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A REVIEW

 

This is the story of Yoginder Sikand travelling through Pakistan over a period of one month as an individual. There is also a postscript about his second visit after a few years  for a conference where the circumstances of his stay were absolutely different.

I had bought this book during the Sharjah Book Fair. Its cover and back page had attracted me. To be honest I had bought the book thinking that it will about the author’s discovery and search for the part of the family in Pakistan (though the back cover does not mention anything about that, so my bad). It was a tossup between this one and the other which was about a Pakistani in India!

The book starts with the background of the author’s family who were originally from Pakistan. They had escaped the horror of the massacre of partition but the scars and the longing for homeland remained. It travels with the author for his quest for a Pakistan visa (no easy task) and journeys from Lahore to Gujranwala to Hyderabad to Uderolal and Mohenjo-Daro.

It tries to portray Pakistan though the eyes of the author and his interactions with the people he comes in contact with. It tries to be an honest book and the author does try and write the way things are rather than sugar coat it.

The story starts with the young Mr.Sikand being told tales about Pakistan from his maternal grandmother who was born and brought up there but escaped the horrors of the partition as she was already married and living in Ooty by that time. The grandmother had escaped but it had affected her and even though she missed her birthplace the partition had filled her with intense dislike against Pakistan and Pakistanis. It was this dislike which she tried to fill her young grandson’s mind with. The said grandson however grew up to be a socialist and questioned his grandmother’s beliefs and wanted to find the truth himself.

For a north Indian Punjabi Pakistani side of Punjab has held a great allure for me to. Like the author I too feel that the people of the subcontinent are inexplicably tied to each other. The children in India are ingrained and educated to dislike and mistrust Pakistan (and vice versa too I am sure). And that is what this book is about. The author rebels against this mindset. Even though he and his friends have this idealistic view of visa free travel between the countries of subcontinent I do believe that is time both the countries moved on. Jingoistic words to drum up patriotic fervor have not done either of the countries any favour and they both need to focus more on their development.

The author is a socialist who has written a lot about religious conflict and communalism. Even though the book is portrayed as look into common Pakistanis the emphasis seems to be more on the poorest of the poor and also on the untouchables of Sindh. That story seems to be the same on both sides of the border (even though India has “reservations” the people who really need it are still languishing).

It is a beautifully descriptive book, the people and the places are described so wonderfully that you feel like you are a by-stander rather than just a reader. The conversations he has with random people, their stories, their aspirations move you, sometimes even too tears. Here I will make a special mention of the story of Khurshid Khan Kaim Khani, which proved humanity is still alive in this cruel world. The thread of longing for homeland runs through the book and strikes a chord.His descriptions of the shrines of Shahbaz Qalandar and the tomb of Jhooley Lal are so eloquent that you feel that you are there.  You can almost hear the qawalis and feel the fervor of the people thronging it.

When he writes about the lack of sanitation in the cities you can almost smell the stench (read the passage about his train journey from Lahore to Hyderabad). You give a chuckle when you read his interview with the high commission officer for visa (same bureaucracy like in India). You feel his gratitude when Maulana’s family welcomes him and makes sure that he gets home-cooked vegetarian food throughout his stay in Gujranwala.

And the best part about the book it is not at all judgmental.  It doesn’t sugarcoat the facts true but neither does it point fingers.

If I have to point out inadequacies in the book I would say that I would have loved t if he had tried to find out more or made more effort to contact the family members left behind. Also the end is a bit filmy and whimsical for my taste.

However one lesson I did learn from this book and that is to look ahead. History (my passion) is great but we need to learn from it, take lessons from it so that we don’t repeat the mistakes and look ahead.

 

If music be the food of love, play on

 

This is most cliched, oft repeated sentence that can hear/read about music. It however is  absolutely true.

Music plays at important role in my life, you can call it passion even. I cannot imagine a day without listening to music. Whenever I am irritated,stressed, depressed or bored I just need to pick a book ,switch on music and all will be right in my world again. You can even know the time of the day with the type of music being played in my house. If its something religious then its early morning, radio means its not yet 10 a.m. , Adele means I am trying to get through some chores which I detest doing, old Hindi songs means its late night and I am unwinding.

To ask me to pick “a” song that means a lot to me seems like looking for a needle in a haystack. I have about three thousand songs in my iPod, more keep releasing everyday and the app “Savn” is always there for  something new.  I have songs ranging from NoorJehan to Rahul Sharma to Lana Del Ray.

All songs have a special meaning , a special feeling attached to them.

Some evoke memories of days gone by, simpler times when I used to listen to the songs played by our next door neighbor. The feeling of nostalgia when I listen to “ankhon hi ankhon main” . I feel I am transported back to our verendah in doon, the summer afternoon, the fragrance of  the garden in bloom ,the song being played by colonel uncle and me being taught by my grand father how to read. I remember the long forgotten memories of my baby sister trying to hum the song along and my grandfather and me sharing a chuckle over it. Memories of colonel uncle, a gentle soul and his lovely grand daughter , a very dear friend in those times. The regret of not holding on to a friendship , a friendship lost to distances when she moved to USA.

The song sung by my cousin so sweetly for my grandfather that I too wanted to learn it. Whenever I hear that song  the image comes to mind of her sitting on the sofa, singing , my grandfather nodding his head in appreciation and the pin drop silence in the room. I did learn the song , the tune and the lyrics but never had the courage to sing in front of everybody.

Some songs are my father’s favorites and his voice  sings along in my mind  whenever they play. They remind me of a time when he would sing along the radio while getting ready to go to work. Whenever I play those songs the distance between India and UAE seems less and I can almost feel him beside me.

There are some which are special to us , as a couple. The first song we danced on, the song which both of us love, the song which he sang for me. The compilation cassette which he made for me, the iPod (which by the way is more precious to me than all my jewelry)  which he gave me as a gift, understanding my love for music. They all hold a very special place in my heart. They bring back memories of young love, of special dinners, the joy of being in love and being happy like there was no tomorrow.

So how do you pick? Do you pick the one that inspires you or the one whose melody haunts you for a long time or the one that makes you want to get up and dance or the one that reminds of some one or some place dear?

So what will be on my list? Will it be “Take My Breath Away” for the meaning it has for both of us? Or will it be “Seasons in the Sun” for it lyrics? Will it be “I have a dream” as that was the first song I taught to my son for a competition?

No music means no karaoke nights to break the ice and having fun. No music would mean no more fights between my sons and me about what to play in the car. No music means no rush of  memories when a favorite song plays. All I know is that if there were no music  our lives would be empty and colorless.

 

Pen and Paper

Today after weeks of inactivity and indecisiveness I decided to publish my post. To my frustration I found out that though I could type in the heading for the note on facebook, I just couldn’t type in my note. After struggling with it for sometime and even publishing my post twice without any body , I decided on giving up the idea. I decided I will now become a professional and publish it as a blog……..easier said than done!

I went to wordpress.com and made my login. I thought that was it but soon realised that it was the first step on the long and winding staircase to your own personal blog.

It first objected to my password for being too simple…… smart, smart wordpress.com and no, I am not revealing my password here. Anyhow then came the realization that I could  create my own website and publish my post there.

Then came the major decision as to what to call my page. It should sound cool, a bit pretentious and should project my image as a literary giant. Sadly all the names I could come up with were already taken (not much of a literary then huh!). So the name was actually my state of mind at that point of time.(Its only now when I am writing this I realise that its very ,very similar to  the name of a book I have read!). Oh well! what else to do but soldier on!!!

And soldier on we did and how!

I wish someone had told me its easier to write than to  post it. After I zeroed in on the name , I then had to pick a style for the site out of god knows how many. After seeing the demo for 2 to 3 styles and actually not really understanding much about the feature of each , just  decided to go with the one which I found visually most appealing. And then began the fun, I could now “CUSTOMIZE” it! The cover image, the font , the header, the footer, the display image …..all in all my head started spinning.

I closed the laptop and rushed back to my trusty notebook and pen. There i could just concentrate on writing and not bother about the font size or where the button for subscribing to the blog should be (hint! hint!).

My post is ready, now I just have to figure out how it get it on my site now so that it can reach readers like you (again hint!hint! subscribe button!) ……and yes Rahul Sharma makes my pen fly!!!

The Conversation

~~~~Book review of The Gita (for Children) by Roopa Pai

I am not a trained writer nor a reviewer of books but I do read a lot and love recommending them to friends and family. I had been planning to review a book for my blog for quite sometime now and this was one book that insisted that I pick up my pen.This  review is an attempt to put across my feelings and thoughts about this book.

Gita by itself is a vast huge topic, to write about it in 260 odd pages and to be able to get the message across loud and clear is a huge achievement. Ms.Roopa Pai take a bow! You have taken a complex concept (yes, I would like to call it a concept ), one which is the most valuable part of our Hindu,nay, Indian culture and present it in a simple, easy way that even a teenager would love to read this book.

A good book is one which keeps the reader engrossed,it compels the reader to keep turning the pages and never close the book before it’s over. This book is one those books. It’s not a thriller or an adventure book, its is about a religious scripture but never does it becoming boring or preachy and keeps you involved. It is written in an engaging manner almost as if the author was talk to you. The target audience (as the tittle suggests) are children, more specifically ages ten onwards and the author given such examples which they can understand and relate too.

Ms.Pai  has started off the book by writing why Gita is still relevant and important in today’s day and age. She has gone to give a gist of the story of Mahabharata so that even if the child is unfamiliar with the story , they can have a little heads up.The  illustrations by Sayan Mukherjee add spice to the book and help keep the kids involved in such a serious topic. The facts given along with everything keep the mixture interesting,specially look out for the fact about number 18!

The author then moves on to “The Conversation” as she calls the dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna.The one fact that really stood out for me is that how she related all that Krishna said to Arjuna  to modern times, we even have Batman in the book!! All this I think makes it very relatable ,  bringing the message of Gita closer to children and to us too. However you should not think that this book just has some some funky examples ,each chapter does have at least one “shloka” in Sanskrit with its meaning in english, keeping it all in perspective. So not only are you reading a readable(!!) version of Gita but also reading a few shlokas of the mahakavya.

The charm of the book is that it is wonderful and engrossing read for the adults too. Admit it if original Bhagwad Gita was given to us most of us would struggle to read it , let alone understand it. Even the various versions  that I have come across are heavy tomes requiring seriousness and total dedication to understanding it. This book does the work of igniting our interest , it makes us want to know more , explore more about the truth. It shows us the path and asks us to choose, whether to follow it or not.

I would recommend this book to everyone as it shows us the beauty of truth. It shows us what God really wanted us to learn and how. This shows us the true beauty of our religion and our country.

reminiscing

reminisce (verb) : indulge in enjoyable recollection of past events

It’s Diwali round the corner, the Hindu festival of lights, spring cleaning is in full swing ( don’t ask me why I am calling it spring cleaning when its almost autumn in Dubai, but that’s the word that has popped into my head). Spring cleaning is almost mandatory for Diwali, the goddess Lakshmi will not step into the house which is dirty and who doesn’t want the goddess of wealth in their house ergo spring cleaning.

So while spring cleaning I come across pictures, lots and lots of them , from the time when digital cameras weren’t around and we posed and just as the person clicking clicked…..we blinked! So I have quite a few of those photos where either my eyes are closed or my tongue is out or I am looking some other place or if by any chance I am looking lovely in the picture, my partner is either looking down,or up or where ever.

But I am not going to throw away even a single of those snaps, you know why?

Because all of them have some or the other story behind them. It could be funny or ordinary or even sad  but its still a story and I do love a story.

There is a picture with two people sleeping on a bed. One of them I am sure is my better half’s cousin, the other I am not so sure. The reason one of them is lying away from the camera and the other one has the face covered by blanket. Now you might be wondering why I am saving this picture ( or even why I am telling you this story).

The answer is pretty simple, the photograph reminds me of a time when I was a young bride in a new country, it reminds me of setting up a house together with the person whom I loved very much(still do actually). The fun we had with our cousin, who stayed with us a couple of months, who looked up to me as a domestic diva though I was still learning and struggling ( like I still do). The bond that I formed with her that will remain with me always.

And that my friend is the power of reminiscing. It brings a smile to our face and it takes us to that happier place, the place when all was fine with the world and the sun was shining. When we see our old albums or the ones clogging up our hard disks and we decide to get some printed even now all we want to do is to hold on to that moment. To take it out again and again to savor it , or to polish it like a precious gem.

Because that’s what they are…..Gems!

My school trip

I had learnt cycling quite young and could be frequently seen cycling like a maniac to the grocery store 2 crossings away to get stuff for my mom. To my dismay though I had to wait till I was in 6th grade to start going to school on cycle, I had to manage in the auto with the auto uncle (frankly I detested going to school in an auto, too many children and not enough space to even sit properly, not to mention the hierarchy of the grades!).

Finally the day dawned lovely and clear, it was my first day of 6th grade and I was going to school on cycle all by myself!!(Of course the fact that the cycle in question was my cousin’s hand me down and already getting a little small for me was not even registered by me!!).Off I went zooming on the road, my legs pumping the pedals were full of energy and soon I could see the gates our hallowed school. Suddenly the front wheel went off the road onto the side and I tried to get back on the road.
I found myself flat on the road, I had actually maybe for the first time ever fallen from my cycle! So thus ended my first day of going to school on a cycle by visiting the infirmary and getting the dressing done.
This was by no means the last day though, I continued to go to school on cycle (even in a city like Chennai and on the main roads there). I had many more adventures, I used to go alone and sometimes with my group of friends, all of us girls chattering like magpies and cycling along. I don’t think that it is possible any more to cycle in groups of five or more and occupy the full road. In fact I don’t think it is anyway possible to cycle to school anymore, all the students now have scootys. I wonder though if they get the same thrill that I used to get when I used to cycle back home and time myself ( I have actually done it in 7 minutes!) or the sense of camaderie when one of girl’s cycle chain needed fixed and all of us would get our hands greasy and dirty(not to mention the scolding from mother for getting grease on the white uniform). The soaking in rain during monsoon when the downpour used to make raincoats redundant and there would be water in the shoes too! The wait for other people to come and pick up their cycles as they have fallen in stack and yours is of course the one at the bottom. The burn in the legs when you are pedaling furiously as you are running late for school and of course the power of scheduling when 5 girls could meet at a pre-decided time at a pre- appointed place and no mobile phones to coordinate the whole thing!

Ah the power of reminiscing, I can still feel the wind whistle in my ears as I pedal down the roads of Dalanwala!

p.s. in all my years of cycling to school my most detestable days were when I had to go with my sisters…..they were never ,ever on time!

How Green Was My Valley.

” Dehra  was a green and leafy place. The houses were separated by hedges not walls and the residential areas were crisscrossed by little lanes bordered by hibiscus or oleander bushes”.

                                                                                                             Ruskin Bond

( Friends from small places)

This was the Dehra my father grew up in. This was the Dehra I was familiar with though some walls had come up between the houses and the leafy places were getting fewer.

This is not the description of Dehra anymore. All I see around me are houses , tall palatial buildings  with their gardens hidden behind tall walls. I see cars parked on lanes because the people while building their palatial houses forgot to build garages. I see old canal on E.C. road covered to widen the road, but still no place for the people to walk.

In the Dehra I grew up in I could see the mountain from the rooftop of our modest one storey high house. I could see whether it had snowed in Mussorie or not. I saw spectacular sunsets in which hues of orange,yellow ,blue ,gray all blended together. Now from my rooftop I am lucky if I catch a glimpse of the mountains, sunset…..have yet to see one.

People say it is the march of time, the town has to progress , infrastructure needs to be provided to people. Seems to me that progress has somehow become synonymous with cutting down trees to build luxury apartments affordable to a select few (beware if you are planning to invest in any,Dehra is in high seismic zone) . Progress seems to mean more vehicles on the road so that you are barely able to walk ( or cycle!). Progress seems to mean garbage all over the city , even in the river beds, choking them. Why cant progress go side by side with nature? Why if some trees are cut down for a road and equal or a greater number of trees planted to compensate for that? Why cant affordable ecofriendly houses be built which blend in rather than stick out like sore thumbs.

While I was writing this a bird perched on the wire high above our house started warbling. It’s lilting music made me realize that maybe all is not lost still. There is still some hope as long as the birds sing.

If only the people would stop and listen to their music

For The Love OF God

It was Ganesh Chaturthi on the 31^st of August. Fervor and religious devotion marked the day.

The visarjan or the symbolic immersion of the idols started from the 1^st of September. The Facebook posts changed from the status’s of “Ganapati Bappa Maurya” to photos of idols lying on the beaches after the visarjan. It’s the same story year after year. I have been blessed by invited to quite a few Ganapati Celebrations this year. In almost all the houses I saw resplendent Lord Ganesha smiling benevolently at us. None of the idols were less than a foot big and they were all going to be immersed. Even if they were all made of clay (which I do doubt) the amount of paint itself that each idol had would cause quite a bit of pollution.

Every year thousands of Idols are bought and immersed in the name of religion. Interesting point is that the concept of big pandals and community worship was introduced by Lokmanya Tilak to ignite the nationalistic fervor against the British rule. Until that time it was inherently a private family function.

Now each year every family wants to have a better, fancier Ganapati than the year before. The question is why? Why is there a need to get a big fancy idol each year? Why can’t there be a symbolic immersion? Why can’t little bit of creativity be used to make idols of clay and decorations made of flowers.

God doesn’t see the size of the idol or the fancy decorations or how many days you keep it. God has the ability to see beneath the surface and looks into your heart.

And that is all that matters!