Monday, December 24, 2012

On my way following the stars because they know the way!

I have a distinct memory of one Christmas when our house was filled with all my cousins and Grandparents. That was our first house in Pune after we shifted there. Christmas in Pune is a cold one and being in a convent school the carols always became synonymous with the cool wind around. It was late in the night at the Christmas eve and all of us children were sent to bed because we were told that if we dint sleep, Santa would not come at all. I am talking about time when I still believed in Santa and thought he lived in the clouds. I always felt that how lonely Santa would be up there all round the year and still he would make so many children happy!
I had lot of obscure questions that day, the most genuine was- how Mr. Santa would come inside our house because we had metal grilled windows, the doors were locked and lights were switched off. I was told that if I would keep my eyes open I wouldn't see him. The next morning was an expected surprise but it was still a surprise.
Probably that was the only year when I got a gift from Santa because the next morning my sister told me that it was my parents and not Santa and that’s how it worked all over the world. As much as I wanted to believe her I tried not to.
Then for many years I did not get gifts for Christmas except one when my Grandfather had come and kept a gift next to me at night and I had seen him do that. My eyes were half open even though I pretended to be fast asleep only because I did not want to disappoint him, neither myself.

To all the beautiful parents like mine, here’s a small note from us children and adults who wish to become children again:

Into the starry night,
As clouds would form a clutter,
Let me dream, let me dream;
Because the man in the beard is on his way.
He will come because he knows the way,
Following the stars on his way.
The way to my heart and not my mind,
Let me dream, let me dream!
Tomorrow he shall vanish in the thin air,
With my aspirations and goals chasing my way,
Then I wouldn't know the way;
To my heart and mind,
Let me dream, let me dream!
Let me believe,
That someone will come, following the stars!

Merry Christmas Blog-peers, I shall now see you in the New Year with new dreams and new worlds. The old world will always be by our side. I would like to mention that this week I had maximum readers from Latvia, Europe along with the US, Ukraine, Korea, Singapore, France, Malaysia, Denmark, Dubai, Turkey and topping the list of-course my very own India.This relationship with all of you who are so away makes me feel that I belong to this magical world.
More later, Lots of love.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Faith & Fate are two {different} words. So what ends tomorrow?

It has been lingering on for a long time now- the thought of the world ending on 21st December 2012. Some folks believe in this phenomenon and some say it’s irrational. Some say it’s an end while some look at it as a beginning of a new era. We certainly can’t claim that we haven’t thought of it. A world ending, how abstract of an idea or how real of an idea! We use this term so assertively without really defining what ‘world’ means to us. Frankly, I would be turning twenty two years old in January but I really don’t know what my world is, so if someone asked me what I think of 2012 phenomenon, I would say, “I really don’t know which of my world might end!” is it the world I live in with my family, the world which I believe is and not sure if it does exist at all or the world my Grandfather suffering from Alzheimer’s lives in. Which world do you or I mean?

While I was growing up I met all types and kinds of people, I still meet a lot. Everybody who came into my life showed me a new world, I dint question because I liked the world they showed me. Today those worlds are in the form of sheer photographs or some have no evidence whatsoever and got drowned in the waves of belief and time. To begin with was the world I was born in, a very small town called Karad; growing up with my sister and lot of pet dogs, grandparents to tell stories and a great-grandmother as a companion. Then my world moved to Pune in a new but small house; new friends and a new school leaving behind a world I thought I would go back to. I am the youngest in the family and I have seven sisters with whom I saw around the most in my growing up years. I have two brothers who I dint see that often as a child. I always got very inspired from my sisters more because they were more intelligent and more articulate. Then from a coed school I moved to a non-coed school which totally changed my way of thinking and being a convent school it was a very strict one. I spoke very less and made a world for myself which only I knew of; I cared less to know anyone. While at the previous school I was involved majorly in theatre and dramatics which I eventually gave up, that world died a premature-death. Today I am in touch with very few people from that time. In the meanwhile I met my art teacher who painted a dreamy world for me; I liked that world a lot. In all the growing up years my mother and two sisters were constantly by me. I have been very close to my mother and we share our own world. While I was at the convent school I was very scared of the English language and ofcourse Mathematics. I spoke Marathi at home and was more fluent and comfortable with it and why wouldn't I, people close to me spoke to me only in Marathi. I would fumble a lot while speaking in English and eventually I made a world which was eerie. I decided then that the last thing I would do with my life would be; becoming a writer, I hated it. Maybe because nobody was there to make that world for me. Not even my family.

I spent those dreadful years of school and finally walked out for the good after completing my tenth standard exam. I decided not to go there ever after. But I did go there a few times and got very nostalgic because now that I look back, there was nothing fearful about that place. If you fear the world and show that you are scared you would destroy your own existence. That was the first time I changed from being naïve to being rebellious and doubtful. That world has no evidence of being there but it is alive in memories.

At that time a new world was waiting for me, a world that dint last for long though; my junior college years. Now this was the time I felt free and different. I went to a college where I did not relate to anyone except a few friends I made there. I miss that world now and it ended when I was done with that place and chose to go to design school- the world that finally looked like a world. I wanted to meet people I could relate to, I did initially only to realize that a design school projects itself to be very permissive and believes in free existence but the truth of this world is that it is not even remotely close to being either. Why should it even be? It has normal human beings just like any other world but parallel to it; it has a ‘made-to-believe’ world as well. I have believed if you show you are different no one would relate to you because this idea or charade of design is about relating to people and making people relate to what you do. I wouldn’t generalize but that is what I want design to be for me. Also this world introduced me to some people I would want to treasure all my life. I was introduced to writing for the first time and it opened a new world for me; a world I thought would never welcome me.

And so on and so forth many worlds happened and passed by every single day. If I keep writing right now, this small piece would become into a novel, a very boring one. So the reason I wrote this was to say that while you read this piece was anyone able to keep a track of how many worlds I mentioned and these were just the ones that came to my mind while I was writing, there are several parallel ones as well. 2012 is an idea which made me write this today and strangely I do believe in it but what question remains is which of my world is ending and which one is beginning? Call it science, belief, joke or just a thought; it still keeps the world on its toes!

Coincidentally just a day back I read a long article on Late Pt. Ravi Shankar’s first wife Annapoorna Devi which gave a very different insight to his life.  Not a good one. The ‘world’ knew probably one of his ‘worlds’ which mattered to the ‘world’. In his book ‘Raga Mala’ he contradicts Annapoorna Devi’s views on him and their relationship. After he is gone today all this wouldn't really matter to us because we would choose to remember him for the reason he was meant to be remembered. Maybe Annapoorna Devi was right in her world.

I Blogged early this week, I shall see you on Christmas now :)

Thursday, December 13, 2012

An ode to a {homemaker}

An ode to a beautiful man, I have been seeing for many years on the street until I spoke to him a month back. Here is a short film I made on Gopichand Mehendale, a man who has dedicated his life to giving the stray animals a place they can call home and in that journey has made a home for himself.

I have sung the song myself in Bengali because I find the language very warm. Earlier I wrote a song in Hindi but it is yet to get composed. Anyone who likes the lyrics is welcome to compose it for me, I will be very happy!

PS: Gopichand Mehendale lives near the circle on Shastri road in Pune; he accepts help in every way. Trust me when you speak to him, you will experience joy of a different kind.

Here are the lyrics of the song I wrote on him:

कभी तो तू चलाकर अपनी ही राह पर,
थोडीसी गुफ्तगू कर अपनी ही राह पर,
जो तेरे हमसफ़र बने वही होंगे तेरे साथी, 
तेरे राही जो तूने चुने, अपनी ही राह  पर।

ये दुनिया झूठी, इस दुनिया मे आकार,
अपनी राह को भुलाकर, कभी तो तू चलाकर।
कभी तेरी दास्ताँ सुनकर, दो लफ्ज कहकर,
तेरे क़दमों के निशान, अस्तित्व के इल्जाम,
कभी उन्हें भुलाकर, कभी तू चलाकर,
तेरे रही चलेंगे तेरी ही राह  पर।

भटक जाए रास्ता तेरे साथियों का,
जो तू उन्हें भुलाकर चलेगा।
बिखरे पत्थरों में पाएंगे, तेरा बिखरा आशिया,
रही जो तूने चुने, अपनी ही राह  पर।

धुंधलाती आखें क्या जाने,
तेरे क़दमों की आदत,
ये सफ़र है तेरा, तेरे साथ,
अपनी ही राह  पर,
अपनी ही राह  पर।

All you dear people who are inspiring me to blog every week, thank you. I see people from distant places writing to me, feels good that you relate to what I do. :) 

Sunday, December 2, 2012


While I was in school I often went to the then new Puchkawala near my house. I would go there on my bicycle with a ten rupee note in my pocket. He made good Puchka as per the Maharashtrian taste. Having Puchka makes me happy even today but now after having it in different parts of the country I realize why we Indians are meticulous when it comes to having Puchka.

It’s fascinating how something as small as a golgappa/Puchka makes us feel like we belong. I simply like the conventional way of having Puchka with the bhaiya dipping his entire hand in the earthen pot. Never ignore his long thumb nail always painted in a very striking color.

Meet this grumpy woman who is not really happy with the puchka she is having but she is unable to resist it and the paani from her open mouth is falling all over her!

We are a million people with million likes and preferences but we do manage our taste buds when we are travelling and have Puchka only because we cannot resist it even though it might not be as per our taste preference.

We all love it don’t we? Puchka and blogging are two things I need at least once a week. :)