The last journey

He is lying on the floor, sans life. There are people around him with their heads bowed in obeisance. Their hands clutched tightly. Most of them are quiet. Some are trying to reach out to the ones who are sobbing. A very few closest to the one who has already left for his last journey to God's home are struggling to comfort each other. Their fatigued eyes are swollen. There are tears. Endless tears being wiped and a few tears splash from eyes to cheeks, linger on the chin for a few moments and fall on the ground. A few more people arrive with lowered eyes and serious faces. They strain to catch the story of how it all happened. They murmur some sorrowful words of consolation that evoke painful emotions tapping new spaces of tender aches that are too raw and fragile to handle. Hugs are given. Prayers are said. Then it is back to silence. People disperse after learning that cremation is planned for the next day. Now there are only very close few in the room with my father lying on the floor, lifeless! 

When did he grow so old? Even at the age of 78, there was no trace of ageing in his spirit. Not even in his aches and pains, the sagging skin, wrinkles, lost teeth or his few regrets of having to say goodbyes more often. After my mother's sad demise last year with whom he had lived for more than five decades, he had great difficulty coming to terms with her loss and to learn to accept the inevitable. But he believed in "show must go on" and survived beautifully. The last time I spoke with him, a day before his death he joked, "I am not dying before completing a century. There is still LOT to do!" 

Forgive me if I am losing coherence of words or thoughts today. There is mad rush of fragmented and convoluted thoughts in my mind as I write this. My world has fallen apart and I feel as if I am careening into inconceivable abyss. Utter arrant trauma of the fact that my father is gone forever and my helplessness is too much to bear. A HUGE part of me has died with my dad. Death is a strange calamity just like life with its own absurdities. The feelings of emptiness, numbness, the loss still deeply rooted with heart strings, slow and subtle erosion of self and net worth of pain, the bereft longing to behold again, the weight of loss is too much to bear!

"Life has to be a joy, a dance, a celebration. And when death comes, it has to be welcomed with silence, with serenity-wholeheartedly, not holding anything back. This is the way to kill death itself" Osho

This is precisely how my father lived till his last breath. He celebrated every single moment in life, had great audacity to dream BIG, showed immense courage to face the consequences and emerged a winner despite all the odds. Of course he made mistakes like any other human being but displayed great strength of character in apologizing and correcting them without iota of ego. He touched so many lives, lived on his own terms, made no compromises and died a proud man with great dignity. 

The perfect tribute for him would be to follow his path with smiling face and share joy and happiness. His last words for me on a day before he passed away were that he was very proud of me and that he would always pray for me till his last breath! I know my guardian angel is not with me anymore but there is a strange sense of security in knowing that he would be watching over me even from heaven. 

R.I.P Baba. It was great honour to have a father like you. Strange, words really fail to define what you really mean to me!

"Empty handed I entered 
the world
barefoot I leave it.
My coming my going--
two simple happenings
that got entangled
like dew drops 
on a lotus leaf
I vanish."

By shinsui

   

With a song in his heart

Travelling by a regular taxi in Mumbai is a tough task. The typical, strong smell of the regular taxis is a HUGE challenge for one's olfactory senses. Add distinct idiosyncrasies of the driver that often tries one's patience, the loud and often vulgar Bollywood numbers that play on the radio, chaotic traffic and blowing horns from every possible corner of the street, I think you get the drift. I usually, don't use these taxis but whenever I do, most of my experiences are filled with interesting conversations with drivers from different places. The conversations are generally initiated by the taxi drivers, who in my observation love to share, guide, educate and laugh a lot! Perhaps, it is there escape that helps them sail through hardship of daily grind.

Rajendra Prasad Rai Pandit, the taxi driver from Jaunpur

Yesterday, I was waiting for taxi in heavy rain for almost fifteen minutes when finally a taxi driver showed some mercy. The moment I got in the taxi, he screeched the engine, shot through the narrow gap into seething mass of Mumbai traffic, incessantly blowing horn that faded into cacophony all around. The taxi swerved recklessly splashing water, sending waves into already flooded roads. The driver was blissfully ignorant of the abusive words coming from people on the road and other drivers mad at his driving. He was too busy humming and lost in his own world. Interestingly, within a minute, his humming transformed into beautiful rendition of traditional Indian classical songs like Kajri, Chaiti, Thumri and I realized what an immensely gifted singer he was. He had amazingly beautiful voice and rawness in his singing!

I could not help asking him if he had any formal education in music. Little perturbed and surprised, he blushed and replied, "Nahi madam, gaana kaha sikh paaye. Rozi roti ke chakkar me yaha bambai aa gaye, tabse bas taxi hi chalate hain. Hum thehre Jaunpur ke, isliye gaane ka shauk hain. Bachpan se sunte jo aaye hain." (No madam, I could not learn singing as I my main concern was to get employment and feed my family. Since I am from Jaunpur; a place known for great traditional Indian classical music, I sing what I have grown up listening.")

From that point onwards, the journey became a rolling confessional. He told me about how he hated drudgery of fixed hours in a typical job and instead preferred being his own boss; stories about some nut case, mean and stodgy passengers, his large family back home, his love for singing that he continues during and after the work hours. When I suggested, he should think about singing professionally, he seemed shocked. "Kya maidam aap mazak kar rahe ho. Hum to sirf humare apne anand ke liye gate hain" (you must be kidding madam. I sing for myself as that makes me happy") I told him with serious face about me being a graduate in Indian classical music and that I could make out if the singer has any potential. He was speechless and quiet for a minute. He knew I was serious about what I had suggested.

As we were about to reach my destination, he started singing a nice Kabir Bhajan and finished it just on time. While paying my fare, I told him to continue his singing and never to give it up. "Thank you madam, aise rasik passengers bahut kam milte hain." (I rarely get passengers who understand my singing) I was so inspired by Rajendra Prasad who despite his vanquished dream continued pursuing it in whatever way he could and was happy. When I told him I was going to show his picture to my family and friends and write about him, bit hesitantly, he posed for the camera. When we parted, off he sped to the chaotic streets, elated, with a smile on his face and song in his heart! 

"The singer has everything within him.  The notes come out from his very life.  They are not materials gathered from outside."

  ~Rabindranath Tagore

From food stall to the "filum city"

It was one of those typical days when you keep toiling without achieving much. My weary mind was screaming for a little respite. I headed to a handicraft exhibition hoping to shift my focus from the mundane and get some fresh perspective on my work, when I returned.

It looked like the day was not meant for me. There was nothing new or interesting to discover at the exhibition. I was leaving disappointed, feeling terribly guilty for wasting time while more important things needed my attention. I heard someone from the stall near the exit; a voice coaxing me, "Madamji padhariye, hamara Rajasthani khana try kariye. (Welcome, would you like to try Rajasthani food?")"Khamma ghani bhaisa" I replied (Hello/ Namaste brother!), to the man from the food stall. My greeting in traditional Rajasthani style instantly captured attention of the whole team of about six men, between late twenties to thirties all dressed in whites with traditional Rajasthani paghadis (turbans).  

Bhavani Singh, the leader of the group

There were interesting Rajasthani food items neatly arranged on the table and men at the stall were waiting attentively for the customers to arrive. Bhavani Singh, the leader of the group, tried to sell hard, "Madamji, churma, ker sangri, gatte ki sabzi, dal-bati, sabkuch fresh bana hain. Kya khaoge?" (He named traditional dishes and said they were freshly made and if I would like to try any). I refused politely posing some excuse relating health and asked if I could take their pictures. Surprised, he asked with a grin, "Aap reporter ho?" (Are you a journalist/reporter?") I giggled and explained that I write a blog and share stories of interesting people. Not sure he understood it well but from that point on, my conversation with him and his team flowed very smoothly.

Bhavani Singh, Narendra Singh and Rampal Singh

During my chat with these men I learnt how smitten they were by the swanky silhouettes of this effervescent city that exudes such aura of wealth and power. Their life back home was so far removed from the comely allure of the surrounding that they seemed completely out of place. Bhavani Singh's genuine, perdurable smile could provoke instant envy. Rest of his team members were bit reserved, proud, decent and dignified despite the rampant pressures urban life had subjected them to, in few days. I probed gently and each member opened up. In the beginning, they appeared stiff and their eyes portrayed stony silence but their curiosity was difficult to hide. They were very keen to know all about "filum stars" (film stars) and when my very limited knowledge about the film stars was shared, I saw glint of aspiration in their eyes. 

Himmat Singh, a senior member of the group

When asked why they were not in their traditional attires like dhoti, kurta with ornaments like balis, kadas, anklets, Bhavani Singh said since everything around them was changing, it was high time they changed too. I asked if they could survive with this kind of work and were able to support families back home, the group members shared their concern about fierce competition and need for changing priorities and inevitable transition. At no point, despite the shared bonhomie and camaraderie within the team, hierarchy was forgotten and it was evident in their interaction.  

When I shared my beautiful experiences of several places in Rajasthan and told them how enamoured I have always been with its culture and people, it looked like I had won some brownie points! While chatting with these men, a shy, reticent figure peeped from behind the tent. At the sight of helper/cleaner, Bhanvar Singh, the whole team insisted I take his picture, saying he was most hard working member. 

Bhanvar Singh, the helper/cleaner

Bhanvar Singh, barely spoke a word except his name. Perhaps, this was his first trip to the city. He posed reluctantly, more on insistence of his group members than me but not before glowering disapprovingly in my direction. He appeared too scared and starkness in his eyes was disturbing. My only challenge was to make him smile without intruding and fortunately it was achieved when I showed his picture and complemented him for having very photogenic face. 

After spending about half an hour with this group that was from completely different world than mine yet very much connected in some strange beautiful way, I returned home happy with a big grin on my face.  

Too busy to live

Work meetings, guests, family, extended family, relatives with need for medical care, picking up/dropping relatives from airport/railway station, cleaning up, cooking, shopping for grocery, planning for mother in law's holiday and the shopping sprees prior to the trip. The list is endless. My life has revolved around these things past few weeks in no particular order and has somehow managed to chug along! No, I am not complaining. I love doing everything I mentioned but am just a little tired.  

A list of "things to do" getting longer each passing day keeps vying for my attention. Every day, a few things get added to the list because you think you would be able to devote time and get it done but actually don't. Once you start working on that list, many other things demand your time and attention due to sheer need of that hour and the rest of the things go on back burner. No matter how smart, efficient and organized you might be, that is how life works sometimes. You can't do a damn thing about it. Sad!

It has been quite a while since I met my friends and they are on verge of disowning me. It is comforting to know they won't actually do it, in reality. Hubby and I have given up planning or talking about delicate topic of taking long holiday as it seems like a very distant luxury. He can't stay away from demanding work for more than two or three days. Son has already announced he won't be available for any family gathering/holiday as his schedule is tight for next few months. 

There comes a point when suddenly one realizes weight of time that has just flown by leaving its proof in your greying hair. Yesterday, I saw a man in his late 40s lying on a tiny wooden cot outside his road side shop, looking very tranquil. He was a perfect picture of poise and presence; absolutely unperturbed by the chaos around, scorching heat, or the suave women passing by. Looking at him completely immersed in gazing at the sky with almost Zen-like serenity, I could not help asking myself when I would attain that!

There must have been times when we human beings were mightily happy and content to just sit and be! Our life has become so much harried. Duties, responsibilities, expectations, demands, ambitions, desires, dreams etc. deafen our minds with its maddening cadence. Every person is running after some insatiable chase, moving like addicts into unheard, unseen rhythm of uncontrolled chaos. How many moments during the day do we actually live? Can we really blame anyone or anything for this plight? Aren't we  all prisoners of our own device?

"Beware the barrenness of a busy life." Socrates

    

Stolen moments

I frequently hear a clamouring scream from within to break out from my frazzled routine and layers of florid world around me and grasp at something real. I love to explore circus of life with my camera, apprehending quiet interludes with complete strangers. The experience invariably unfolds fascinating, valuable and inspiring stories about people, human nature and life in general. 

I am not a trained photographer with formal education in photography. However, every outing with my camera has enriched me immensely and made some lasting impressions helping me change, grow and evolve as a person and that is the reason why I can't stay away from my camera for long! 

It has been quite a while since I went for photo shoot and off-lately have been sulking in "I can never be a good photographer" mode. The feeling gets enhanced when failed hours of absolute rubbish work gives huge dent to my fragile ego and leaves me deeply humbled. That is precisely how I felt last evening, while going through all my photography albums. Interestingly, a few photographs captured my attention instantly and I was reminded of the stories linked with them. 

It is amazing how each photograph reveals a story! While taking photographs of people my beautiful eyes pierce through the cold horizons of their eyes and scout for something more. I have to keep a watchful eye on those fleeting moments when my subjects allow return of their reality for a brief moment, bereft of any guards. Within those few seconds or fraction of second  lies a challenge to understand, feel and capture gravity of their emotions and get essence of their spirit. Once that is attained, there is nothing more rewarding than being able to capture genuineness of the subjects' being.

The Joker

I spotted this gentleman crowded by dozens of children wanting to take a picture with him. He obliged everyone gleefully but the moment an interesting event for the children was announced, he was deserted without even being thanked by many. Looking at him, posing with big smile, laughing loud, tickling toddlers and entertaining everyone around with his remarkable tricks, I thought, would he be as happy in his real life too? And there came a moment when I saw him contemplating about something, the only time I could not see any joy on his face! 

A man playing lord Shiva, sans the snake 

This man's worried eyes were in search of the crowd that would stop and see his show. Many people brushed past him, barely stopping. The more he felt rejected the more restless and aggressive he looked. Post two cigarettes and a cup of tea in short span, his eyes gleamed when he spotted his partner with a fake snake that was required to be worn around his neck while performing. Choicest of abuses were hurled at his partner for arriving late and before he got into the character of Lord Shiva and opened his third eye, I fled and saved myself from the fury.

A toys seller

This toys seller and her family are a permanent fixture at Kala Ghoda. Like it happens with millions of people living on the streets of Mumbai, this girl has learnt very early in life that harbouring any ambition or dream is futile. However, when a group of uber cool teenage kids, slightly younger than her got down from a swanky car, passed by her with indifference and entered the gelato shop nearby, her face suddenly became dull and there was a hint of angst that surfaced for few moments. She did not have time to feel jolted by the experience as she was instantly drawn back to her world where her three siblings were fighting, creating a scene, again. 

Child folk artist from group of Rajashtani performers

A child artist from the troop of Rajasthani folk artists looked exhausted and very sleepy. He was often seen yawning during the performance and was the only member that looked out of place. Was he forced to join the group? May be all he wanted to do was play cricket with his pals at home, who knows? 

Group of  Rajasthani artists waiting for the performance to begin

There was still time for the show of this group to begin. Unperturbed by the increasing commotion around them, these folk artists were seen sharing bidis, laughing at the urban crowd and the blatant cultural difference that juxtaposed two uniquely different worlds. The business was brisk with generous tips coming their way and they looked bit relieved. It was difficult to judge if all days were as easy for their survival. Despite having received great admiration and appreciation the older group members kept aloof!