AC rrom, but were out of bounds for us. Then there was this Table Tennis playing table hall…

Again as only the men & boys were allowed. As if we girls weren’t capable of playing. Behind this huge hall were the rooms of my 2 uncles. They are weird. I strongly belive this was THE most dysfunctional family, till i saw the Forestors on the Bold and the Beatiful....well some aunts & uncles who are cousins had affairs, lots of the sex dramas unfolded in front of our eyes... aha...big fat indian joint family ha!

Adjacent to the stairs were my aai’s & nanda aunty's rooms..Interestingly each had balconies & 2 windows wt attached bathrooms. Above all this was the huge terrace. This was surrounded by tamarind, mango, amla & numerous trees. The fruits would fall on the terrace. Now the this terrace had a room actually could have been 2 rooms of my eldest uncle, again wt a toilet which was locked permanently! First because it was out of bounds for us in uncle's absence then later bcoz of the in-fighting between the brothers & their wives. We all kids would sleep here, since the rest of the town & that part of Gujarat would always be in darkness.

Now imagine we fm Mumbai, cousins lived in light all our lives. Here we’d come & every time the bloody electricity would be cut off, which was anyways was most part of the night & day. Imagine me, the scared one would want to pee, I’d be petrified of going down the stairs in the dark to the toilet, so would wet my bed till quite late stage in life. The next day fm morning itself i would be made the target of ranting & punishments. Now I am not exaggerating, because this part of my life was a harsh reality, then.

Right down on the ground floor, there was a huge hall. 2 wooden arm chairs wc had arms that would open out & aai aji & dada would rest their legs on those outstretched arms…they looked like one royal pair. There were 2 beds like sofas, telephone, radio, record player, 2 desks of my cousins, a black board & a long tale that was like mini bar cum beetle nut holders. The image of my youngest uncle was that he would always cut beetle nuts.

There were 2 doors fm here that led to the huge dining room. In the hay days there were opn an average 50 people living, talking, some 30-40 odd eating in that household. There were some 10-12 domestic helpers, cook, their families, the family that looked after the cattle & lived there…so it was a mini village by itself.

My aai aji would head the dining table. Dada sat on her right & brothers around. We little ones all around. The middle mama would be a terror. He always targeted his own son & me for taking out his anger on us, besides ofcourse killing the big black ants called as mungles. Everytime I sat to eat I remember being forced to eat brinjal, egg plant. I cannot eat that vegetable. I despise it. What is imp was that I always forced to eat Brinjal else was deprived of mangoes!

Now if there is anything that REALLY makes me sad is being DEPRIVED of eating alphanso mangoes. I believe I am born in the month of may, when it is the season for the king of the fruits. i consider it my birth right to eat alphansoes…I live the year round to eat this fruit…yes, nothing is more rejuvenating, motivating & inspiring than alphanso mangoes. We used to have a fridge but I don’t remember us kids being allowed to use it. So have NO memories of it.

Now the second most traumatic memory is of drinking the sad water of Bilimora. I was always falling ill. We kids fm Mumbai were used to the water which many allege is full of chemicals. But Bombay’s water is NOT hard, salty…its tasty. Here in Bilimora, the water was dammit hard & salty. I’d get stomach upset, loosies, stomach pained & I really would face trauma to drink that water…why NO one ever realised that instead of splurging on rubbish that the family did all they had to do was take care of the kids & give us Bisleri. Its NOT spoiling the children, it simply was depriving us of basic good drinking water.

The other memory was waking up to seeing women of the kitchen –wc did NOT include my mother making mango ras juice in the mornings. There was no limit to the amount we drank. In the afternoons we children would sit on the wall of the courtyard and my middle mama would bring us baskets of mangoes (alphansos) & chopped sugar cane…every afternoon. This was THE only time we were allowed to eat as many mangoes, there after NO mango could be eaten. Then at night if we our stomachs were good, we could have more ras…

The other was my aai aji feeding the first piece fm her plate to the in-house parrot. He knew all our names, would act very smart & was active full day as he'd talk to us. There were besides the kitchen 3 rooms. 1 that was devoted to making chaas, buttermilk. The churners were long ones tied to thick ropes on the walls. Huge vessels were put as we had cattle in the house. There then was a room besides these which had trinkets & heirlooms, wc of corz were NOT jewels, but ceramics, earthen pottery, etc.

Then behind the kitchen was a door where I remember as a child going there wt peanuts & chana then we would feed the Peacocks wt this food! Yes, it was a high point for me. I never thought or knew till I grew up that Peacocks were rare or exotic birds. All I knew that there were plenty of Peacocks in this part of India, like crows in Mumbai. Yes, even in my sister’s college, BITS, Pilani these darn peacocks would create a ruckus fm early morning, pick up lingerie & drop shit constantly all over the place! So I always though they were normal birds like crows & sparrows that are fed by people.

So, the life there was one pretty fairy tale for us kids. Well, I NEVER was a believer in those fairy tales...so i had questions even as a child, wc were never answered. What we weren't told were the fights within the family. Greed, possessiveness were the obvious causes. But what i always wondered was why and how these grandparents could not control their sons? Why weren't they made more efficient, hardworking & accountable? Why weren't we asked if anyone was bothering us, abusing us, especially girls?

Sometimes im surprised I never got into alcohol, drugs or prostitution or took to anti-social activities….yeah we saw a lot, experienced a lot around us. It did NOT disturb me that my mother's younger good for nothing brother did not welcome us when my cousin & I paid a visit. none of this surprises me. I feel vindicated. Even though he & my dead uncle were insane, NONE of this can ever erase the fond memories i have of this place. I am glad that my grandparents gave us a good childhood & with lovely memories. That they failed to reign-in their sons is a mystery they had to answer & something we’d never know. I’m glad I saw a world in early years that was soooo different, like a picture unreal….

Billimora trip

There are many memories when one is growing that are pleasant & many more that are worth forgetting. Most often as we grow older we forget the bad ones & try & hold onto dear ones…I’ve tried to clear my mind’s memory of most experiences- good or bad…however some stand etched permanently.

I went to Surat & then to Bilimora on this weekend. For most Bilimora is the station after Valsad on way to Delhi. Billimora is a far off suburb for the richie rich Navsari Parsis & Gujjus. There were industries & remaining were farmlands; it was a weekend getaways for the Navsariwalas.

Now Billimora is a town which is unique – gets hot in summer & really cold in winters. It has a some river side area …small compared to even any stream in the western ghats. The drinking water tastes awful. Its salty, terribly pathetic for Bombayites like me. it was rtaumatic to say the least. I'd get Nightmares & was always ill. My aai’s (mother’s) maternal home wc was actually a palatial villa. See, there are few secrets of the family which i can’t reveal..some I may just let out…but believe me when I say palatial its NO exaggeration. It is 52 rooms like old palace…No rickety stairs but many swings..remember ayega…ayega?? (Old Hindi film).

Ok so on the Gandevi road to the left comes this Sardesai villa –Lokesh Bhuvan. On Monday morn it was a mission for my cousin milind & me to make our trip come true! Our maternal uncle’s daughter made contact wt me She & her crafty, schizo husband called me one night persuading me to come to visit them. Now my last memories of this house was etched in my mind, wc was at least 28 yrs ago… a beautiful memory that was kept so till i saw the eventual reality. I NEVER wanted to go there after my grandparents 50th wedding anniv wc then i had got the power to say NO! Didn’t want to re-visit a place where I had memories of being abused. Physically and sexually abused.

Yet, my cousin Milind my mother’s sister’s son was my support. He & i have been buddies since childhood and we have shared our fears & problems always so he convinced me to go. We made a plan & I informed Sonali & her husband…they were all gungho, till they realised I wont be coming alone…they informed me –after I had made all the train bookings that “pl don’t come We won’t be in Bilimora, we have to go to Ahmadabad for an unlimited period of time.” I called Milind & he said I shld come to Surat & now only to prove a point we shld go to Bilimora.

Yes, both our instincts told us that this was all a BIG lie, no one was going anywhere…they did NOT want us to come. We both had our point. But u know what, NO one can deny us the right to visit our mother's maternal homes. Bcoz of our mothers all cousins till i was born were born either in Surat or Bilimora, bcoz Milind’s father was a fine gynac. I wa the first to be born in Bombay.

Now before i had left i had heard of ghostly stories about the place – it was in shambles, NOTHING of the past was around. The villa had become a shanty, the gardens, lawns had disappeared, etc. It wasn't the place of my childhood, yet I wanted to see with my own EYES…

Surat was fun as usual. Although my sister-in-law Mamta was unwell, she’d twisted her leg, she was her usual self…we had a good time. I realised Sonali & husband helped me save my money….i didn’t take any brownies frm Theobrama - the place to make Bombay's best brownies - that I had taken for Anav, Advay, Mamta & Milind.

On Monday morn, we embarked on our journey. First we met the bhaiyaji who had worked at my cousin's house since we were all small….an old man has now cataract but was his old self…who recognised my voice and name! we took his pics & saw the clouds clearing in the skies. We both looked at each other & said let's go & ruin their plans.

We crossed Navsari, the sister city of Surat & said we’d come later to buy our sweets…we discussed how we would be welcomed or not as we hit Gandevi road. We also were puzzled how would we recognise the place if it were no more like before. To our right few metres down the road, was the 3 and a half room shanty, that once was a 52- room mansion! The entrance was no more muddy, the playground was no more.

The blue ganesha temple is now re-painted in beige, but closed with a huge lock. Although exclusive Sardesai family temple, didn’t look like anyone’s ever gone there…the trees around were chopped or simply died. All plants around the bungalow too seemed to have died. The shock for me was that the garden was barren land! It was all naked and exposed for the world to see, like the lives of my surviving maternal uncle and aunty.

Some part has been leased out by my good-for-nothing uncle, so that he can sit on the arm chair & get money in his lap. The garden, thick lawn, trees are reduced to some green & muddy spot. The mud is still there…the house has the old grills, design…but as we approached I saw that after 28 yrs this is a concrete shanty wc is worse than the slums of Bombay.

How do i explain this place was straight out of fairyland! fleet of 11 cars, grenery that would make environmentalists proud! varieyt of flowering plants, trees, my dada ajoba wld talk to his plants. A board that said, 'Trespassers will be prosecuted, bewar of the dgos." mud playing mini maidan, huge compound, open space ahead and behind..it was sheer unbelievable the amount of land owned by my grand parents.

At the entrance the stuffed Bear’s face juts out, like the olden days, yet the lamp is broken, walls are discoloured, with patches & black spots all around…the rest wc used to be a guest room with bath tub, my dada’s room & the hall, all of it destroyed. The god’s room stands closed. Don't know what's hidden inside. Then a 30 -40 ft verandah is now reduced to 5ft where the 2 Labradors are tied...the dogs' kennels, playing gruond and compound no more. It looks as if this shanty is an encroachment on a huge mass of land that once belonged to that family.

The servant’s quarters, the 3 extra rooms of the kitchen, the store rooms, other rooms…all gone. we look to our right the entrance is still dark & dingy. Sudha maushi's room & aaji-dada’s room wt their toilet is there, rest, NOTHING.

It is NO surpirse we were NOT welcomed. What i noticed was the uncle's lordly fascinations keeping dogs still continues. The 2 Labradors barked their lungs out…the hall has the same black & white squared design tiles that my grandfather had built, were still intact. So was a lot of wood furtniture. Dunno how a lot of it was eaten by white ants. The 2 beds & cupboards, blackboard wt kids’s desks is there…one bed is turned up against the wall & aditya in his wheel chair. The maternal uncle was sprawled on the grand arm chair that were aai aji-dada’s. Behind the grand old dinning table cum store table exits. One gas range in the old place & the kitchen is now shifted outside. Behind the table the wash basin & grills remain . Rest behind is all vacant land! NO factory, no premises…new bungalow and houses are seen 1000 of metres away.

Milind told me aai’s & his mother’s rooms were intact…but it was out of bounds for us. My maternal uncle seemed terribly upset upon seeing us both. so the 2 villains were at their door. Mami who I feel sad for…yes despite her silent support to that man who is actually her brother-in-law but left my older abusive uncle for this monster, seems resigned to her fate- consequences for NOT making a change for herself & letting herself live in this strange house….I feel bad for her..she seems reconciled to her fate, happy in her surroundings…with the actions she has taken. Ok, he has been a monster with me, but has loved her always although it may be icnest. We both spoke after like 28 yrs??? it was my uncle's b'day a few days ago she made sweets & offered us. we both ate reluctantly…that man refused to acknowledge us or talk to us. He has NO idea that the most eccentric nephew & niece were on his doorstep, haha especially the niece…I can IGNORE people wt such elan he has NO idea…later some sense dawned on him & he stood up to talk to us.. he had worn a shirt wt 6-7 holes…his teeth discoloured & mouth filled beetle nut as usual.

My picture of this mama has been he would always cut the beetle nut with the cracker. His fingers stained as dark red-black as his teeth. Milind & I took pics, I played wt the dogs for a while. Dogs were besotted by me, seemed rather lonely. Milind smartly took sonali’s numb & called her in front of them. The colour on aunty's face ran off like the first rains washing the dirt on the leaves! She tried to tell us the same story…they were to go somewhere…sonali answered the call. We gave her no time to react, simply said we are on the way. Meanwhile mami said we cld meet Bondre kaku (the cook of yesteryear's) & her daughters as we left…the call fm Mapara household came instnatly as we were leaving.

It was a visit that churned so many people's emotions and memories. What struck me the most was that this family has NOT simply come to terms wt the FACT that what goes up can come down…and how! there are NO more landed riches, feudal lords, one has to work hard for one’s living..simple rule of life wc the men in this family NEVER understood. They wanted it all easy to the extent they would have even got us to sleep wt other men for fulfilling thier own goals. Thankfully the women had more brains. Especially my aai who got out from there rather early-college days.

The interesting part is the going rate is Rs 110 per sq ft in this part of India, (under 3$ per square feet!!) ..fm 52-rooms the shanty is down to 3 and a half..how much more evidence do these relatives need to learn that their party is OVER. Who would want to come & live here? acres and acres of barren lands...

The Mapara household was funnier Manish the husband my so-called brother in law, as he is one a crafty man...ran away like ‘catch me if u can.’ We were asked for tea but ofcourz were never served anything…we then went to Nandan Math. An ashram that once was promoted by my dada ajoba, grandfather... there we were treated better than our own ‘relatives.’ The former cook and her daughters recognised Milind & me, gave us tea & sweets!! Mostly they made us feel at home in their 2 room cozy chawl room. Although living in an ashram they were warm, down to earth. They related to us as if they were our real family. They are simple beings but more than 'relatives.' They know the family's secrets & truths far better than the 'players' themselves.

Geunine anger, but why do the jingo?

I was at the Gateway of India, as part of the protest rally. But what I saw was that although the poeple were genuinely angry, the protests were far confusing. The rally was for paying homage to the slained in the November 26, 2008 terror attacks. But it was a complete jingo, loud nationalist, slogan shouting exercise.

Ok, I am not really sure where to begin. I believe if we fail to find one strong leader or a person who has leadership qualities, then we get a sea of masses-means huge crowds of public which cuts across class and caste-with no specific direction or path.

Am I sounding harsh? Well then there were many people and instances on Wednesday December 3, evening that have made me doubt this very rally and its purpose. This controversy began on the Facebook, sms and all other virtual networking thingies from which the common public were disconnected. It has its own repercussions. There were hundreds of thousands of people who had simply ‘heard’ of this rally and had genuinely come from far off suburbs to pay their homage to the dead.

Among the various smses I got, one said that Manyata, a wife of a leading Bollywood star Sanjay Dutt – who in my eyes is still an alleged criminal (alleged is ONLY to be legally sound, else he still is) who has bought his freedom thanks to his family's political clout and money. Yes, I stand by what I say because he has admitted to the police and in the TADA court that a gangster deposited to his residence a Russian Army weapon (AK47) and a truck full of explosives, including RDX for ‘protecting’ his family from the Bombay riots of 1992. Interstingly when these arms were deposited the pogroms had already stopped in the city! I feel his father was a politician who could have called upon the police or national security but he sought the help of the underworld. Today he is a free citizen under the ARMS control act, while other Muslim accused are stuck in the jail under TADA for the rest of their lives.

Now his wife was to lead this rally, which she did by holding a torch. I am sorry, I took immense objection to this episode and aired my misgivings to the organisers. What qualifies her to represent the city & its people? Why did she dorn make up & come as if she was running a marathon? The other problems was the truck load of celebrities who were to make an appearance.

By afternoon, all television channels had set up their stalls across the Gateway of India since they had been given a list that celebrities like Manyata, Rahul Bose –who is at least doing good work with the deprived- Preity Zinta, Javed Akhtar, Farhan Akhtar, Adhuna, Farhan Azmi politician Milind Deora and scores of others who graced this occasion.

This whole episode reminds of a recent conversation I had with a Facebook friend, who is a writer and lyricist. I happened to ask him to write some poetry after the terror seige, since he has a way with words. Thought these tough days was the real time to write good poetry or some prose , which would inspire ordinary people. I was given quite a talk..because I am sure the person did not understand my purpose or predicament. He wrote... “this is not a time to write poems .....this is the time to make our actions into poems this is the time to feel not to express…” Point is as a journalist I have stopped feeling over two decades ago. Like a doctor I see, dissect analyse and report with a neutral bent of mind. I do not have the skill or inclination to write poetry, prose or a piece of writing apart from news report. This person has a huge fan following and his words are read carefully by them all. Yet, i realised he had 'avoided' really expressing his angst against the system, a fact that the rest of the public was atleast talking about.

I have been since then observing and trying to understand this whole thing about ‘feeling’ that every second Mumbaikar seems to be talking about. What is a good time to feel? What is it that people are feeling now that was missing earlier? May I request the readers to re-think. Most among the 2.5 lakh persons who attended this rally were under 20 -35 years of age. So if we make them rewind their memories or remember the incidents of 1992 , then it simply means most of these were teenagers & many still toddlers in the year 1992.

The reason I speka of 1992, is because there seems to be a ‘common amnesia’ regarding the first act of Hindu terror on December 6, 1992 when the Babri Masjid (mosque) was pulled down. Thereafter the second, pogroms Mumbai city in which scores of rich and poor Muslims were killed heinously gravely wounded and although officially 900 had died, many still are missing. Then we faced the 1993 blasts which again affected the spirit of this dear city of mine, Bombay. Since then I thought the restlessness and feelings would’ve have increased. Except for a handful who have consistently protested and are labelled 'activists,' I did not see this anger or feeling ever expressed so openly. These acts of crime were no less henious than Nov 26.

We again suffered a series of blasts on the trains and BEST buses, wherein middle class and elite members died. More importantly the bomb blast at the Gateway of India on August 25, 2003. That time the people who died were balloon sellers, photographers who shot pictures of tourists and some beggars. Sadly, at that time there was no mass movement or any celebrity who came forward to march on. Worse still this amnesia was reflected even last Wednesday evening, when no one paid a tribute these poor souls who lost their precious lives in that dastardly act.

The list goes on till the local train blasts 2005 and Malegaon. Yet, no one thought of coming out to protest or express their anger. I am happy a very delayed action of ‘anger’ and ‘feeling’ have taken over a complacent middle and elite class who now want to act.

However pardon me saying this, did I expect anything apart from lighting candles, speeches and shouting slogans? No, but I definitely expected some trouble. It was a sheer news instinct, considering the agitations and threats that were echoed by many, I expected some spats and may be stone throwing or altercation with the police.

Huge masses of people walked or were thankfully compelled to walk, as they had to abandon their vehicles in various corners. The police who should have been doing their duty of protecting the Gateway of India area, failed misreably in keeping crowds away from this spot. Meanwhile we reporters continued with our follow up work, which also meant going to CST station where 8 kg more of RDX was found! No one seemed to mind that security had been breeched and the police and authorities had succumbed to public pressure.

I wish this pressure was passed onto some more concrete action. I first went to the Radio Club side, where some celebs had paid their visit and argued among themselves how they needed to go to the Gateway of India side to share the platform with the other folks. Suddenly I heard people shouting “Vande Mataram”, “Bharat mata ki jai,” “Pakistan chor hai” and so on. There was immense pro-India and anti-Pakistan jingoistic. There were many who spoke of war - again most who were not even born when the 1971 war took place. Even as a tot I distinctly remember the dark nights wherein we had to eat and manoeuvre around our houses in pitch dark during the 1971 war. Yet, like forbidden sex, the war and loss of freedom seems to fascinate those born in this largest democracy.

Suddenly there was an announcement for more agenda. Meanwhile the crowds got restless and began hooting. So one uncle called upon his wife, an organiser atop a truck asking her to take another point on the agenda. “Enough of speeches, this is not happening. The crowds are angry and are turning awa, do something more,” said the loyal hubby. Auntyji heard and gave the mike to a young gal who screeched into the mike about why we need to boycott elections and no -voting. All around me were youngsters in hip tight low waist jeans looking sad and suddenly woke up to “Don’t tell us what to do,” “We know what to do. Shut up and give us action!”

Some metres away atop a wall of some compound people began lighting scores of candles. The melting wax fell all over; same scene took place on the pavement opposite the hotel Taj. India’s national flags made from all sorts of material were being pushed into the air. Then like in Karan Johar films the organisers felt they need to bank upon people’s sentiments and everyone broke out into the National Anthem. A young man who was an organiser was egging on people to sing loudly by shoving his fist into the air at the time of the anthem. A former armed forces uncle next to me to screamed, “Hey you rascal in the cap put that hand down, you are singing the national anthem. No discipline I tell you.” The jingoism in the air was too heavy by then.

Meanwhile, I met up with a Sikh army person. He has joined Trig Security and had volunteered to help the forces clear debris and bodies at the Taj hotel. As I walked away to see the mess the melted wax had made, two gals with a cloth flag shouting slogans walked towards the DNA photographer Kamlesh and correspondent, me. We were aghast and infuriated to see these chicklets holding the flag upside down. I was not in my spirits to give them some chaste abuse, which I normally would have, as I was upset with the whole drama. I told them at least hold the flag correctly, it is a shame…the gals sheepishly said oh, oops, sorry…and smiled into the camera!
By then the Sardarji friend was over the top and would have picked these two girls and thrown them into the sea. (I was hoping he would have). He told me this was a stupid fracas with aimless youth. As we stood talking across the road we noticed an old aunty walk with a plastic flag that was totally crushed. “Yeh to ab logon ka tamasha aur mazak ban gaya hai. Kyu ye sab shaheedon ka mazak udane,” said the Sardarji friend. (These people have made a mockery and drama of this whole situation. Why are they making fun of the martyrs & the flag?) He genuinely was disturbed. We decided to walk towards to the candles to take a break from this mockery, when in front of us a richie rich family came and stood near the candle-lit wall. The young man tore open the box, rushed his wife to open the candles and asked the son to hurry as they had to catch up with celeb uncles, aunties. The box which was torn open, its litter was thrown down on the road. The richie man and wife lit the candles in a super quick speed and rushed out from the spot.

The Sardarji led me to see the people walking in the rally. He said “You must report all this rubbish and turned to look at my expression. Sardarji friend asked me, “You will write this I pray.” He need not have asked me, because this is my commitment and job, to write exactly what I have seen. Thereafter for 15 minutes we both stood rooted with clenched fists. Every person in this famous rally was on their cell phone, either smsing or talking non-­stop.

May be seeing and experiencing harsh realities too frequently has made me a sceptic, however all these anecdotes and happenings left a deep mark on my mind. I saw the anger was genuine and I grant that. But I cannot fathom how indifferent in attitude and body the public was when participating. Sorry, this was no Olympic marathon or torch rally wherein celebrity women carried a fire torch with make up. This simply does NO good to anyone. Young children had lied at home some rebelled, as my colleague saw parents pulling down a college girl, “Stop it, enough is enough we have to leave now,” may be embarrassed by her guts, which I definitely appreciate more than the mass tamasha. I felt bad for all those ladies who had come a long distance braving the local train rush hour and the fear, considering the police had forgotten to detect the RDX (left behind by the terrorists eight days ago). I do not think such foolhardy events serve any purpose.
We media thought we had played a role in removal of the chief minister and like us the public too was delusional. Delusional I say, because the Congress Party and the leaders showed they cared a damn for us and for all those who died, but were more concerned with their 'power,' chairs and posts. These events without a concrete cause and mission are futile waste of public time, energy and cause immense security concerns. Not once anyone thought of letting the police do their jobs. Kamlesh and I had to run half way back to CST, because we had to get the story and picture of RDX being found. It was a nightmare to see so many countles stranded on the road and another sea of humans walking towards their homes.

After the attacks…now what?

We need to act and we need to do it now….here are a few pointers. Read on for more...

We are not so gay afterall in India

We welcomed the Israeli couple who got a surrogate child from Mumbai. But are we so gay about gay couples in our very own India? Read more

When will India have its Obama moment

AMerica as usual has taught the world and created history by electing its first Black President. I ask, when will India's moment of glory & history come? For more do read...

Marathis manoos needs to speak in English

Despite all claims that the Maharashtrians should stick to learning in their mother tongue, I recently had an unexpected exprience which can give the community a food for thought. For more read..

Strike out the man who holds Mumbai to ransom

Sharad Rao, the Union leader of BrihanMumbai Municipal Corporation always holds Mumbai city to ransom. For more details read..

Many other things need to be banned in India

I welcome the ban on smoking in public, yes it gets into my eyes, face & hair...just as i welcome this ban, i do think the government of India & Maharashtra need to seriously implement other items that need a ban. Read here for more

We Indians like to rush & not maintain queue discipline

We Indians really take pride in the way we behave in public. Yes, I do have a big grouse regarding the behaviour displayed. click here

Rights of farmers get deprived, while rich on Peddar rd get all luxuries

Last week was one of the biggest tests of democracy for our state. For more click here

My column on dnaindia.com

Politics of potholes

The BMC harks back to the Raj in its 'divide and rule' policy

I am obeisant to the British for giving us (as in Mumbaikars) tremendously good services - roads, railways, the postal service, and most importantly, a very good public transport system. In addition, I have high regard for the lovely architecture they left behind, including the Victoria Terminus, now renamed Chatrapati Shivaji Railway Terminus.

Having paid my respects, I will now accept that we Indians seemed to have picked some of the worst of the angrez rules. First being the divide and rule policy - just look around, we have capitalised on it galore. The other being the politics of roads, which we have stretched to include potholes.

You may ask what the basis is for my allegation. I don't know whether Mumbaikars remember their class XI English textbook. I have still kept it, thanks to one chapter, about how British employed contract labourers, who were Indians, to give them
employment as menial labourers.

That is why I said the divide and rule policy and the politics of roads go hand in hand. We have smartly used it for potholes now. The chapter talked of how the British would lay roads. Their sewage and drainage systems were of international quality. Most of Mumbai's good sewage systems, whatever little we have left is in South Mumbai, while our planners have simply never given sewage a thought in the suburbs.

Now this lesson says the British officers would plan to dig a road, employ Indian labourers and keep them occupied on it. As the project would near its end, the same officers would allow the utility services to come in and dig up that same road.
This time, the payment to re-lay the road would be made by the utility service, and not the British government. This rigmarole would continue and the officers would employ same number of labourers for various jobs, paid for by different
agencies.

Cut to today, and the BrihanMumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC), whose budget of Rs10,000 crore, is more than that of small states like Goa. The labourers for road repair and construction are employed by contractors, and not by the BMC. Hence the BMC has saved thousands of crores of rupees. The contractor also has the responsibility to undertake road repairs. And if you thought contractors were a slimy bunch, think again. These nouveau riche men arrive in swanky cars, sporting the arrogance of their class. They arrive with leather briefcases and pouches loaded with money. They are accompanied by knowledgeable English-speaking Public Relations personnel, who can give Power Point presentations.

These contractors hound officers in every nook and cranny of the BMC's corridors. They lobby hard for contracts. Some among these are the blacklisted contractors, who come to the officers in an attempt to get themselves re-listed!

Once the contract is rewarded, usually to the lowest bidder, he is supposed to have a utility map. I recently did a story on how we in Mumbai still do not have a utility map of our city. So neither the officer nor the contractor knows what lies beneath the road they are digging! The basic requirement for any urban city is its maps. They let the contractor know which utility service is lying below the road, because if any get damaged then these roads will have to be re-dug and re-laid. That means escalating costs. Yes, there is a clause for delays and the fines thereafter. But action is rarely taken.

So we often see workers digging a road, laying it, then, within days, some others, or the same ones, come to dig it up again. Now potholes occur because of such negligence. Holes created by extremely poor quality tar or concrete.

The BMC's defence is that the number of vehicles, far outnumber the capacity of these roads.

But the basic problem lies in the fact that there is no one to check the quality of the roads: Samples are not taken by officials; the local corporators do not ensure the contractor has fulfilled all the norms. The vicious cycle then continues. Some citizen groups have become alert and have taught the BMC a lesson by sending the material used for road construction to laboratories. But until something is done, we simply suffer the vicious cycles… all the while watching tax payers' money crushed under tyres.

Sex & the scandal involving custom's officers

If they weren't customs officials, would we have even bothered with the Lonavala 'orgy'?

Now we all have read in the newspapers about how the Pune police raided a private party in a bungalow in Lonavala. Now the fact that the partygoers were customs officials prompted the journalist to tip off the police. Two courier agents tipped off the journo…and so the vicious cycle turned.
The cynics are already claiming that the customs officials must have, at some point, done
something to the agents, and prompted this backlash. The gory details of the 'orgy' are all over the place. But why did these agents post bail for the officials and the 'dancers'.
I object to our police becoming moral gatekeepers, or upholders as it is known, especially since the news is rife with corrupt policemen, some dabble in bigamy and others keep mistresses.
The first party bust-up was the rave party in Lonavala. There were many young BPO workers caught with drugs. I do NOT believe the police. Having covered the crime beat for over a decade I empathise with the police force, and have sympathy for their cause, but I strongly believe they can tamper, infiltrate, plant, etc. I am not insinuating that they did so in the Lonavala rave party case, but the way the police busted that party seemed ludicrous then and even in this case.
These are private lives. Who sleeps with whom, who goes for an orgy, is a private affair.
In the case of the customs officials, these were all adults. None of the girls claimed they were forced into any sexual act. It was mutual consent. All the customs officials and girls are above 18. Yet, the middle class believes they have the right to decide what sort of behaviour should be allowed, and what shouldn't.
To make matters worse, the officials have been arrested for the most hilarious crime: Public nuisance (when did a private bungalow become public?) and obscenity. Who decides what's obscene? Should Bollywood producers and directors also be arrested, for 'item' numbers?
Of course, one other allegation is that the officials possessed 'blue' films which they watched to the sounds of DJ music. I shudder to think how regressive we are becoming as a society. The worst part is that none of these allegations will hold in a court. The only thing that may make the judge sit up and take notice is that custom officials were involved.
When I was going to college in the 80s, the police rarely, if ever, raided college premises. As teenagers we had house parties every second day. A friend of mind and I would have drinks in the presence of parents, who were there to supervise us and ensure we girls were protected, and did nothing untoward.
We would have music on and would dance. The parents, uncles, and aunties all were part of it. Yes, some romances started at these parties and ended there. There was nothing immoral in these acts.
And what's with our pre-occupation with 'blue' films? A friend of mine, would take me to a video parlour in a posh part of South Mumbai where I would witness housewives come asking for X-rated films, which would be then wrapped in newspaper and handed over to them. What's so vulgar about that?
The main issue here is mutual consent, of which there, as of writing this, was. In fact, how many journalists, who frequent the city's pubs and bars, are in possession of a liquor permit? No stings about that. But being a journalist myself I have a few questions regarding this case: Who booked the bungalow? Who posted the bail? Why? How did over 20 officials get time off at the same time? Who sanctioned their leave? How did they procure the girls? Where did the funds come from?
Now these are the issues I would like to know the answers to, not who slept with whom, and what clothes they wore.

Missing...

It’ll be a month soon since Chetan's demise. Its inexplicable how this time round a death has impacted me in a way of numbing me. Kartik’s death was most moving for us all -especially Chetan, Sucharita & me. I do come out of tragedies sooner than most normal people, however for a year since Kartik died I was at a grave loss. I felt sad & let down for a year. Coudln't do much to help him. Yes, may be one of the main reasons being he died embittered, had not even seen or did half the things he wished to or could have.

With Chetan, I admit he was more fulfilled than Kartik. Not at all embittered & thank god he died with NO regrets. I do not display grief in public too easily & I know may be there is NOTHING wrong in it…I have my reservations. But this time I’m NOT feeling. I'm plain numb! I have stopped thinking…the mind is blank but I am just unable to sleep since August 2. I am sad, very sad..despite all my hasi mazak. I am tremendously at a huge loss...

It is is as if I will still receive a call in my deep sleep to inform me that Chetan has passed away. He died in the morning...well after even his breakfast...so it is not even any sort of guilt. Everytime I’d meet pappa & would leave his side (which would break our hearts. The partings with every visit were sad..rather just got worse each time), I feared that Ashu or Milind will try to call me & I’d be soundly asleep. Sometimes i'd even think i will leave & he will pass out..these are simply fears i know.. we would even talk about it. I did not go for the Pandharpur yatra -wc papa wanted me to attend, only for this fear, that if Sucharita & I both are not around & he were to die, it would eat us for the rest of our lives...every minute of last days i wanted to be around..he too wanted his closest friends & family to be around...As it is I have suffered from insomnia thanks to my television profession. On top of that my own body rhythm has changed & often there is sleep problem.

However when I fall to sleep, it is scary I sleep like a dead person. Yes, in this current phase too, when i do fall off to sleep, it is deep sleep....dead from this world. No dreams, thoughts, nothing. Straight like a dead piece of log. And now I am still tormented by the thought that I’d be fast asleep & Papa would have passed away. I don’t know, is this pre-occupation the reason for my lack of sleep? But i also know & have accepted Papa is NO more. I really do not know..i simply cannot sleep throughout the night. I have NO thoughts, I close my eyes, I’m dead tired physically…but there is NO way I get sleep. Yes, i do see that smiling face, as if he is talking...but that is only when i am alert.

Yes, I meditate, sit up in my sleep to do breathing exercises so that at least will put me to sleep. I see tv or read wc makes me close my eyes, they get tired soon…I switch off the lights & it is the same cycle…tossing, turning, trying to do shavasan…but that sleep eludes me.

Yesterday I went across to the Bandra home….it was so moving…I remembered every time I would peep thru’ the door grill I’d see my dear papa lying there who wld give me one of his broadest smile & wave out to me…yes, the welcome ofcourse was warm with his nephews teasing me & calling me inside…Milind cooking, wc was something I always thought was so caring…coz he would come up with new dishes twice a day so that Chetan wld get something new to eat everyday.

Little has changed physically in Chetan’s house since his demise. But the heart was heavy…when I was leaving I peeped back into the grill to say bye to Milind. I miss sending flying kisses to Papa, wc he would also turn his head llil sideways to see. The smile would be intact wt misty eyes…

I know even I say life has to g on…it does actually ofcourse..We don’t stop breathing, eating..it hurts. I talk of all my memories wt Chetan & Kartik, coz they’ve been some of the best times of my life..yes all our debates, talks, gossip, bitching, confessions bickerings, dilemmas we faced in our lives..we were there for each other. I have neither with me right now. I am completely handicapped…especially now that Chetan is Never going to be around…

Ya, I know this is a fact..have accepted it…but I miss them both…And that is something I will not let go…yes & will live around this fact that they are NEVER going to be here.

Black day for Indian politics

They say July 22, was the blackest day of Indian Parliament and the democracy. I am surprised…since many many black days we have seen prior to this. Corruption? Let’s retrace our past a bit yes regarding vote of confidence, horse trading. Yes I agree that that money exchanged hands, horse trading took place, also the fact that the ‘bookies’ were placing bets on whether the UPA government will win the confidence or not, that in itself is a strong indication that many developments regarding cash exchange was taking place. As a journalist, the minute the news of bookies role or their favourites made it to our newspapers, so it was NO surprise then that the Members of Parliament chose a moment before the vote to ‘expose’ the ruling parties. For once I am glad that the role of Congress party has been ‘exposed.’ Now the problem is investigation of these allegations. Wc were shown all over the country. Notes of Rs 1000 & 500 were flashed. Amar Singh of Samajwadi Party & Ahmed Patel of Congress both who are known to be fixers for their parties & the govt were named. The MPs conducted a sting operation as their names of crossing over were being circulated. They played along, their conversations were taped, their movments were taken on camera. Now see how the media how they play pawns in the hands of the powerful. The channel & its head wc has made tall claims being righteous, have scrubbed their noses in muck! Firstly they did NOT give the recording to the police, they aired for 3 minutes. The channel was called by few authorities – names are flying in the sky- SP party heads, the promoter of their channel who is one of the leading industrialist close to this party; plus a NCP powerful leader close to the channel head, etc etc. The channel stopped airing the clipping. Then gave it to the Speaker of the Parliament (who has little constitutional authority…but lots of power in the parliament) then gave it after 24 hours! It wasn’t even the full recording…just clipped version. Now the speaker has set up a committee said it will investigate, they can’t show it openly, kill six months & then we will have elections. Also the talk in the power corridors is that the channel was paid Rs 90 crore to ‘settle the matter-wc means NOT air or record the full play.’ Since the player called Amar Singh is a SP party fixer, important post u see. Media’s role too is as fuzzy & blur as that of the politicians & their fixers, who also are politicians. Being ‘silent’ wc we are as a nation is soooooo common now. No one I think is compelled, especially if the journos & channels claim to be true, righteous & honest. Now if we see history, in the Harshad Mehta’s case, he is known to have paid bribes to the former PM PV Narasinha Rao, then again Shibu Soren along with the other JMM MPs collected large amounts from the Congress ministers in exchange for his vote in support of the P.V.Narasimha Rao Government. Then let’s recollect the role of Congress in one of the wrost disasters of our History. The party allowed the locks of the famous Babri Masjd to be opened. Then the BJP, VHP Kar sevaks threatened to break the masjid. They were NOT taken seriously or so the party leaders showed, as the Congress was I power in 1992. The kar sevaks went to pull down the masjid, wc they did eventually. It is on record of Libarhans committee that the then defence minister Sharad Pawar told the PM Rao that he could fly a military helicopter on top of the masjid & the vibrations would make them all run away, then the police could take over. He was told no ‘Hindu’ will be touched. We do NOT need proof as we saw on the national television how the Uttar Pradesh police stood on the spot turning away their faces. Congress party put all the blame for all of this on the then PM. But we cannot forget NO decision in this darn party can ever be taken by any single person. It is an extended, incestuous family! This time it was for the survival of their government, as they are in lead. All I am saying is that ‘the’ party that claimed to be the cleanest, most secular, righteous, morally number one, is NOT. If they had really stuck to their guns & NOT let any of their pimps or agents trade on their behalf, I don’t think they would have won the vote of confidence. I am aware of the problems of the Left or Communist parties. As far as the Indian context is concerned they are by far more honest & more than anything they are definitely secular & do NOT divide on communal lines or create riots. Yet, the problem is they are anti-development. As seen in Singur they have resorted to violence in theri protest & the police quelled their fury with more violence. The voters really have little choice when the power of muscle & money dominates & pervades issues like development, social commitment & uplifting the deprived.

Death of my 'rain man'

Who is a 'Rain man' you will ask? Well someone who comes as a blessing, guardian angel in one's life..who is the one who washes away all your sorrows like the fresh showers fm the skies, brings a new life, rejuvenates, revives one's spirit…this is who I strongly believe is a rain man.

Do people have a rain man? I don't know about people. But I always had..my best friend.. whom I've known for nearly god knows…lost count…I am lucky to have him (or had literally…a death doesn't take his status & place fm my life- NO way).

Why do I call him "my rain man?" Bcoz he always said, "I will always be your rain man!" so true..ONLY Chetan Datar is my rain man…Papa as bachu & I called him. He has been my pillar, strength, my channel of clear reasoning. A man who always had scientific reasoning & vision that was way different fm others & I always called on him for this 'different' thinking. And yes his cutting wit...aai ga...if I asked him for advice I knew he would put things in a perspective that I would or would not agree to, but was dead sure that it was the most correct thing he had said. It was also vice versa. That was our understanding - be brutally honest wt each other.

This was a joke between us – b/w Papa & me, that Chetan is my rain man. There is history to this statement…I knew Chetan thru' his brother Ashu (Ashutosh) & our bachu (Kartik). It was instant chemistry…yes but something that has been as if we're reflections of each other…Both instantly knew this was lifelong friendship & we both didn't want to ruin it getting into a relationship. We Never asked each other why, what if the other had fallen for the other..NO, just was soooo spontaneous…thereafter time immemorial we shared our inner most secrets & always reaffirmed this decision we had taken on the spur on the moment.

We 3 friends Bachu, Papa & I- never hid anything from each other & we ensured there never was a secret between us! It was fun u know…the way of life Kartik...(read the blog on my bachu Living with the dead), papa –Chetan & I had…it was a virtual self-made family by 3 of us so that we didn't lose out on being single all our lives. Bachu died but my rain man I thought would always be there for each other even in our old age…

One day whilst we exchanged notes & giggles about our lovers (each strongly believed the other had an arse hole of a lover. Mostly me as I called Chetan's GFs nurotic women –this was our firm opinion & we'd laugh as we spoke of them).. Papa said I was missing out on all fun since I've had a track record of going without a man for years…actually had few compared to Bachu & Papa. Both would ask me to experiment, go for lovers without attachment, talked often abt how deprived I am not having sex as much as they had…etc etc..like any male friend.. Then one day we shared…yes we were fascinated by the idea of having an affair with each other, wc we said would be only in our old age…Bcoz he was sure none of his lovers would stand by him, except me, his friend. For me, I always believed Rain man would be there fore me for the rest of my life…

So that's when the 'rain man' concept evolved. We both love the rains, hated the summers, loved to go out & eat…were extremely open about our affection for each other & absolutely believed in expressing it openly…we spoke of old age as if we were zipping there in some formula one car race speed…but we relished the idea of 2 friends being for each other…in our old age…that is when he said "If you never have a lover Neeta, I will be your rain man," don't worry..i will be there for u…yes! So in every rains we'd laugh & say hey rains are here…& he'd say "Yes I know mama I'm ur rain man."

I always enjoyed my brief meetings with Chetan. When I say brief…they always were brief..i don't blame him, with all his theatre work, writing, lovers & giving them time, either I would meet him at Kartik's or over the phone. When bachu fell ill our lives revolved around Bachu only…

Thereafter our communication & meetings increased…The first time after Bachu died & we met for one of his plays…it was one of the most personal moments…we then made a promise to each other be in touch & always be there for one & other..

My rain man & I could sit for hours & talk about anything - Theatre, the dynamics of theatre people, their terrible lives, general people, Religion, Castes, prejudices, politics, petty politics, acting, dance, most of all families, dynamics, music, books; personal things, problems, gossip, bitching of each other's lovers (mostly his), personal problems…sex & the politics of sex. Name it & we could talk to each other & laugh about each other's stupidity openly…on each other's face…We'd also advice each other…often ignoring it for kicks…Rain man's other special quality has been his sense of humour. Even in his most trying days he kept his balance by laughing at himself...together we would bring the house down..laughing at our choices, errors, stupidities & mostly his nurotic women...how we've brot it on ourselves...few have this quality...

I accept my personal life was not as active as Bachu's & Papa's, wc was by CHOICE. Something they never liked & would always pull me up for. I'd accuse them of forcing me to look at men who id never give a second glance & would call them pimps…They would laugh at me…for Bachu I was an incomplete woman seriously..bcoz he wanted to see me in a saree with the pallu drawn over my head, a sex slave for my husband, cook & clean. But for Papa…I was perfect! He always wished his girl friends were like me…I never wanted to possess my rain man..never needed to…we had promised to always be for each other...I did promise him I would take care of him god forbid if he ever faced any calamity…that's what friends are.

Sharing my inner most feelings & secrets with Papa & vice versa has been most natural to us both. Few years ago, after most of my friends (mostly girls but even males) had married & had children, I still never had an itch to have babies. My body clock NEVER ticked & I shared this with Papa & asked him if I was a normal woman? He laughed & said for "For bachu mama You are abnormal & incomplete"…"but for me..ur absolutely normal. There is nothing wrong wt u."

He asked if I had really given a serious thought abt wanting to have babies? Rain man knew of my predicament …I believe that NOT all lovers can make gd fathers or rather could give me gd babies. I never craved for having babies. I shared this wt him. What he has told me, I believe there are NOT many men as sensitive & understanding as him…"If you ever want a child badly, I will willingly be there to give u one. Not just to get u pregnant-we may not live together-but I will certainly give the child my name & fulfil all responsibilities of a father. Don't worry. I do not think you're incomplete…think it over mama." Chetan knew it far too well this was a passing phase wc went by in few days…But I always fondly remember what he even offered…who wld even think of something like this…Later he asked me to make a promise that I will marry & have child for his sake. I told him i shld've taken his suggestion seriously.. & we both laughed..i told him the promise was tough, didn't want to ruin any man's life & he said, "Pl mama don't talk like a woman, u've never been like this. Even if he is a chutiya (See how confident he was of my choice), jau de, lagna kar..He was scared of loneliness...

Even when he was dying i reminded him of our rainy day promise. He smiled wt a twinkle in his eyes, "I will always be your rain man momma." However, things were not the same anymore. My rain man didn't have many weeks…The day he told he wanted to meet me, few days prior to it Bachu's sister Polumi had been calling me. She frequently asked if I'd spoken to Chetan. Chetan was to leave for his trip, he was directing a play in 4 diff cities…never before in his life has he asked me not to attend his final rehearsal….Plus he was leaving so I wanted to meet him, hug him (wc I simply luv it) & wish him the best…he didn't' say anything…simply said, "its ok momma, its not necessary..

Never once I suspected anything..After his return Polu's queries began..I shared it wt him. I suspected one of his terrible GFs whom I call 'trash can' (yes she stinks like garbage) was harassing him & that's why he asked me stay away. Then he eventually decided to meet me…we went for dinner, walk & decided to take some cool winter breeze at the Band Stand. After all our laughs, Chetan took my hand & shared his inner fears..

He cried putting his head in my shoulders…I was facing a harsh reality…after bachu now papa is dying! What family is this? What life is this? I couldn't say anything then, can't say anything now…He needed me...i can't think since that day…I've been sleep walking, at night my brain works over time. I am still numb after he's gone..

Since then life was not the same. When his condition was deteriorating, I decided to spend maximum moments wt him. We met after that…he had been insisting since that day I find a nice man & marry. He said, "For my sake get married, u need it, , or get a child, u will be a good mother." Despite the fact that Chetan hates melodrama…"stop being a Meena Kumari & now listen to me, its tough living alone mama, look at me." I tried to tell him I will take care of him, that was our promise …

Every time I went to meet him, I saw him shrinking…he looked like a skeleton & would look outside his window for a glimmer of hope. I pushed him to be positive & Chetan said Indians are all filmy. "That Anand film has hypnotised everyone..what is positive abt dying mama? …I understood his frustration…its NOT easy to accept death…he went thru' cycles of ups & downs…of nearly reaching death point…then again back to living each day lifelessly...he'd say "I'd rather choke on good food….then would say "Mama pray for me…pray I am relieved fast & peacefully ."

Its strange, in the midst of the rains, I had to pray that my rain man gets his final death… But in those days too his wit had not got blunt. One day while rubbing cream on his smooth bear back i told him, Papa u have a sexy, smooth, fair back..& kissed it few times..he told me of how men have hair & the impact of it..yeah like that bear actor...then in true chetan style said, "Many men think it macho that they have lots of hair on their chests & backs, but they flop so badly in bed mama!" I couldn't have agreed more & we laughed over our expriences.. Then he said "mama u too smell sexy. When we had the chance why didn't we do anything" We laughed & I blamed him for falling for all his 'chavlya-matkyas.' He then shared something that revealed such a humane side...

He had his contradictions & stubbornness to support it...He may have felt bad abt my strong opinions reg his choice of women, wc i claimed was the same pattern. He took to ugly nurotic women! Those who wanted to possess him. I told him abt it & asked him to be careful..he said it was unfair on my part to say that...But all of us have our own ideocyncracies. One day we spoke of queer experiences, like what we don't like after sex. I told him how i have this thing for sleeping alone, hate cuddling..Kartik said i needed man whom i'd obey! "Mama ur too out of control." Papa simply hugged me & said, "Why can't my women learn to be like u!" I said it was tough, I was one of a kind..more so i told him the problem is ur women want to possess u, hold onto u...while ur a free spirit.. if this simple thing ur women have NOT understood Chetan, leave them...U DON'T deserve to suffer.. He'd say, Ur not going to forgive me for my mistakes...but id tell him the fact is Papa they won't leave u even in ur death! Wc he agreed to...

I've been proud of my friend. He has been a socially conscious man in his plays, writings, craft…he was never driven by commercial desire. He also has been the most practical & up front man I've ever known…he lived his life on his terms & conditions…he loved & lost..he cared & got a lot…He had NO regrets, lived life to the fullest. He was the most wonderful friend, so caring, warm & wanted women to break barriers. He loved life & i couldn't agree more to what Elvis Presley & Frank Sinatra said, "To say the things he truly feels; And not the words of one who kneels.The record shows I took the blows -And did it my way!"

Happy Birthday

My birthday came & went. It was nice, pleasanter than usual, I should say.

Aai had left on the night, eve of my b’day. In fact as I dropped her & left to return homewards, & I began getting calls & smsz…u know as one gets older one stops giving Birthday so much of importance.

I’ve always had this love-hate relationship wt 21st May, the day I was born. When I was a kid I would hate my b’day simply bcoz it fell in the middle of the summer holidays. So I always had to live wt NO friends on my BIG day. Strangely it prepared me for more tough days ahead.. also prepared me to live a far more independent, single life. Wc I’ve so gotten used to now.

Then it made a difference when I first fell in love, as in true love. Otherwise my crushes were on-off…this was short-lived romance…but closest I ever came to wanting to marry a man. In the courtship days one wants or rather insists the lover, boy friend, spouse whoever must remember our imp dates..now I shudder, even I thought like that? Now I feel chalo..even if its few days later the celebrations keep getting extended…I guess wt spouses, lovers things are too hung up & complicated.

Anyways the other reason I hated my b’day was simply bcoz I could NEVER party clothes on school days. A waiver all girls born on Mondays -Fridays & during schooling days were given. I think we born in May or Dec were losers. For me others didn't matter ..it was tough..i mean as a child one thinks of oneself only. I would then throw a tantrum on my sister’s b’day & insist on wearing my party dress on hers. Now now touché, touché, wasn’t this sour!

My Aai & Baba would try to convince me that it was Smita’s b’day & NOT mine! And one day they will ask the school to allow me to wear a party dress. Its inexplicable let me tell u that during one's school years to be left out brazenly like this. It gave such a deep sense of feeling of being deprived. Of not getting even one day in your life to celebrate! Now all this has NO impact…I can live with no one calling me or smsing me…tho’ I admit I go on a huge high when I am wished by my loved ones.

Also the gifts made a difference then -wc i NEVER got, since there NEVER was a b'day. I always gave gifts, however small or sometimes none what so ever in early childhood days. Can’t remember anything so way back. However one thing I do remember is I NEVER could have a party..simply..becoz of the fact there was no one around to celebrate my b’day. Eventually one year in my fourth grade my parents let me celebrate just to take the pleasure of a party. That is another issue that most who attended my party were my relatives & only a friends ! I at least had the pleasures of a party.

College things were obviously different & later as years rolled by working time…its office, old friends & new..so celebrations span over few days. That I now think is the crux of a b’day or celebration. Not one day but rolled over many..so here’s wishing a great year (s) to me! Yes with gifts too...

Changing soles, NOT souls! This is being objected?

Now first things first. Nearly 2 and half a years ago I picked a lovely abso fab pair of Woodlands sandals. These are tan coloured leather floaters. They look SMART.. but yes the fine print here is they are NOT ladies sandals.

The problem is with my feet. They are flat, something I learnt of after I was already over 22 years old. What to do. My basketball coach made me remove my shoes & then informed me how I could've run for so many years without using corrective foot wear. What to tell him? Later my old childhood pal Shruti’s doc pal laughed her lungs out when I told her I would fall frequently & I had NO clue that I was born with flat feet. This she said was the 'key' symptom. Especially since it was in our Kolhatkars genes….

My Hitler (baba) would NEVER believe me despite the fact that I kept falling & ma feet ached. He always believed I only came up with 'lame' excuses to avoid exercise. We were an exercise, running obsessed family! Yes my sister still carries this torch…she runs..i tell her to do so on my behalf. Most would never believe my reasons coz i'm considered epitomy of laziness.

Yet I did well in athletics & basketball. I would fall frequently. I had twisted my ankle umpteen number of times, with all sorts of fractures. Normal cracked bone to hairline..had to run despite it. Knee downwards i have scars that will remain for 2 lives! The orthopaedist advised all sorts of things, but I always went to the bone setter first…then eventually to correct the water in my knees I went to the most handsome sports doc..Dr Anant Joshi, US returned. Loved to visit him…later he was Tendulkar's other famed ones doc. but even he never told me I had flat feet!

So after many yrs when I learnt of it fm my coach.....There after this was my open secret. Then it dawned on me why I could NEVER wear the ladies shoes, heels & more stilettos. This has been life’s fascination! I envied my flying cousin coz according to me she had world’s best feet & stilettos. So began wearing flats all my life.

Then I began wearing medical arches. Every shoe or sandal I bought I had to give to the medical surgical store. Yeah it gets darn expensive..but its good to take care of one’s own feet. In addition the use of a pillow under my neck stopped! Began placing it under my feet. This was the best decision! It’s such a relief I can’t tell u. so this further restricted the choice of footwear I could wear.

Now coming to these lovely sandals…at the beginning of June 2005 I bought these lovely pair of Woodland’s sandals. I had to literally worship them for 3 months. Besides being expensive, it was monsoon time & the salesman had Warned me not a drop of water should touch these sandals! Lo kar lo baat…anyways…kept it safely for three months.

Eventually in two years I used these sandals sparingly….I do think that most of us have plenty of shoes. Keds, sports shoes, walkers, floaters, special occasion foot wear, etc, etc. Even me who would use sparingly has quite a few no of shoes. Imagine as many no of arches I’ve to get inserted!

In all this maize I realised that my fav pair Woodland sandals have suddenly begun showing the sponge that gave the sandal its soft feel. The soles were ripping apart! Good god..it was a strange thing to happen I thot. I tried to hold it with the Favi-Quick that can stick even cement! But not the soles of these sandals…I was depressed to say the least.

So I took the sandals & went to Woodlands in the first week of March. Yes, no less a time. I got a run down fm the sales manager who ofcourse was an idiotic Maharashtrian who told me how rains were over long ago & the sandals should have been used more often! I do not think these Marathis make good salesmen..they do NOT. Coz in service the customer is the queen –coz I am a woman -but these guys don’t know how to behave or talk with customers.

They took the sandals, gave me a parchi –receipt- & even noted my cell number. These rascals were to call & tell whether they can repair my sandals…this till May it never happened. Eventually I called them & asked whether my sandals were ready…were they repairable at all? They claimed to have wrongly torn the receipt so my cell number was not wt them, they took a while to confirm my receipt..eventually they said it was ready!

My heart skipped a beat. U mean the soles were changed & sandals new as ever? The man mumbled a faint yes.. Looked sadly at me i think. Coz no one must be coming to get their soles changed. Eventually I went to Woodlands at the Parel factory outlet (where I had deposited them). They as usual twice tried to confirm whether they were my sandals, despite showing & handing over the receipt…they shuffled around some dark room then after a few hrs they appeared. The good part of these people killing time was I saw a young actor supposedly married with a PYT. He looks good & wore a cap to disguise (poorly done) himself….

Just then a journalist frnd called on my cell. We were to meet & asked what i was upto. I told him I was in woodlands & he thought I’d got a bonus. I explained that i'd come to get the soles replaced. He’s fm a tabloid paper, Mumbai Mirror…For like 5 min he laughed his laughter piercing thru' the cell. Then informed me I am a subj for news in their paper. He said in this era of wear & throw, I may be the rare odd one to get the soles of sandals changed! “Today no one does that neeta” he told me assertively. Well I ofcorz i know, me too asserted…since people are changing their ‘souls’ they mind someone changing the soles! im only changing the soles of my sandals, to which ofcourse my literary challenged journalist decided to fix the meeting place and disconnect.

I paid thru’ my nose for this pairof sandals wc I simply love. If changing soles can extend it shelf life why not? I haven’t done anything extraordinary or something that is archiac. Plus since when did I care for what people said? Later in the evening I met another senior journo frnd who laughed his stomach off saying no one changes their soles today neeta! I mean who decides what one should if it is within the legal & ethical framework? Who determines time line for what can be done or not or simply for being different or more so for making sensible choices?

Well I’m really thrilled to bits of having changed the ‘soles.’ I have extended the life of my sandals & not added more to the degeneration of the environment…but more than anything I get to wear my fav sandals more often!

Looks, adustment & NO skills -the need of the hour

These are times for thinking why is it that when ur a true professional- who do their work efficiently, competitively & doesn't play politics pose a problem to the individual?

I’m NOT exaggerating. If we assess the journalism field in India there was a time that ONLY writing skills, tenacity of an individual to survive & network of contacts for stories qualified for being competitive in this field.

One’s articles reflected whether the reporter has done resaerch, got credible talking heads that corroborate & confirm the news. We took everything in our stride –nasty seniors, NO by-line for months on…tough stories, little cooperation from colleagues & seniors. But there was true worth of one’s reporting skills & intelligence.

More so, there was NO emphasis on dressing down. It was considered inappropriate to expose or clothes that showed one’s skin. Especially for interviews of top CEOs, politicians & police officers, it was unwise to wear any of the above listed.

I was always too chilled & rather dressed like an extension of my college days. Thanks to my baba’s (father's) pressure that i shouldn't spend much time looking in the mirror-which I loved in my teen days. In college I rebelled, Kept short hair, lived in jeans & t-shirts, shirts which were mainly checks. I extended this attire in a more sophisticated manner to work.

Times have changed they say. Few years ago in a tv channel I was told pants-shirts or good tops and short hair made look boyish & put off many seniors coz they wanted to see me as a ‘lady!’ The complaint that wasn't voiced was, I deprived the men of visual pleasure.

Today, media has undergone a change. The emphasis is only on visual pleasure. The less u dress the more one appeals to one's bosses, which entials more success will come one’s way. Today journalists are hired for their looks-this is NOT the criteria for tv journos only, even for print. Going by few HR heads, who need total image makeover, grooming consultancy themselves-told few women candidates they need to appear more 'attractive. '

This is ludicrious. If a lady accomodates this much, she can go all the way, which i am sure the bosses will like, but isn't it true an environment is being created to push the woman. The fact that a woman plays herself to the hilt is more than enough. Simply the news organisations want least talented, smart but NOT intelligent & definitely not those who have a spine to say NO. Least on priority is their qualification or journalistic skills.

Sadly, the young ones do nto realise they are being used as pawns. Organisations do NOT want to pay, its cheaper to hire youngsters. The qualifications, skills & experience of older journos is more than required today. However today's culture is very corporate in news organisations. Sit in ur place, look busy, dial-a-quote & collate everything. Table top stories. No writing skills are needed. There is no need to belong to a particular city even if they have little or NO information of that city, the requirement is to put together stories. The dependence on google, is like its a bible of the gen x. The emphasis on contacts, people, is soon disappearing.

The seniors have demands- I can talk for myself – I want space & creative freedom. I will NOT do something for the sake of doing, especially if it goes agianst my ethics & values. I will also stand up & speak against a story/idea if I feel its NOT worth doing. Now this is NOT politically correct. But I am from a gen that NEVER believed in being politically correct-they were the minorities of our time-today political correctness & accomodating attitude is a given thing. Organisations will obviously opt for those who are of least trouble with giving lesser amounts of money & more visual pleasure!

Changing streets

Living in old Bombay, i keep track of 'real' people, happenings & more important the topographical changes that take place around. With these changes we see physical, socio-economic & political changes. Example is now the urban renewal projects -suddenly we see old premises pulled down. Once what would be a quaint old house is being replaced by sprawling sky scraper.

As if the spiralling tall building is not sufficient, with it come changes in the kirana shops, poor around & hawkers are replaced by new faces & more fashion oriented shops. Rather plainly put more expensive shops that compel to part with large sums of money.

Years ago the first smell of change came when a hideous tall building called Pancharatna came up enar our house. My aaji's simple logic was that building will always have problems cause it is obstructing the wind direction. Well in today's times it is one of the most jinxed building. Irritating loud, farty smelling Gujju diamond merchants & traders rule from squeaky places. The first six floors are nearly illegal coz they have made unimaginable structural changes. There are thefts, killings, IT raids name it and all crime seems to happen there. More over it looks like a tall cheap chawl!

Adjacent to it was the old Roxy theatre. I would go frequently to Marathwada after the earthquake in 1993. After one of my trips i had to go to click a snap to the Election Commission's unit enar Central Plaza cinema in Girgaum. I decided to take walk around. Suddenly i saw there was no Roxy!

I began calling out for help. Tears had filled my eyes & i enquired around what happened to the building, as if i lost a child. People or workers were amused to see my state and asked why i was so affected. Why?? I lived in that area. Conspiracies of taking over potential buildings have always taken place. But this was the theatre which i could rightfully call my own. The others were Royal Opera House which actually had boxes meant for viewing musical operas built in British raj. Now some maharaja has taken over & left for the building to simply crumble! There was Majestic cinema & other such theatres.

Change on the street also meant our old bhaiyajis have vanished. The shop that sold fugen gum! Remember the sweet chewing gum that was smooth & one could blow HUGE bubbles! Then the imly, awala wala more so all the sandwichwalas have disappeared. They would grill sandwiches on coal grill...well they all simply vanished.

The street side scenes too have changed. Kiranawalas have been replaced by dress material & Bnagkok returned dresswalas. The footpaths have become higher uff, much higher. Its cumbersome to climb them. Old trees droop or have fallen. Newer faces, many people migrated far away from these areas. Change on the streets are not mean, but very evident & obvious... they are far hard hitting.

Change

They say change is essential & required for each one's growth. Now i know i love change. May be there was a time i was scared of change, because usually in journalism 'change' most definitely meant that worse was coming one's way.

Tha meant -the most insecure boss was to take over, more recent during the internet boom or rather bust-up time, the venture was to close, or even mroe likely the venture will NEVER be taking off, et al.. also change for us indicated either cutting off powers or basically something really bad!

This is no exaggeration. We all would huddle around together expressing our alarm. If it was change of boss then all would run to the current one & ask wassup? What's this change? Invariably one was told "This is a change, you must accept it & it doesn't NOT reflect on ur performance."

Now i've never understood why the change in management's mood should ever reflect on the working of a small fry like me or anyone else. It obviously meant a change in the minds of the management, or reflection of the boss's performance. But at least in Indian journalism never has a boos been able to articulately tell honestly or accept the fact that 'change' has nothing to do with the middle level staff. But bosses have never ever dealt it properly.

Then comes our functioning or working that can change. This invariably means our responsibility is snatched, plainly put. There is always an environment of bitterness, fear among the middle rungs. Nowadays change can be more pervasive & ruthless. This trend is seen at not only lower & middle levels but even top levels. These trends show change...then i really doubt when they say change is for better.

We still have people/bosses carry their extra baggages. Many carry a feudal legacy...many still biases against castes, communities & more so against us women. Many don't seem to leave their small-town mentality & are just simply coniving & willing 'at any cost.' They have made compartments in their minds about women/girls & expect us to fit in it...basically simply give in. These ofcourse are NOT extended to the women in thier lives -like wives, mothers, sisters, or even mistresses..i strongly believe many are plain insecure, but by then the damage is done.

Pakistan war memories

Now when we talk of war people first connect it to the most notorious US-Iraq war. A little back home many connect it to the Kargil war in 1999…now if this is way long back by any standards then think again. Coz I’m now talking of the ill-famed Pakistan war in Bombay!

Yes, I know many will ask how would I remember? What is the connection? Was I even born? Well, to give myself some credit, not only was a I born, I was over 4 years old! Yeah sharp enough to understand a lot of things as I always was…as to why speak of it now…I remember many instances of that period. A lot of other stuff in my life is blank....for instance, I can’t remember many names faces & have even deliberately blanked out old memories.

Now coming to the war…I distinctly remember the Kolhatkars living in the DARK! I’m sure scores of other Indians lived in similar conditions & functioned in their deliberately darkened homes or in dim candle light inside dark windows. So why should I be saying only the ‘Kolhatkars?’ That is only because I can’t remember the outside world in Bombay of those times. I have a recollection of only few memories & that too inside Jagjivan Mansion, 2nd floor at the end of Awantikabai Gokhale Cross Lane, or the renowned auto-spare parts lane!

The memories now sound entertaining, but then were bizarre, jarring & frightening to say the least. Sounds of zooming planes which deafened our ears, living in dark and more so having family dinners in dim candle light. This truly was NOT romantic. We were lucky my father was a photographer so we had these photo papers which were silver in colour on the inside and dark charcoal black on the outside. We did not have to invest more in dark papers, they soon were pasted (my aaji made wheat glue) on all our windows, wc are easily over a dozen. Then on top of that, we had to sit in pitch darkness at our table (yes somehow we were privileged and possessed a huge dinning table!) and would try to eat ( no wonder I still spill food on my clothes) when suddenly the youth of our lane would scream hoarse “Kolhatkars divey band kara.” "Kolhatkars switch off ur lights!"

Gosh! It was frightening…chilling u know. I’d begin howling –well according to my family I never needed a reason to break into tears-so may be just that’s why I’ve finished my quota of crying & I’m dried of any water in my eyes!

The whole experience is most haunting. Imagine any child’s nightmare... Firstly manoeuvre around a 15 ft passage with NO lights; then go to the rear end of the house where the kitchen was it seemed like we would take the whole night for this simple process, wc now takes few seconds in complete darkness.

I remember my mother & aaji tottering around the kitchen silently…outside world we don't know of, how the sounds & colours of blackness are i can't recollect. Our hushed sounds & cries were mixed wt the regular fights we two sisters would have.. Then suddenly it was a like a Ekta Kapoor serial as each would compete with the other in shouting & coaxing me to ‘shut up!’ Coz according to most i would only cry...hope everyone thinks this is exaggeration...i never thot so but my entire family thinks its verbatim.

It was too chaotic and confusing to say the least. I have NO memories of how the mornings would pass, i do recollect having played a lot. One uncle was nice, he was ailing all the while, but was concerned and caring. I have NO memories of running in the middle of the compound to take cover as part of the drills…some kakus around the wadi distinctly remember.

I remember the threatening shouts from below the building as the men took patrolling duty “Silence Kolhatkars, cut out the sound.” I mean how insensitive people are I always thought. Why were they constantly shouting at us only? The bloody war makers-I mean children don’t know anything about these wars-they only know to cry at four. Plus how could they expect us to live in dark?? Then the so called incompetent governments that allowed these wars to take place & then on top of that the bloody rascals who patrolled!

Imagine its like putting those plastic gags in the faces of the children. As if this is not enough, I had a Hitler incarnation called Baba, my dearest father. He insisted that one should perform a particular task in a particular way (as he dictated) & at a specific time. It was far too much for a scatter-brained, dyslexic child like me, who also was under weight & weak!

I distinctly remember standing at the entrance of our living room on the doorway & in the pitch darkness I dreaded to get across the huge hall at the other end, which seemed like a dark ocean in which I’d drown. Now, I’m NOT exaggerating a word of this. Because it seemed I’d take few years to cross it & especially as every time I attempted to cross a fighter plane would zoom at my eye’s length creating a thundering sound that would make me slump & burst into cries. I can't remember getting across, but i'm sure i did. Coz that Hitler wouldn't have given, i would've surely given up then...now i live on challenges

Fear, cries do NOT exist in my dictionary now. At that time they were my middle names. As if this pressure was not enough, the Hitler sat in opposite end of the hall with my aaji (paternal grandmother) who was my teddy bear! She tried to coax him to letting me come with help & that Hitler would burst into vigorous hand movements (which I’d see flying in the air) & a stern voice that would make me pee in my panties.

This really was my tight situation. The impact was however far worse. At that time of my life I peed in my pants, pyjamas, panties the most. I would simply pee, got pulled up for it (since I 4 years old) & was told I had no toilet discipline. No one simply realised I was living in mortal fear. I also kept crying. I developed vision problem three years later, but many of my fears & psychological problems were sowed in the war tremors.

I had NO clue there was a war. We would murmur in hush tones, stern voices would read out news blaring through our old aerial radio box, but the seriousness of the word ‘war’ was not known till I was educated.

The first impact was everytime the lights would go out in cinema theatres, i would begin bawling. I was a problem child. I would simply cry. So as a punishment, i was never taken for good films-yes i was given the miss for SHOLAY!! Now that's unfair...bcoz once my atya (aunty) took me Haathi mere Saathi, i think in the first few minutes there's a shot of herd of elephants making sounds & i had to be taken out, after few hours of bawling i was dropped back half way in to the film!

The other impact also was that when I grew up I would return home late at night & for many years I would unwittingly switch on all the lights from the passage to the kitchen! My baba (ya see the change in reference from Hitler to father) even told my mother Neeta may be having a problem why does she switch on all lights so late at night. He wondered why I could not manoeuvre at night.

Now I did NOT do it deliberately. These patterns continued for a decade, unconsciously. The minute I realised it was a psychological problem (then I should be on permanent medication or treatment) or an indication of it, I began working on it. I first discussed the incident alive in my mind about the war times or rather nights. Initially my aai & baba rebuffed it. Then my father claimed I always have a theory ready for explanation for any occurrence in my life & most importantly he thinks I love to sound like a martyr. Now we all do that. But the memories were real. I argued sensibly with him.

I tried explaining that I in no way was accusing him of any crime or lack of understanding. It was plain stock taking for some latent possible fear or effect of it. I decided to work on it & that meant free of fear. That was something hard for me, coz among other experiences I had also suffered abuse at a young age, so all this needed to be addressed by me. All issues that made me the way I am, that gave me my identity as Neeta & that which made me stronger today have that little tragedy in early days.

Today those memories & visual rewinding of war images are truly in the past. I am truly free of fear! I fear NO one or anything. I love myself for all my faults. I roam at night, in fact I am alert, aware & have learnt the skill of moving around in the dark. Life is brighter I have faced near-death experiences & count myself lucky to be alive. But its taken many years to realise that it is NOT my weakness or personality problem, it was impact of bizarre childhood experiences wc i've worked upon.