Sooraj..

The bond one shares, with his grand-parents changes over the course of time. The only constant is the love that nurtures this bond and gradually transforms it.

As a toddler, you simply adore them; love them, demand things from them, you are afraid to ask your parents for. You listen to their stories, ask them questions, and compete with other siblings for their undivided attention and praise. As you mature (fancy word for growing old), your sphere changes - Other things gain more importance - friends, girls you want to impress, girls who want to impress you, and then, after your parents insist, bug and threaten you – studies, grab your focus. It’s a phase of life, when you feel, giving your parents your precious time is a like giving away a kidney, who has time to think about grandparents.

But despite this, there are things that don’t escape your pre-occupied brain. On your birthdays, you notice the small envelope of cash, or despite your ears being hooked to the latest song, it’s hard to miss the ring of happiness in your grandmother’s voice, when she calls to speak to your father and you pick up the phone. Then there are other things that you purposefully overlook, like the increasing creases on your grandfather’s face or how hard it is for your grandmother to climb up a couple of stairs. Things that make you realize that it wasn’t just you who grew old.

I had a terrific verbal score on my GRE (thanks to my then girlfriend –now wife), but all those Barron’s words are inadequate to jot down in ink how much I miss my grandparents. There are a million memories, a million unsaid things. This is a humble attempt to do justice to a few of them.

My earliest memory about my grandfather is perhaps when I was a five year old kid. There was a ganapti pandal right next to Lakdi pul in front of Alaka talkies. The interesting part about this pandal was a swiveling ganpati, which would hand out a rajgira ladoo to you, for a rupee or so. I swear I must have had thousands of those ladoos growing up. I think till the age of 5, I have gone to that chowk almost every time, that my parents took me to visit my grandparents. It is quite astonishing; I still have vague memories of holding my grandfathers’ hand, walking down the warm, sunny, narrow streets of Sadashiv Peth, up to the chowk. I have tried hard to figure out, the major attraction, of going there - the swiveling ganpati idol or the rajgira ladoo. I think more than any of that, it was the long walk with my grandfather.

The most vivid memory however is the day before my Hindi Exam paper. My sole Hindi teacher was Bollywood. It is extremely difficult to apply a million Hindi movies, to writing an analysis on Premchand’s prose. I was done with three of my Secondary School certificate papers. For people who don’t know Secondary School Certificate or SSC as it is fondly called, believe me when I say, it is an enormous deal! To empathize with the pressure a fifteen year old feels due to it, - just try and imagine how Greece’s finance ministry must be feeling right now.

The next day was a Friday and was extremely critical, because I had to face a - 50 marks - pain in the butt Hindi exam with a 10 marks compulsory essay question. My grandfather stayed with my uncle during those days. He had done masters in English and Hindi and had done his doctorate on Rabindranath Tagore, I don’t want to brag about my lineage, was just implying that he was superb at Hindi. With half a day left till the dreaded paper, my father realized that Bhau my grandfather, was one of the last cards he had up his sleeve. So braving the boisterous May sun and temperatures ranging in 100s, my father drove my grandfather to our place.

Half an hour after, the summer sun melted, giving way to grey clouds and I gradually discovered that Premchand in fact is a master story teller. Rain pattered on my bedroom window and between steaming cups of Coffee, my grandfather explained half a dozen chapters and almost all poems the textbook had. It was the first time I enjoyed being taught, perhaps even the last time. In retrospect, I think he enjoyed even more than me.

A couple of months passed and my marks were out. I did well, but I just did well. There were people, snooty cousins, and others who had managed more than me. But my grandfather’s happiness knew no bounds. He gifted me his characteristic white envelope with cash in it. This time the envelope felt heavier, than the usual ones he and grandmother handed out. So I tried to peer through it and guess how many notes it held.

“Ajun deu ka” (Do you want some more”) my grandfather asked smiling.

“Nako bhau hech khup ahet”. (No this is way too much!) I said. I genuinely meant it. It was far more than I had expected or wanted.

I called my grandmother “Bebi Aai”. For most of their lives my grandparents stayed with my uncle. But after my grandfather passed away, “Bebi Aai” came to stay with us for 6 -7 months. And those were awesome days. I have talked with her, on almost all possible things I can think of. From movies to songs to stories to exercise and diet, to gossip about other relatives, we had almost everything covered in those 6 months.

The most embarrassing of all memories during that time, was my Second Year Engineering Result. I remember coming home, with 2 ATKTs. To those who don’t know what an ATKT is, let me just tell you the full form – Allowed To Keep the Term. If you have this insulting term scribbled across your University Of Pune Mark list it means that you have flunked quite a few papers, but somehow, by the grace of god or by the mercy of an examiner, you have made it to the next class and are “allowed to keep the term”. My parents were predictably angry and disappointed. After a brief harangue from them, I went into my room, closed the door and sat down. My head was filled with vacuum. After an hour or so, of sitting and doing nothing, I heard my parents leave for some errand. My grandmother wasn’t in the best of shapes, she barely could walk, but I heard gentle footsteps and then a soft knocking on my door. I opened the door and saw her standing outside. She was bent; her forehead showed the wrinkles old age had left. The beauty on her face was still reminiscent of perhaps how pretty she might have been in her youth.

“Thik ahes na” (“are you alright”) she gently asked.

“Ekdum!” (“Ofcourse”) I replied.

“Baher yetos” (“Come out”) she said smiling.

I smiled, and came out and sat next to her. She did not console, did not scold, we did not even discuss marks. We just sat there together watching a movie. If I remember correctly it was “Lakshya”.

Years have passed since my grandfather passed away. I was in 12^th, out of jaundice, focusing on an electronic project the whole day, when he was first admitted to the hospital. Later that evening when my mother told me the news, I could hardly believe my ears. It was sudden, sharp and unexpected. Painful memories! But our family pulled through. He had raised all his five kids to be strong, I guess. No one is impervious to grief, but then again life moves on.

My grandmother passed away a couple of years ago. I was in the States alone. I stood looking out of my apartment that evening silent and lost. My mind was in a vacuum. I think I was half expecting soft footsteps and a smiling face to come around and ask me if I was doing fine.

Life has moved on again. However sometimes a brief stop on the traffic light near Alaka talkies, or Lakshya’s songs playing in the car on the drive to the office, or Premchand’s name in a newspaper, opens up gates to the past and I feel my heart tugged and pulled by the years that went by.

Well the title of this post is a dialogue, that Saif effortlessly croons in his nasal voice, atleast twice in Love Aaj Kal. This post is not a review of Lova Aaj Kal, but may be it is going to seem like one, when I finish writing it, I know the movie has the same story, the same happy ending, the same set of emotions, the same wedding scenes, the same punjabi mumbo jumbo, and oh my gosh so many things are just the same as any typical bollywood love story !!, but still Love Aaj Kal does manage to tingle some of the very delicate, safely hidden strings of your heart.

The story effectively compares two love stories , one set in the old, rustic, Dehli of 1950's (or shld i say Dilli) and the other set in today's practical, achievement crazy world that revolves in urban cities like London, San Fransisco and so on.

Jai (Saif) and Meera Pandit (Deepika) decide to break up and go their own separate ways, priamarily because their careers are taking them in different geographical locations, and both of them don't want the stress of a long distance relationship. But alas love's ways are magical, their hearts till yearn for each other, and in spite of the geographical distance, they end up getting even more closer to each other via the phone, chat rooms, etc etc. The hazy confusion about their own feelings and theier over developed, practical, worldy senses, results into Deepika's decision to marry her boss (played by Rahul Khanna). Unhappily but in search of some vague practical reason, they decide to separate once and for all.

The story is simultaneously compared in synch with Rishi Kapoor's story(Saif plays the younger Rishi Kapoor) And this story set in old yesteryear's Dehli, is the more charming one. Saif chases around Harleen Kaur, on his bicycle, as she rides in cycle rikshaws to and fro from her college. He goes all the way to Kolkatta to get one glance of his sweetheart, and gets beaten to the ground by her elder Jatt brothers, when he asks for her hand, on a railway platform. The story nicely carries the subtleness of unsaid and yet known and accepted love, and is sure to bring a smile on most lips.

The music is amazing, woven really well into the film, the background score too is soothing and extremely appropriate, it cannot be original, because Pritam has composed it. The lyrics are more of a Punjabi-Hindi mixture, like they are now a days in almost all bollywood love stories. the editing is classy, and even in a trite story keeps u guessing of how the next set of events will unfold. Saif is sometimes over the top in his acting, and Deepika shines in her underplayed , soft modern, demure look. Imtiaz Ali, after being in direction and or story and screenplay of numerous love stories like, Socha Na Tha, Ahista Ahista and the his last success Jab We Met, manages to extract fine performances and makes Love Aaj Kal quite more than the usual week end movie.


What stays with you after the film is the desperation to get your love, which has been portrayed so well. People who have crossed paths, fought, bled in an attempt to win that special heart, go watch this movie, and you will remember all those countless moments. Feel the agony of loosing that special person, and then revive the triumph of winning her heart, all in 2 and half hours.

The king of bollywood, the badshah, Yash Chopra's blue eyed boy, (Karan Johar)Dharma Production's Lion, humbled for two hours at an airport !!!!!!!! "Nahin k k k k kehdo ke yeh jhooth hai "
Well guess who was recently in news ? Mr Shahrukh Khan aka apna SRK. The news is that he was detained for 2 hours, at EWR (Newark Airport) , (gosh I landed there when I for the first time entered US), and in these two hours, our demigod, a hunk who romanced our most beautiful actresses in the even more beautiful alps, was grilled, questioned, denied even the right to call, and all this because his surname is "Khan". Hey SRK, isn't that you next movie ? 'My name is Khan' !!!.


India of course took this as an attack on her pride. SRK's fans went into a frenzy, they were angered, Sallu miya aka Salman Khan(once friend , now rival, some time back foe) said that "Security checks are normal" in his "Americanized " accent. The IB minister roared that every American should be treated the same in India (WTF !!!!!!!!), and Shahrukh with his as usual k k k kool wit replied to this saying that "He would like to frisk Megan Fox whenever she comes to Inida(if and when she does) like he was frisked at Newark. K K K Kyaa baat haaai !!! Mr K K Khan.

Through all this one man was quietly smiling. Our Dostana Dude ,Mr Karan Johar, his film did get the publicity and the talk that was very much needed. Mr Khan who is co-producing this film , has already sold its rights to an American Studio for about 95 corores , a price which according to trade pundits is much less than any Indian distributing company would have paid, but this was appearently done to create an American Audience hmmmm (so the publicity too had to be Global or American).

What strikes me most is that even if he was detained, even if he was humiliated, even if he suffered, Kings don't go and make an issue of their sufferings in front of the media, but then, its a pauper (a beggar for publicity) that we are talking about. Make an issue, get publicity, and then make statements like "I am Shahrukh Khan, I don't need this kind of Publicity" . Thousands of Indians have faced racism in all parts of the world, thousands do everyday, and not just Muslims, every caste, I distinctly remember that even I was grilled for some time at Newark, and not just grilled, the officer actually said that he would tear my papers and send me back home on the next flight to India. But then I rarely talk about it, because I am not a Khan, and neither am I King.

The way India reacted to this was absolutely pathetic, it took about ten Indian students to be beaten up harshly, in Australia, one actually died, there was a big student protest down under, and then our government took some notice, but when it was SRK, every minister took it as a personal insult.

What angers me more is the fact that he may have been singled out because he is a Khan, but to make this public in an already Hindu- Muslim polarized nation like ours, now that is really not befitting a King's behavior. I mean common, in spite of you being a Khan, people all around the world have given you respect, Mr. Khan has the French Honor in acting, he has his statue in Madam Tussads, he was recently conferred a doctorate degree by a London university and he earns dollars from the very country, whose security mechanisms, make him felt humiliated.


Loads of Indians have suffered this and will keep on suffering this, for a long time, irrespective of whether their surname is 'Khan'. So why all the fuss Mr. Khan ? Take it in your stride, people call you a king, behave like one.

I am true blue 'Puneri' . जाज्वल्य अभिमान आहे माला त्याचा. पुण्याच्या पाण्याची गोडी नही हो कुठे.

Anyways this short article is not about, how much I love Pune. This city has some wonderful temples, Junglee Maharaj temple being one of them. I was about 4- 5 when I first climbed the steps of this temple. My maternal grandparents live on Ghole Road, which is very close from Junglee Maharaj Temple. All my childhood memories have now faded, but I still remember that particular day, as if it was yesterday, I distinctly remember sitting in the temple, my grandmother had told me to stay quiet, but other than my grandmother's order,there was something else,something about the place,something mesmerizing that simply took over all my senses and I sat down besides her not uttering a single word. I have been visiting the temple for the past 22 years, but I am still trying to find out what that something is. All I can say is that its a feeling that takes you the closest to ultimate peace ,the place almost disconnects you from all your worries, tensions, pressures and takes you into a different world.

My grandparents told me to visit the temple every thursday, I have missed some, but I try really hard to make it, whenever its a Thursday. Junglee Maharaj road or JM road has changed a lot from what it used to be 15 years ago, and what it is now. The temple is still the same. Its devotees have increased, singers like Hrudaynath Mangeshkar and others perform at its annual function. The temple is basically a samadhi of Janglee Maharaj. Its really unbelievable and quite shameful. that I still don't really know ,much about the history associated with it. I am just aware of the magic this place has. I think this temple has a sort of healing ability, every time I have been low, depressed or confused, Junglee mharaj temple has been the answer.

I request everyone in Pune and those who might visit Pune, anytime, you are sure to go visit JM road, do not miss JM temple, its a bit ahead and you will have to climb up a few steps, but go in, just keep your head on the samadhi and whisper 'Jai Guru'... Its more than worth the effort.

I simply fail to comprehend the cinematic depth, the artistic freedom and the razor sharp courage that Anurag Kashyap has,he moves from highlight to highlight, infusing Indian cinema with a whole new breath. His latest offering, well it was made way back, delayed thanks to our censor board, Gulaal offers a whole new outlook to cinema. a story of political chaos, a thrilling, enthralling screenplay, a story that defies all conventions of a bollywood pot boiler, and to top it of, actors like KK menon, Mahi Gill, Deepak Dobriyal etc, class act, one cant ask for more.

Rajputana wants to be an independent state. K K menon goes in with a bandwagon of Aristocratic Rajas, convincing the youth that the Indian state was formed by a bunch of cheaters who have looted Rajputana of its traditional wealth, heritage and have given nothing but disrespect and inustice in return. Democracy any one ? This forms the crux of story. Backed by the wealth of the century old Rajas, KK menon tries to defeat the concept of Democracy and goes in to form an independent Rajputana.

His party backs student politics in the local university, and that is where the story begans to catch pace. From estranged cousins, to step sisters, to a woman who uses her head, her charms, and even her tears as weapons the story captures the dark side of human pshyche with elan. The viewer is subjected to a cocktail of love, ambition, greed and power. Terrific is one word that you can manage at the end of 120 minutes of this poltical drama. The background score and the music of the film is awesome, with a fine blend of Rajastani folk, indian classical, and a great undertone of western rhythms

Go in for Gulaal, and get yoursef painted in its colour. I am never too keen on writing blogs that comment on issues, or movies, or socio-political and economical developments. I sincerely feel that opining about something is more to do with knowledge and less to do with imagination.
However today I am writing this article just for the one man, whose imagination is free from the bounds of a conventional society, and yet he manages to deliver something that is so parallel to the same conventional society,though he is so radically rebellious against it. Anurag Kashyap, I hope this is just one of the many more to come.

Arambha hai prachanda............