Daddy - A Living History of Brahmapur.

WARNING!

Before you download this book on your Kindle, click on Nargis Natarajan  to get to know who the author is. 

As a personal story, and a dedication to her father, the book gives the reader a full view of ‘a now happy – now sad’, big Indian joint family with many characters, children and pets. And of course a good laugh almost all the way.

When I downloaded the book, I thought I would have a glimpse into a traditional Indian family which almost built Berhampur, also known as Brahmapur (Wikipedia) from scratch.  But what I fell upon is a modern, progressive family which was headed by a great visionary, a patriot, educated and progressive doctor, Dr Firoz Ali and the story of his large family and his contribution to a city he loved so much- Brahmapur. It is sad that he lives in every space we see today in Brahmapur, although his name has become unknown to most.  Daddy, A Bouquet of Memories is a history of his work as a Social Worker, a dedicated doctor, a poet and nation builder, as told by his daughter. It is the story of the man for whom, his Brahmapur was his life and light.

Better known as ‘the poor man’s doctor’ Dr Firoz Ali, gave up his Government Medical job to serve the people of Brahmapur. A freedom fighter, proud of his country and his city, Dr Firoz Ali contributed in each and every way to build the city, although if you google his name today, all you find is one or two references. Considering that at one time, the Brahmapur Railway Station was named after him, it is sad how names, persons are deleted from our histories as if they never existed at all.

Some mention:

In Arun Bhatt's blog: 

"I went towards Dr. Firoz Ali’s residence. A three storey building now stands there. There is nothing imperial about it other than the name “Imperial College.”

And Here: 

“It may be noted that due to untiring efforts of well-known social worker Dr. Feroz Ali, the long-cherished dream of Brahmapur citizens for an auditorium became a reality in 1977.”

History is built around people we want to remember, or what someone, somewhere thinks is worth remembering and passing on. Living histories are wiped out which is why, reviving old memories, writing facts that will stay forever, has becoming so important.

I would put Daddy, A Bouquet of Memories, as not only a memory but a living history of Brahmapur, facts, one does not get to read in the text book, Wikipedia or any other book about a place or city.

We in India, choose to remember a Gandhi, a Nehru and forget, even, try to wipe out people who we do not want our children to remember as builders of this nation.

Welcome then, to a Nehru look alike and a Gandhi at heart, a generous, kind and benevolent man, called Dr Firoze Ali, The Daddy you may certainly never forget, not if you are from Brahmapur, Orissa. 

Book Review Anusual

What goes around comes around.

Starting from Social work in Delhi, Anu Aggarwal’s journey to tinsel town in Mumbai in the late 1980 saw her rise to stardom and super model quite by chance.

In 1990, she became a rave across India and the world - Aashiqui, 1990, with Mahesh Bhatt as Director, turned her into the heart’s desire, both for men, and women. Her nubile body, damsel-in-distress looks pulled the heart strings in every heart and sooner than later, Anu Aggarwal became the actress made to travel across the globe with her stardom. And suddenly from the name on everyone’s lips, she was lost in oblivion. From who’s that girl, she became, where’s that girl? And then people stopped to ask about her any more.

But the famous in the world, don’t make a quiet retreat. Suddenly, out of the blue, she came back from the dead. Indeed, the word dead here, is for real. In a near fatal accident, Anu Aggarwal almost lost her life, breathing in coma for nearly a month! She had multiple fractures when she came to and after many months of healing and repair, she is back again, this time with a Book.

Anusual – Memoir of a Girl Who Came Back from the Dead recounts her life from Delhi as a Social Worker to becoming a glamour super model in Mumbai to becoming a super star in Bollywood, followed by Hollywood and French films too. But it is not only the story of a celebrity film star of the ‘90s, but what does take the reader by surprise is Anu Aggarwal’s engagement with the spiritual. Giving up a life of fame, fags, faqs and fans, she dissolved into a life of absolute abstinence, strict discipline by taking up Yoga at a more than rigorous Ashram in the Himalayas. She spent many years there and then returned to Mumbai, only to be wrecked by an accident that nearly took her life. She emerged from there and went back to where she began – a life working with the less fortunate in the slums of Mumbai, teaching Yoga to a vast many.

What goes around comes around.

The book is written in a matter-of-fact manner with an ample dose of what she was most desired for by both men and women alike, her sensuality and lost looks of a little child, the innocence in her eyes, that drove men and women to fantacise about her; indeed, there is an overdose of sex with men in her book. It carefully conceals what many believe she was a lover of women too.

I have had my doubt too and I wondered if her over engagement with the male gender is her own way to prove to herself that she is not attracted to same sex.

But this, only the reader will know once they read what is concealed within the pages. 

Anusual—Memoir Of A Girl Who Came Back From The Dead: HarperCollins India, 192 pages, Rs 299

Self Reflection

Photo of Rick Chana Chatterjee

“It must make you think of all the people you left at home,” he said, “When you put that kettle on the stove with just enough water for yourself.” – As spoken by Nabeen in the book by Amitav Ghosh, In The Antique Land.”

In the present world of internet, SmartPhones and devices to help us stay away from real human contact, relying almost at all times on virtual friends and family, the more deeply we think of ourselves as alone, we realize that more than ever before we are in a search to find someone who can mirror our needs and desires, a bank we can anchor on, all the time.

The question that arises in my mind is, are we really looking for someone, or are we simply getting over a loneliness that is gnawing at our heart. Or then, is it a search that will only bring us closer to ourselves?

If we ask someone who is in the midst of many people around them in flesh and blood, are you lonely? They will say yes, despite the family and the partner maybe, the well of loneliness is only growing deeper.

Likewise, the same predicament follows the people who are always alone, living alone. The search is unending.

Then, if it is a common to all living in these times, then, can we say that at some point the search will end, because, neither the mirror nor the self will be, because both will have dissolved?

Is the seeker then, in fact the one we seek? Then, will the quest to find the ‘other’ end with the discovery of Self?

Finally, will the mirror that reflects cease to do so, because it has thrust the Seeker back to Self?

Book Review: The Ray Synchronicity By Lata Sony

For someone, whose reading is limited to nonSci – Fi, Lata Sony’s debut novel, The Ray Synchronicity was a challenge to begin with, but within the first four chapters, I began to understand that I had something right up my street on my Kindle. The reason being, as I said elsewhere too, the book is designed to be read by people who have hope in a better future ahead, made possible by Science. I began to consume it like a hungry reader who cannot find time, even to eat, because, the book is so fulfilling.

It is not as if, there is a sermon on the Kindle waiting there for the reader to embrace, but clearly, the insights into human nature and the creation of people whom you meet on a daily basis now, on planet transformed into beings you will want to embrace, The Ray Synchronicity, is all about realizing your potential, herenow, if you want to, although the book is placed in 2039. Events are even taking place in 2550! So for the reader, it is a jump into the future even as they read today.

What I liked about the book is its flirtation with spirituality and making the ‘other-worldly’ a very worldly phenomenon. Especially in Chapter 4, I almost hoped I was a scientist myself.

I would easily put this book among the vast million books available for man’s hunger for a better world, although there is no great self-search to do, only awesome Bio-Ray guns to adopt, which convert negative to positive energy, right away! The book is replete with suspense and conflict that adds to the speed of a racy read.

In her interview with Techgoss.com, the author reiterated that she thought that India needs more spiritual sci-fi, because India’s urban and rural are in that point of time, where the traditional and the modern are coming together.

Perhaps the solutions are deeply embedded in The Ray Synchronicity. 

Go for It!

Buy HERE

Interview with the author, Lata Sony

Q 1. Thank you for speaking to me, Ms Sony. My first question to you is, how do you think the world will change/transform spiritually, going by the ideas you put forth in your book?

‘Transforming the world’ sounds very grand and ambitious and I don’t think any book can do that by itself. What a book may do is give words to a reader’s personal experiences and feelings, provide an explanation or confirmation and that may click for someone who is ripe for transformation.

However, to the question if there was a spiritual motive behind the story, then yes there was. Several, in fact. The first objective was to let readers know that there are energies beyond our knowledge and imagination and our physical vision. Like me many have experienced these energies. Some who have had near-death-experiences have even seen their entire physical body (and other bodies) as an energy matrix.

The second objective was to help readers imagine how cosmic energies might work to shape your life. I have put this in a very simplified form by personifying energies and Time. The logic being that the powers that control human emotions and traits could very well be just as good and bad as humans. Our creations reflect us after all.

The third objective was to help readers see how the essence of any religion may be interpreted in terms of energies. This is the common platform where the foundation for real unity between religions, between tradition and modernity, and between spirituality and science can be built.

Q2: Do you think your book has the potential to affect change in human thought and behaviour?

Yes I think so. As the title suggests, the book is about a synchronicity created by higher powers. A couple of readers told me that they had begun to see a pattern in their life after reading the book. Once a person is aware of the patterns in their life, they can realize their full potential by finding answers to: Why do these things happen to me? What were the external factors that made me what I am? What internal changes should I make to counter those external influences? Do I take my limitations too seriously? How can I solve problems through love and intelligence? What should I feel grateful about? Who are the people I should forgive? What do I do to love myself more?

In its core, the book is really about the struggle between the internal you and the external you made from worldly circumstances. And the transformation is about going back to what you were meant to be, and what you really are rather than what the world makes you.

Q3: In which case, who is your target audience?

Honestly, that’s something I haven’t figured out. Just as the book defies categorization as it has elements of spiritualism, sci-fi, romance and thriller, the ideal audience for this book defies classification. Originally, I started with Young Adult as the target audience as I felt that youngsters may be more open to something new. But it turned out that people across all age groups liked it. At the same time, those who expected Dan Brown like science-fiction were disappointed with the first few pages. Some continued till the end and discovered that this was something new and fresh. I think the people who were most enthusiastic about the book were either spiritually-inclined or with some idea of metaphysics. On the other hand, this book is not at all for people who have dogmatic and rigid views about their religion.

Q4: How are you marketing your book to reach your audience?

As of now, I am more interested in reviews and have put my best efforts during free promos. I search for sites that promote free ebooks and request each site to feature my book. This is quite a painstaking process. In the future, I’ll consider paid marketing to make the book more visible when I have two more books ready. Investing in three books brings the best ROI per the pundits of book marketing.

Thank you, Ms Sony! Wish your book finds wings across the globe and may your keyboard keep clicking!

Book Review: Flood of Fire by Amitav Ghosh

If you have picked up Amitav Ghosh’s latest in the Ibis Trilogy, Flood of Fire, STOP. First revise the first he wrote, Sea of Poppies, then skim through the second, River of Smoke and now you will be ready to read his last and final in the trilogy, Flood of Fire, but remember, you must start from the last, the Epilogue, first.

The enormous research done to write this book will dawn to the reader, only when this is read and absorbed thoroughly. Having said that we are to remember that the full Ibis Trilogy was written from the journal notes, jottings, ‘jack-chits’, pictures, documents that was the collection of the bankrupt landowner we met in Sea of Poppies, Raja Neel Ratan and his son, Raju, during the years that Neel ran a printing press in Shanghai, with his partner, Compton ( Liang Keui – Ch’uan ) in the years 1838 to 1841, years leading up to the first Opium War. In June Neel fled on the Ibis, which resulted in the first book, Sea of Poppies.

Now enter the pages with much hilarity in waiting, for while the Flood of Fire finally is a book that describes the war, it is as much a book of passion and fire of the flesh in the medley mix of characters who make themselves available to the reader, and if one has read the first, then you know them all, but their lust for money and for love is made available in this one, so much that it is hardly possible to leave the book for a minute, after it is in your hands.

Take for example, Mrs Catherine Burnham married to the wealthy unscrupulous British merchant, Benjamin Burnham for his wealth and power, must satisfy her lust for flesh with the young American sailor Zachary Reid, working as a mistery ( carpenter ) on her husband’s budgerow. His passions really were for Paulette Daughty, a young French woman, grown up with a wet-nurse in Kolkata, but instead of finding its end there, Zachary is in the grip of Mrs Burnham and is richly rewarded with forbidden love and sex in the confinement of her boudoir . You must remember her husband has his own afflictions, that being what was revealed to us in Sea Of Poppies, when the poor Paulette was in all her naivety made to spank Benjamin Burnham on his bottoms and scold him in a strange ‘play’ until, Mr Burnham fell on the wooden floor spent and heaving…

Not that only, Mrs Burnham’s unfinished business with Captain Mee, the only man she told Zachary she had ever loved also comes up momentarily but again meets failure because the two main characters, Mrs Burnham and Captain Mee, decide their own future at the end of the book.

Here, Zachary left in the lurch, with a lot of experience and a taste of wealth, pursues his old love, Paulette who is ignorant of the age and maturity of Zachary’s sexual age by now, since she last knew him on the Ibis, is not yet ready to marry Zachary.

Leave that as it may, the other surprise waiting for the reader comes from Mrs  Shireen Modie, wife of Bahram Modi, the Parsi Opium trader from Bombay, who finds herself going to China, to meet her husband’s son,  Ah  Fat, also known as Freddie, when Bahram Modi has passed away under strange circumstances, and of whose ‘other life’ Shireen is not aware, until,  Zadig Bey, friend of Bahram Modie informs her about it. The rather protected Shireen with two daughters has suddenly having to wake up to a lot of stuff, her protected life had hidden from her. But in the journey she finally finds her own new life with Zadig Bey, as if to say, that she had moved on, since her husband’s death, albeit with his friend.

There are a few things in this book that are of concern to me. These are of course not to do with his writing style, which is simple and absorbing. But it has to do with his treatment of the characters, who are women in particular.

For instance: Mrs Catherine Burnham. She was bold and no matter how deceitful and cunning, she had made her peace with a young man’s flesh, that being Zachary’s  who was at her husband’s service. If Ghosh had deemed it such that her primary passion for Captain Mee would be thwarted early in her life, when both of them were young, then, why was it not possible for him to ensure that the passion continued between the Mistress and her husband’s servant, thereby bringing in a new and fresh angle to this association?

Second, why did he make Shireen Modie marry once again, when she was a wealthy widow, with two daughters and in the face of facts that Parsis in India are known to befriend spinsterhood as bed partners gladly? Also, for the fact that she showed desire to open a hospital in her late husband’s name, with the monies she received, she had a worthwhile cause to fall back upon, than becoming a wife again. She was used to living alone for long period of time, when her husband was alive and out on business.

Last but not the least, the last act of sin, was to have taken the entire family that made up Shireen’s husband’s ‘other life’ in China, extinct.

Ah Fat, are men who write such books that will go down in history as one of the greatest trilogies written in fiction, finally, conservative men?

What reasons have you, Amitabh Ghosh, for the above considerations? Or for that matter, if you were his voice, dear Reader?

Read more Here

Camping out at Gwalior Fort

For one whose search within reflects outside in the exploration of the unknown, the challenges are but many, for the territory is never known, nor studied in books and internet before. Gwalior was one such for me. All I knew was I wanted to go there to visit.

Travelling out from Mathura on what we call a ‘chaloo ticket’, I sat in the reserved compartment for the two and a half hours to Gwalior from Mathura, on the Goa Express. Needless to say, the ticket collector was unhappy but let it pass with the fine. He was duly rewarded with a Cup Of Railway Coffee, which if you are not on the Indian Train, you would never have drunk it with so much joy.  Once in Gwalior, I hastened to book my reservation back to Delhi, but no sooner than I was near the counter, a sight attracted me so much, that instead of buying a ticket, I was off to the Sound & Light Show on top of the Gwalior Fort, an autorickshow having dropped me to the bottom of the massive stone on which is carved the impressive and beautiful Gwalior Fort. Stranded at the bottom of the Fort, on a dark night when the sky threatened to break into rain, I was saved at the nick of time by a young man on a motorbike, who very kindly took me as a pillion rider up the 2 kms rough ride up to the top, where the Sound & Light Show would take place. As I walked without a torch, in pitch darkness to the counter selling tickets, I wondered, how I was going to come down after the show, to the base camp, at the foot of the Fort.

“He provides,” the man at the counter said, “there is a Gurudwara here on top, where you might like to stay the night?”

Gwalior Fort and its surroundings are not lit in the night, perhaps for security reasons. After the 45 minutes Show, me and two others, who were the only viewers of this show, we found our way, using our mobile phones to light up the way to the Gurudwara at a walking distance from the main Fort area, where we were there.

“A room for the night for a single woman? Where am I going to manage that?” the perplexed sevak at the entry asked.

“I can sleep on a charpoy in the courtyard.” I suggested.

But he would not have it and offered to put me up in his room. All three of us ate at the langar and then my friends left on a motorbike, which they had come up too on.

I had put an alarm on my mobile for 4 am. I wanted to take some early morning shots of the fort, before dawn. But the Granth Sahib is chanted from 3 am and I woke up naturally at 4 am, to the sound of the recitation.

“Wahe Guru!” I muttered as the door flung open. It was the sevak. He walked into the room and I said, “Sardar ji, bus nikal hi rahi thi – I am leaving just now.”

Gently refusing his request to stay one more night, I went into the group shower for ladies and found many women already taking their bath under taps which were high on the wall. I joined them, naked in my birth suit. How empowering a homosocial feeling, this, when women are all naked without a shred of clothing on their bodies, having a bath together! Bliss!

Yet, it did cross my mind even as I bathed, are the women looking at my body or are they looking at the new face, among them? I turned to look at the one next to me, a beautiful earth colour body, with wet hair glistening in the morning water.

I was done soon and rushed out first to the Gurudwara and then to my photo session.

To See the Pictures CLICK HERE

About Gwalior Fort Click Here 

More information and personal guide: Dr Pramesh Dutt Sharma, Email; aman120981@gmail.com

India - Horny, O K, Please!

Worry Warts for India Travel

Despite the numerous bad mouthing you have heard on Social Media and by word-of-mouth, nay, fingers typing away, you have once again let all warnings to go unheard, as the devil-may-dare attitude took over your mind and at last you have gone and done the worst – booked to come to India!

This is like Hotel California – you can come in, but mind you, you might never leave!

I am not one of those pessimists who think India is a bad country for travelers to stop by. Indeed not! But I certainly wonder, what drives their groins and pushes them to come here, after hearing all about the Uber case, random rapes, causing India to be #4 in the list of rape countries in the world, Maggi stories that have been doing their rounds ever since the year began. I guess it is just a wild side of each one of us – what you most dread, you also want to experience.

So go ahead. Sample this. Most men will address your breast, instead of your face. If you think that is awesome, then beware. Men in India have a fixation for the breast. What! Did I hear you say, it is a worldwide phenomenon? I won’t agree or disagree but elsewhere you can report offensive behavior; here you only get few more eyes to stare at your breasts, if you go to report it at the police station.

So you may ask, as to why you can’t intervene and tell them to look directly in your eyes, when speaking to you. The fact is, they can’t! And please to remember, you too, don’t! Don’t stare at men in their eyes, because, for you it might mean you are coming from your truth, but for him, it might mean that you are inviting him to nocturnal delights, in broad daylight. Besides, if you are white, you definitely stand a high risk, because Indians are racist and they haven’t yet forgotten the British Raj! In fact, they are obsessed with white. Look at the number of men who use that fairness cream – Fair & Lovely!

However, now that you have decided to enter the forbidden country – remember your mother, grandmother, grandfather and grand uncle, had warned you against such perilous paths, be prepared with a few TIPs while you are here.

Touch, can mean many things, but most of all, here it is sexual. Hence, if you are about to fall into a great big hug, remember, you might be even thought to be making a pass. Therefore, do wear your English gloves and do a plain Namaste, or a gentle handshake, using only the tip of your fingers to shake the other’s hand.

Eating out on the street is an absolute No! No! They are hot and delicious but your intestines are not going to like it! So beware!

Buy whole fruits, put them in water for an hour at least. Then cut with a knife and eat little by little. Get your own nuts from your own country to fill you up, if you are suddenly hungry. Get lots of nuts – lots!

If you are using a Public Toilet, even in a Five Star hotel, don’t sit on the seat, just hang over it and be done with it! After all, all gymnastics don’t have to be done in the Gym only.

Wash your hands as many times as you can. Use sanitizer all the time. Which is why I say, wear your English gloves!

Drink only bottled water! Lots and lots of it! If nothing else, it will wash the tension off your worry warts.

Stay close to your friends when out on the street or in the night. Indians think the night is the only time they can do the ‘unmentionable’ because sex is such a taboo here.  Believe me, you need to watch this video here below.

 Picture of Worry Warts: Credit Here

Film Review - Piku, a film of Bengali eccentricities

You have to give it to Deepika Padukone! Sandwiched between two stalwarts, Amitabh Bachchan and Irrfan Khan, she struck out and carved for herself to be acknowledged as a remarkable actress with an unforgettable role as Piku, in the film by the same name, directed by Soojit Sarkar.

Depicted as they come, a serious Bengali girl who is an Architect in Delhi, Piku is single, unmarried yet and a care giver to her 70 year old father, Bhaskor Banerjee, played by Amitabh Bachchan. Bhaskor is inflicted with a condition often a problem with aging people called constipation. Had it remained at that, it would have been fine but it has the Bengali twist to it, that being, constipation has become an obsession with the senior. From morning to night, breakfast to dinner, all conversations are around constipation!

Poor Piku! Needless to say, she is in the thick of having to listen to it and handle her father’s bowel condition, day in and day out. Being a dutiful daughter, she does not show resentment although a war of words ensues every now and then between the two.

Syed Afroz  played by Jisshu Sengupta is a good friend, although her Boss too at work and Piku and he could have made a good partnership, had Bhaskor not played dirty, like most Bengali single, to be read, widowed/widower father was not so selfish. He wanted Piku only to himself.

In the meantime, it is decided that the family house in Kolkata must be sold and Piku and Bhaskor, set off on a long journey to Kolkata by car! Bhaskor is mortally afraid of both Plane and Train, because, he is paranoid that his bowels which are already so reluctant will now create havoc for him.

Come Rana Chaudhary played by Irrfan Khan, the man who is a Civil Engineer but has had to settle to his father’s business of running a taxi service, after being cheated in the Gulf, by taking a job there, but made to do something else. He returned as soon as he could and then, took up his father’s business.

Through the long and quintessential journey from Delhi to Kolkata, Bhaskor and Piku get fond of him and find that even after arriving at Kolkata, they are averse to leaving him. But Rana must return soon to be followed by Piku  - alone.

Having given up the idea of selling the Kolkata house, Bhaskor overdoes his fun moments in Kolkata and leaves all of a sudden for his swargloka, happy as a lark, having had his full measure of fun and also having then forgotten all about his constipation.

Deepika returns to Delhi and its business as usual, with a difference! A game of badminton between Piku and Irrfan is indicative of things to come, in future, perhaps!

This review will remain incomplete with the mention of Chaubi Mashi, played by Moushumi Chatterjee, who is Piku’s maternal aunt, always visiting the family and never stopping to deride Bhaskor Bannerjee, Amitabh Bachchan, her brother-in-law in the film for causing the early death of her sister, by his constant idiosyncrasies.

I give 4 STAR to the film if you are to look at it from the Bengali point of view. It does a wonderful job! But if you are to look at the larger mass, I would give it only 2 STAR, because, unless you knew Bangla and their absolute eccentricities, it would be a film that could not have been watched at all!

Having said that, the director missed out on another Bengali idiosyncrasy, that being gorom joler kulkucchi – a warm water gargle.  But then that may be in the making of Piku II.

OMG!

Cast

Amitabh Bachchan as Bhashkor Banerjee

Deepika Padukone as Piku Banerjee[5]

Irrfan Khan as Rana Chaudhary

Moushumi Chatterjee as Chaubi Mashi

Balendra Singh as Budhan

Raghuvir Yadav as Dr. Srivastava

Jisshu Sengupta as Syed Afroz

Aniruddha Roy Chowdhury as Nabendu

Akshay Oberoi in a cameo

Maushumi Chatterjee boasts of her role in Piku: Click Here

She's come home to me!

                                                She's come home to me

                                     (Dedicated to the memory of my ‘intellectual mother’, my Chotomoni)

Many year before she left her mortal body, she had called me one day in Delhi, to tell me she was going to visit and stay with me here for two months. My partner and I were really happy and looking forward to her coming. 

However, back where she stayed in Kolkata, discussions began at her home about how she could be sent to Delhi. Her husband had got so used to having her around, serving his every need, her son had not outgrown the umbilical cord connection, her own home needed her for each and every thing – what was going to be cooked each day, how much and for how many people – the list went on and on. Needless to say, the discussion of her coming to Delhi ended, only when she decided not to come at all.

Next, I decided to spend a year in Kolkata in my newly acquired home. My flat was only a forty-five minute taxi distance from hers. I pleaded with her to come and stay a week with me, with her husband, my meshamoshai. But then, once again the question arose, as to how she could go, because her husband refused to come along and her young toddler grandson, I was told by her, asked every day, before he went to Kindergarten, whether, she his granny would be home when he returned from school…

The plan to come stay with me was dropped yet again!

I was furious! Women, I told her, always put themselves aside to put men first and then complain that they don’t get heard. My Chotomoni, only smiled. After all, it was her gentleness which was most used against her. 

I never asked her again. I knew she would feel guilty both ways, to refuse me or to listen to her family only. I did not want her to suffer the fragmentation of an undecided mind. I let it go and instead increased my visits to hers.

Until, last year, on 16^th May, 2014, she left her body. I was not at her bedside at that moment, but when I went back to her house after a few days, her photo greeted me with the enigmatic smile that was typically hers. I wept uncontrollably. She had not set foot in the house, that was mine and she would never do so, now.

On the 6^th this month, May, 2015, we completed the one year death formalities by Hindu rituals at Kolkata.

On the 16^th evening, I called my brother, her son in Kolkata and talked to him, consoling him. On the 17^th I woke with a dream vivid as real life. 

In my dream, I was preparing to eat a breakfast of what used to be my maternal grandfather’s favourite dinner. Doodh rooti  is what it is called. Chappatis torn to small pieces and thrown into milk, with a dash of sugar, was in our family pure joy, learnt from habits passed down the generations. 

I saw, my partner returning home with Chotomoni beside her. I was overjoyed. Helping her to sit on a chair, I hurried to give her my bowl of doodh rooti, which she accepted and was stirring the spoon in the bowl, before taking a bite, when she looked at me and said clearly –

“Wear diamonds around your neck.”

I was a little stunned, both from the fact that I was not given to such showbiz, nor felt I could do so because diamonds are so expensive, but my partner interpreted the dream to mean, that in her accepting the doodh rooti, she has indicated that she has accepted what I have had to offer her and in return she has blessed me with the diamonds, to symbolize, a sparkling white and pure clarity of life and path ahead.

No wonder, then, to keep the magic of the moment alive in me, I quickly placed the Chrystals around my neck.

She has come home to me, my Chotomoni. I am wearing her around my neck.

On the isle side in a printed border white silk sari, Chotomoni, Dr Pratima Konar seen here with her friend and room mate with whom she lived over seven years in London, doing her Ph.D. This picture was taken when they were visiting Holland. She wrote at the back of the photo taken in the 60s, Mira Dasgupta and Pratima on boat in Europe.

Can read; will fight hunger!

First generation learners @ Imlee Mahuaa School

When we give a child the gift of letters, we prepare them to never go hungry in their lives.

A letter came on email today, which filled me up with so much joy. 3 years ago I had traveled all the way to the Naxalite hit Bastar District Chhattisgarh, to meet Prayag Joshi at his school run by an NGO Trust, dedicated to teaching children their 4 Rs, where even the Government of India fears to run a school. Let me take you to this letter straight away.

Dear Julia,

How are you? Hope you are doing well.

I am happy to share with you the Annual Report and photographs of the work we did at Akanksha Public Charitable Trust during the year that just went by (you could use the links at the end of this message to view the Annual Report and other documents).

We have had an encouraging and satisfying year at Akanksha.

The 11 children whom Akanksha supports for their formal education in Chennai have progressed well at their respective schools. We expect to add another 3 to 5 children in Chennai and 50 children in rural Chhattisgarh to this program during the next two years.

At Imlee Mahuaa School, we watched our 60 children play, explore, learn and get insights from a variety of games, experiences and work. Some of the older children eagerly took on the challenge of engaging with their course work without being ‘taught’ by the adults and some even started participating in running the School.

Our educational experience was rendered especially joyous by various steps that we took during the year to free ourselves from many structures, rules and givens that we’d constructed for each other at School. It was also enriched by the variety of interactions that we had with many people who visited us in Balenga Para and with those whom we met during our excursions away from School.

This year, our children started saving up the scholarships they received from the School in their own Public Provident Fund Accounts. They expect to use these savings for higher studies, entrepreneurial pursuits and other important purposes in future.

Of course, the encouragement, support, and contributions that we have received from you and others like you over the years has made all this possible. Thank you very much.

All of us will be very happy to hear from you and have you over with us again. So do write to us and come and visit us whenever you can. 

Bye now.
Warm regards.
Prayaag

Links:

a. Annual Report  Click HERE:
b. Photographs Click HERE:
c. Audited Financial Statements  Click HERE-
d. Audit Report  Click HERE
e. Minutes of meetings of the Board of Trustees Click HERE-

Click here for Imlee Mahuaa School on Facebook:

Prayaag Joshi with hs kids in Nainital

Missing from earth but not my memory

L-R: Rustam ji Taraporevala, Julia Dutta, Erica Taraporevala

The one missing from the picture above is Sengupta aunty. 

The beautiful, vivacious, talkative, forgetful but forever young lady, Anima Sengupta, mother of my school friend Erica Taraporevala just left planet earth on 7^th May, 2015.

The last time, I met her was when I wined and dined with the entire family at their lovely residence, at Nagar Road, Pune, two years ago. Sengupta aunty and I engaged with talking about the days, we all lived very happily in the LIC Colony, Borivali, Mumbai. We recalled, while her daughter and son-in-law went to bed upstairs, about the times when in that colony was a little town made of Bengalis who had come to live from different parts of India and of course Bombay. Did I remember, Bhattarji uncle, and his pure Bangal accent and the way he made us laugh? Of course I did! When he related the story of the young boys playing in the football field had gathered with mock show of fearlessness, rolling up their sleeves and tucking in their lungis (football was played in lungis, the national dress of Bangladeshi men in the 50s) to fight against establishment, but no sooner had the police come to lathi charge them, they fled so hard that some of the boys even went bottomless, because, their lungis had dropped off and they did not even realize it!? And just as in those days, we all laughed so much, Sengupta aunty and I cracked the night air with our giggles.

And of course the time, she went to Juhu beach and the naughty wave came forcefully in and grabbed her set of Made-in-London dentures, the whole set, leaving her toothless but not humour deprived. Sengupta aunty and my maternal aunt, my mashi were very good friends and often when school broke and I returned home to a snack before dinner, Sengupta aunty was in our house chatting with my mashi.

“My God, Mrs Shyam, it is late!" She gasped, "Erica must have come home too. Let me rush back!”

This time too when we met, we talked of the past and memories filled like never before. Talking to her made me realize that she filled up a void in my heart - when she and I talked, it was just like when I lay on my diwan in the drawing room and my mashi sat after dinner on the sofa and we chatted about this and that, people from the past and incidents etched in our minds.

That luxury is now lost. The moments of togetherness as niece and aunt, are gone forever now. Sengupta aunty was a great story teller, and so is her daughter, Erica Taraporevala.  Like mother ; like daughter.

And I, will always miss the closeness of that hour when we talked, just like I talked with my aunt, my mashi. The door to that story in my life is forever closed now.

Goodbye Sengupta Aunty! I know you are having a great time out there, meeting up and talking about the past on planet earth with all those who left before you, from Borivali LIC Colony Bongo Samaj!

Ebar janai propam!

R-L: Sengupta Aunty, Rustam ji Taraporevala, Persis, Erica, Mrs  Freny Ginwala , Natasha.

Fuck Off Y'all, Delhi LGBT community!

Yesterday, malicious, malign rumours around my personal life with my friend were spread in the LGBT community in Delhi in order to destabilize my ongoing relationship with my partner of fifteen years and my newly acquired friend on Facebook, with whom I am engaged in LGBT activism on Facebook. While we both respect each other and are fond of each other, we were hit by a bolt of malicious propaganda of the profile of my partner, the reason being, the supposed sudden knowledge of my ongoing fun and frolic with my friend which did not go down very well with my partner.

But the point is everyone else knew about it and the engagement proved that while on the one hand, we talk of regressive laws like Section 377 IPC, on ground, when two people of the same sex are engaged, all the world rejoices with them. Hence FUCK LAW! STOP SHOUTING and GO DO IT, if you want to!

The LGBT community in Delhi must know that their joy in destroying friendships and relationships between people of the same sex only reflects the instability of their own. And that like all relationships, it is very hard to break a partners who have been together, for a long time. Also, since we do not follow the normative way of life, it is possible for us to have more than one friendship with anyone. We are not monogamous, patriarchal and strictly limited within boundaries.

In my case especially, having moved and evolved over many relationships, my horizon is large and I care two hoots for words like marriage etc. If I can live a committed and loving relationship for 15 years, I can include one more same sex person to my relationship without having to go through marriage.

Having said that, if I so wish to enter the institution of marriage, I will do so and I will see how the Indian Court can stop me from doing that.

I say, STOP trying to prove you are a friend, when actually you are a dimwit, immature carrier of tales. And STOP harming people you love, or profess to do so!

Get the hell out of my way! You are neither loved nor respected any more by me! So Fuck Y'all!



Photo credit HERE

1857 St John’s Church and the Sepoy’s Mutiny

St John's Church, Meerut

For one who likes to get away from the city on weekends, the only belonging I had in my possession is my camera and a will to visit Meerut for St John’s Church where the 1857 Sepoys Mutiny began, sparking off, as it were, the fight for independence for India, from the British, although it took another 90 years to get it.

Meerut is famously associated with the Indian Rebellion of 1857 against the British East India Company.The famous slogan "Dilli Chalo" ("Let's march to Delhi!") was first raised here. Meerut cantonment is the place where the rebellion started when Hindu and Muslim soldiers were given rifle cartridges rumoured to have a coating made of cow fat.

The revolt, which catapulted Meerut into international prominence, started in March, 1857 at Barrackpore, Bengal. Sepoy Mangal Pandey shot and missed two Europeans, failed to kill himself, and was hanged. By April, the fire of Pandey’s Uprising scorched north India and reached Meerut, the second-largest East India Company garrison. Here, Europeans and native sepoys were evenly balanced, with a little more than 2,000 on each side. The European cantonment was separated from the ‘native lines.’ Close by were Sadar Bazar and Lal Kurti Bazar, the latter named after the red uniforms worn by Company soldiers. On 24 April 1857, Meerut’s commander, Colonel Carmichael Smyth, paraded 90 Indian sepoys of the Bengal Cavalry, hired mostly from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. He ordered them to fire the new Enfield cartridges: 85 refused. The cartridges were covered with paper that had to be torn off: Muslims believed the paper was greased with pig and Hindus, with cow fat.

All 85 were stripped of their uniforms, imprisoned for ten years and shackled - this was a major humiliation. The rebels were from the 3rd cavalry: they owned their horses, and were the upper-caste elite. If they could be shackled, what could others expect from the Company?

The Imperial Gazette of India, V.17, pg 263 – 64 (see Here) from the Digital South Asia Library, states that Meerut City, which was the administrative headquarters of Meerut District, had in 1901, 62, 700 Hindus, 50, 317 Muhammadans  and more than 4,000 Christians. Of the total 78, 740, population 39, 389 lived in the Cantonment.

On Sunday, 10 May 1857, Kotwal Dhan Singh Gurjar opened the gates of the prison. These soldiers, along with other imprisoned soldiers escaped prison and declared themselves free, revolted, rushed to (Click to see St John’s Church Here ) and attacked and killed several of the British authorities to take the city in their control. This marked the beginning of a widespread revolt across northern India as these soldiers marched towards Delhi. 10 May is still celebrated as a local holiday in Meerut. Indeed, while the killing and burning happened largely in the cantonment area, the civil area people had no idea of all this, until, at 7 pm, as they came towards the St John’s Church for the evening Service, they saw burning bungalows and were alerted that something major was going on in this area. All the people who died from the European side are buried in cemetery at St John’s Church cemetery, just a few feet away from the church itself. See HERE 

MUST READ:  The Indian Rebellion of 1857 

MUST READ: The Mutinyin Meerut by Tanushree Poddar

In case you want to read more on Meerut, please read below.

Thank you Wikipedia 

The ancient city of Meerut at one time a part of the Maurya Empire, 322 – 185 BCE had the 6^th Century Ashoka Pillar in sandstone, at Delhi ridge, next to the ‘Bara Hindu Rao Hospital’, near Delhi University, was carried to Delhi from Meerut, by Firuz Shah Tughluq (r. 1351–1388); it was later damaged in a 1713 explosion, and restored in 1867.One of Asoka’s Edits, in Brahmi, is now in the British Museum. Meerut had been a centre of Buddhism in the period of Mauryan Emperor Ashoka (r. 273 BC to 232 BC.), and remains of Buddhist structures were found near the Jama Masjid in the present day city.

After the archaeological excavations at ‘Vidura-ka-tila’, a collection of several mounds named after Vidura, in 1950–52, a site 37 km (23 miles) north-east of Meerut, it was concluded to be remains of the ancient city of Hastinapur, the capital of Kauravas and Pandavas of Mahabharata, which was washed away by Ganges floods.

Meerut also contained a Harappan settlement known as Alamgirpur. It was also the easternmost settlement of the Indus valley civilisation.

In the eleventh century AD, the south-west part of the district was ruled by Har Dat, the Dor Raja of Bulandshahr who built a fort, which was long known for its strength and finds mention in Ain-i-Akbari. He was later defeated by Mahmud Ghazni in 1018. A prominent local landmark, the Jama Masjid, dates from this period and is said to have been built by Mahmud's Vizir. Shortly after its capture the city was regained by the local Hindu Raja and part of his fortifications, built for the city’s defence, survived until recent times. The first big invasion on the city came later in 1192 AD, from Mohammad Ghori, when his general Qutb-ud-din Aybak attacked the city, and a much worse fate lay ahead for the district, which came with the invasion of Timur in 1398, during which the Rajputs offered a tough resistance at the fort of Loni, where he fought the Sultan of Delhi, Muhammad Tughlaq. But, eventually they were all defeated and all the 1,00,000 prisoners his army had taken in since his invasion of India were massacred, according to Timur’s own accounts in Tuzk-e-Taimuri. Thereafter he went on to attack Delhi, where he again massacred the local population, and returned to attack Meerut town, then ruled by an Afghan chief, Ilias, and took the city in two days, leading to widespread devastation, before heading north once again.

The city then came under the rule of the Mughal Empire and saw a period of relative tranquility.During the rule of Mughal Emperor, Akbar the Great (r. 1556–1605), there was a mint for copper coins here.During the decline of the Mughal Empire, after the death of Aurangzeb, the city came effectively under the control of local chieftains, the Saiyids of Muzaffarnagar in the north, the Jats in the south-east, and the Gujars along the Ganges and in the south-west. The city saw Sikh and Maratha invasions in the 18th century, with interruptions by Jats and Rohillas. Walter Reinhardt, an English soldier, established himself at Sardhana and some parts of the district came under his rule. Upon his death, they came into the hands of Begum Samru During this time, the southern part of the district had remained under Maratha rule. In 1803, with the fall of Delhi, Daulat Rao Scindia of the Marathas ceded the territory to the British. The city was made headquarters of the eponymous district in 1818.

The United Provinces, in 1903

Meerut was also the venue of the controversial Meerut Conspiracy Case in March 1929, in which several trade unionists, including three Englishmen, were arrested for organising Indian-rail strike. This immediately caught attention back in England, inspired the 1932 play titled Meerut Prisoners, by Manchester street theatre group, the 'Red Megaphones', highlighting the detrimental effects of colonisation and industrialisation[29] Electricity was brought to Meerut in 1931. In the 1940s, Meerut cinemas had a "Don't Move" policy during playing of the British national anthem.[citation needed] The last session of the Indian National Congress before Indian independence was held at Victoria Park in Meerut on 26 November 1946. It was in this session that the Constitution-making committee was constituted.

The city and district also suffered from communal (Hindu-Sikh) riots in 1984 and (Hindu-Muslim) riots in 1982 and in 1987, during which the Hashimpura massacre took place, in May 1987, when personnel of the Provincial Armed Constabulary (PAC) allegedly shot dead 42 Muslims, the trial of the case is still pending. In 2006, a fire at a consumer electronics "Brand India" fair in Victoria Park Stadium killed at least 100 people, with authorities already confirming 45 fatalities, although a specific figure on a toll was difficult to put and was predicted to be much higher.

Mythology

Meerut was founded as Mayarashtra (lit. Maya's country) by Maya, who was the father of Mandodari, Ravana's wife in the Ramayana.Meerut was the capital of Maya.Thus the city is also known as 'Ravan Ki Sasural' literally meaning "Ravana's wife's home". There is an old Chandi Devi temple in the compound of Nauchandi ground. It is believed that Ravan's wife Mandodari used to come here to worship Goddess Chandi and since then every year a fete (Nauchandi Mela) is held in sacred days of Navratri (also called days of Goddess).