The Real Heroines of Bollywood

As the director announces ‘pack-up’ after a long day’s shoot and the entire crew leaves for a good night’s sleep, the natives of the edit table rise to the occasion with scores of raw footage to maneuver on. And with a large chunk of these editors being women, the pressures of coping with personal and professional commitments sure brings in the stress. But the women editors of Bollywood indeed know the craft too well to be distressed. Burgeoning as the real heroines of Indian cinema, these ladies have attained much more than mere success in this male-dominated fraternity.

As the movie comes to a closure, on reminiscing the film’s best moments, all we eventually remember are these prominent aspects. The jump cuts, fade-ins and fade-outs, dissolves, cross cuts, fast cuts, montages all these terminologies have only seemed remote for a lay film fan until today. Hardly did we notice these transitions while watching a film, let alone knowing the editor per se. However, with changing times, this integral part of filmmaking has gained much attention with the editors grabbing the spotlight too. With women opting for the glitz and glam roles in Indian cinema, the ladies are seen hitting the backstage in a big way at the edit table as well. Gone are the days when we saw a geeky man parked at the edit room working on the rushes for hours together. A profession that has been a male pursuit for years now, the trend of women editors pioneered back in the 80s when Renu Saluja took the industry by a storm with her prolific editing skills. 

Nevertheless, even today, the film industry is evidently not the first choice for women owing to family woes and parental concerns leave aside the little known profession of editing. As Namrata Rao, the 32 year old award-winning editor of Kahaani confesses, “I left a stable IT engineering profession to settle for Editing. My choice was greatly disapproved by my parents who were concerned due to the volatility of the profession. But I knew this is where I belonged hence went after my dream and here I am.” Veteran film editor Deepa Bhatia who has been in the business for over 16 years now states, “Since I hailed from a business family I was not really encouraged to go this route. But the introduction of world cinema in college literally changed my entire perspective towards the profession.” A Hungarian film ‘You’ by Istvan Szabo brought Bhatia to identify the sphere she wanted to inhabit in filmmaking.

Hemanti Sarkar, editor of the most widely applauded film ‘English Vinglish’ elucidates, “I feel editing is more of a woman oriented job. It is like looking after a child even if it’s not your own. When the film reaches you at the editing table it is like a newborn baby with bits and pieces of picture and sound which don't really make sense. So like a mother you have to teach it every skill of life, love it and look after it, almost like dressing a child for the big day so that nothing is out of place. Find out his or her strong points, encourage it so that when they step out into the world they are the best. And who better than a woman to do so.” Quizzing Shweta Venkat Matthews, editor of the brutal drama Gangs of Wasseypur, she adheres patience and the ability to multi-task as the key ingredient to attain the ‘eureka’ moments. “If you have these, editing will come naturally to any woman who is interested in the art”, asserts Shweta.

Statistically, film editing witnesses more men than women, but the latter are nonetheless making a prominent place for themselves here unlike other technical departments of filmmaking like sound, cinematography or camera. Jabeen Merchant, editor of the critically acclaimed film ‘Manorama Six Feet Under’ however sees the subject in different light, “It’s not the same case today. There are more and more women who are coming out of film schools with degrees in photography, direction and sound as well. Also, there exist several female camera persons and other technical assistants who are women. It’s just that they have not cut into the limelight yet or worked with the most prominent banners.”  Aarti Bajaj, another veteran who has ruled the roost for over 15 years with films like Paan Singh Tomar also backs the stance as she states, “Behind the glare, there are a lot of women who are a part of the technical teams. All people need to do is just look beyond the obvious level of people. And in just a matter of few years they all will be out in the open like the women editors today.”

With a majority of Hindi films witnessing the leading ladies as a mere muse to the heroes, the discrimination was always evident. The tradition however changed overtime and the backstage too saw an extensive transformation. “A part of this change can be attributed to the liberty and exposure cinema offers today. People judge you on the grounds of your creativity and the work you are capable of. It has nothing to do with gender anymore”, says Namrata. Deepa Bhatia who started out at the age of 25 states, “I was very young. We are talking about the mid-90s here. The initial 5-6 months was a struggle as it was difficult for people to accept me as an aspiring film editor. But it was not patronizing or derogatory in any way; just the initial difficulty for people to accept this fact. But I never came across any sort of gender discrimination here.” Shweta who on the other hand edited a vengeance-filled action flick like Wasseypur says, “When people came to know that I edited Gangs of Wasseypur, they were not very sure and have told me, you don’t look like the one who could edit this film. They could not relate to the idea of a woman editing a film of this caliber. And that’s what makes me proud.”

While the name and fame certainly bring in much delight but when it comes to money matters, we also see a fairly painted picture here. “There is no discrimination on the monetary aspect.  Generally editors are underpaid as compared to other technicians but we also have the giants like Aarti and Deepa who make much more than the male editors today. It’s the experience and craft that gives you your worth” says Jabeen.

With not just a profession to cater to, these super women support their families and raise children too. The grueling hours at the edit table do take a toll, but the family support is what eventually pushes one to a fresh start each day. Deepa who is the wife of screenwriter/director Amol Gupte and a mother of a 12 year old cites a key pillar of strength in her family. “My husband and son are extremely accommodative and understand the importance of my work. Amol and I work our schedules around our son making sure we spend time with him. And my profession gives me the liberty to do so. There are also times when I am in the edit room and my son is sitting outside completing his homework.” Aarti who is the ex-wife of director Anurag Kashyap and a mother of 11 year old Aaliya elaborates, “As a single mother, I have raised my daughter to be independent. She is fully aware of what my work demands and we share a great understanding.” Jabeen adds, “There are times when we are invited for a family event. The in-laws may not expect my husband to attend but sure wish to see me as I am the lady of the house. But again my job allows me to juggle personal commitments too. Sometimes it’s not possible and I have to refuse which does not go too well either.”

Being a part of the showbiz that is all about glamour and flamboyance, film editing has been an invisible profession all the while. Although due credit is attributed, the job frequently goes unnoticed. But the ladies seem rather comfortable with the idea. Namrata who believes that the work should speak for itself says, “It actually causes more intrigue. When a person finds out that a woman edited a particular film, they are all the more fascinated.” Deepa who considers her job as pure meditation states, “I am absolutely comfortable with the idea as I always knew what I’m getting into. I don’t work for the limelight but just for the joy of working on the rushes.” The seclusion and anonymity of editing works to Hemanti’s benefit who confesses, “I cannot imagine dealing with the million people on sets. When I have to talk to more than two people I haven’t met before, I feel jittery. The edit room is my solace.” Jabeen however feels that after a certain point, one has to make himself/herself noticed and people should know you. And that it stands true for any profession.

As the women editors cut across all barriers, breaking the celluloid ceiling and making it to the top slots in their line of work, they have well surpassed their male counterparts over the years. “Women today are tremendously prudent and know what they want. They nudge their way along and are manipulative in the right sense, thereby opening up newer avenues in the male-dominated scenario” concludes Shweta.  

A profession that is luring more and more women to join the brigade ensuring a stable, fruitful and creative vocation, the future only seems promising for women film editors here on. 

For the Love of Food..

The city of Mumbai has witnessed an array of phases. Some that persisted and others that faded with time. They are phases that have etched in the memory of every Mumbaikar, be it the times of the British Raaj, the civil riots, the rise of the film industry, the transition from Bombay to Mumbai, the 26^th July downpour or the grand world cup victory. But there is one such phase that has reigned the city for over 100 years now but is a soon vanishing breed; and this is the shining glory of the celebrated Irani Cafes of Mumbai.

A struggling writer, a courting couple, a famed businessman, a weary labourer, a blithe collegian, a budding artist, a taxi driver or just another rover, the Irani Cafés have been a rightful haven for one and all. Savouring the delectable brun maska, Irani chai, khari biscuits, cakes, caramel custard and pulaos, one could just sit back for hours together, unwind and soak in the cozy setting of an Irani Café without a heavy bearing on the pocket.

An absolute rage until the 90’s, Mumbai boasted of over 400 such cafes in the past. Presently the number has descended to a humble ten, marking their alarming extinction.

As the city witnesses the thinning glory of these cafes, one such abode that has served Mumbaikars for over 90 years is the illustrious Britannia & Company Restaurant, popularly known as the Café Britannia.  Set in the commercial district of South Mumbai, Café Britannia is an archetypal Parsi restaurant, pioneered by Mr. Rashid Kohinoor in 1923. The quaint café is presently manned by his son, the 90 year old Mr. Boman Kohinoor and his children.

At 12 noon, on a rather sultry day, the café opens its doors for all. Afshin, (Boman’s elder son) begins the day, lighting a protracted incense stick that renders a mystic yet divine feel to the place marking the day’s commencement. The cash counter flanked by the two gateways to the café is set against the backdrop of a life-size mirror below the sepia tainted picture of the founder. Moderately lit with classic chandeliers and lampshades coupled with lazy antique fans and the bentwood chairs, Café Britannia exuberates the old world charm, evoking memories of vintage Mumbai and its simplicity.

Clad in a cream coloured shirt with beige trousers and thick glasses, seated beside a sophisticated table covered with green checkered cloth, the ever so vivacious Boman Kohinoor takes us through the good old days of Irani Cafes and their journey. As he recollects, “My grand-father landed in India from Iran 140 years ago. He started a roadside tea stall outside the General Post Office in Mumbai. Few years later, he instituted the Kohinoor restaurant in partnership with a friend. When my father grew up, in 1922 he sold the family’s share in the restaurant to set up his own venture and started Café Britannia and Company.”

“The name Britannia” as he elaborates “comprises of the word Britain. During the British Raaj, the government sanctioned only such names for new businesses that were symbolic of the British culture.” Another typical feature of all Irani Cafes is their location on street corners, ensuing due to a Hindu superstition that considered corner premises to be unlucky.

Post the demise of Rashid Kohinoor, Boman stepped into his father’s shoes and took over the business. As for the café’s peculiar ambiance he illustrates, “When my father started this café, it was the one of the plushest restaurants of the city. Japanese carpenters were employed to design the furniture which was made of rosewood. The marble table tops covered with white cloth and exclusive chandeliers added to the grandeur. The place was designed to complement South Bombay’s European architecture. But during World War II, the British commanders forced us to vacate this place, turning it into a military office. Within two years the war ended and we retained the place that had nothing but remnants of destroyed furniture.” The restaurant was revamped again, this time with mediocre furnishings and fixtures.

From serving bland Continental food during the British era to the present day popular Berry Pulao, caramel custard and a range of Parsi and Moghalai dishes, the restaurant prides in its exclusive recipes. “My wife, Bachan Kohinoor worked as a legal advisor with the army and was posted at Iran. It was there she discovered the Berry Pulao and introduced it in our restaurant, which continues to be the signature dish of Britannia”, he recounts. Presently, Boman’s younger son Romin, a chef, who inherited the famous recipes from his mother, mans the kitchen. He states, “These recipes are like family jewels. We could never part with them.”

Manned by seven waiters and seven chefs, the café has always boasted of its supportive staff. From employing Goans to Mangaloreans to the present Bihari and Muslim staff members, the restaurant sure seems like one happy family that believes in presenting utmost respect to its customers.

The crowd at Café Britannia continues to augment as office-goers throng for their lunch- the only time one now gets to savour the delicacies of the restaurant as it operates from a modest 12pm to 4pm. As Kohinoor Senior elaborates, “When I ran this place independently, we started the café at 6:30 am and went on until 10pm. But after my son’s took over, they cut the time short.”

The Irani Cafes have continued to serve countless generations of Mumbai with their authentic cuisine for several years now. But behind the packed premises and the illustrious legacy lies a poignant fact that these cafés would soon close down. In a matter of 4-5 years, Café Britannia would disappear from the limelight, leaving the Mumbaikars to settle for other options. Elaborating on the current decline of Irani Cafes, Boman elucidates, “We have tried our level best to keep the legacy going. The new generation Iranis are very well educated and settled abroad. The restaurant business does not appeal to them as they consider it very laborious and below their dignity. My children too did not wish to take forward our business but I convinced them to keep it going; one of the main reasons why we compromised on the time slot. Now I have only one grandson and he is least interested in the business. So after I pass away, my sons would close down the restaurant and retire.” Amongst the several other reasons cited for the decline, are the increased burden of taxes and the tedious procedures for procurement of licenses. From health tax to VAT to income tax, the heavy taxation is a major deterrent in running the business. “My father paid only Rs. 50 for licensing, in contrast to the Rs. 34,000 I pay today for the same. Also with the inflated prices of raw-materials, it becomes very difficult for a business like ours to survive, as we offer services at nominal rates”, says Boman. The growing apathy amongst the next generation Irani’s and with the advent of globalization, most Irani cafes have been sold out to MNCs or other popular brands or are replaced by malls. The owners prefer to invest the money received in the bargain as fixed deposits with banks and live a secure life.

Ali Irani, the 48 year old owner of another Irani Café- Koolar & Company states, “My son is a pilot and does not wish to inherit the business. As soon as I retire, we would sell the place to an MNC or an independent buyer.”

Over the years, several patrons have aggrieved the loss of Irani cafés. Rakesh Bhatt, a veteran Mumbaikar who was a regular at Britannia, dives into nostalgia as he states, “The time I have spent here with my friends during my formative years of college are indelible. We basked in the Berry Pulao and Raspberry Soda. The taste of the inimitable caramel custard still lingers when it crosses my mind. The balcony tables were our patent quarters. It is truly distressing to see that the café would shut down in a few years. I wonder whether my future generations would ever know what Irani cafés were all about.”

Sipping on their fresh lime sodas, a group of customers at the café express their unwillingness to part with Café Britannia. They say, “The best part about coming to Britannia for lunch is the gracious hospitality. Boman uncle personally takes the orders and makes us feel at home. The staff too is very patient and never urges us to hurry out. We would never want this place to close down. It’s a part of our heritage and must be preserved. ”

While the regulars of the Irani cafes are rooting to save them from extinction, the city’s present younger generation is quite unaware about these legendary cafes. Ayush Rana a collegian says, “I had heard about an Irani Café from my father since he use to spend time there during his college days. But I have never visited one, although I would love to frequent such a place with my friends that is less expensive as compared to the popular coffee shops. But all the Irani cafes today are located mostly in South Mumbai and my college is in the suburb.”

In a world where change is the only constant, people change preferences and move on to accept the new innovations. With the rising number of the current breed of coffee chains and eateries, cafes like Britannia are apprehending their extinction. As we lose a part of the city’s heritage with every closing Irani café, some owners try their level best to keep up the legacy and endow the city with more such classic memories. Offering franchise opportunities or renting space to keen buyers could work out as saviours.

Café Britannia is here to stay for only a few years now. But the infinite reminiscences and emotions associated with the space will be cherished by generations. A business based on sentiments that believes ‘There is no love greater than the love of eating’, Café Britannia & Company always lived up to its affability and is now awaiting only a miracle to save the depleting heritage as are the other remaining Irani cafes.    

Shades of a Woman..

Every person around us is different. Different in the way they appear. Different in the way they dress. Different in the way they talk, how they walk. Just Different.

Speaking about being different, I believe, what sets everyone apart is their mindset. A mindset that determines their appearance, their dress sense, the people they hang out with, their speech, their experiences, their thinking and everything about them. While some are open to changing or modifying their mindsets, others completely confine themselves.

In all these years, all the people I've come across, each of them is different from the other. No similarity whatsoever. Some are conservative, some liberal, some bored, some cute, some shy, some annoyed, some happy, some upset. All kinds. Few may speak the same language, have similar traits, eat the same kind of food, live in the same house, yet stark different from the other.

To begin with, each and every male person has a different opinion on the same topic. To elaborate, every boy or man has his own theory/funda about girls, alcohol, sports (especially cricket), business and cars. Their opinions on these topics are always different from eachother. In their minds they may agree to one another but the ego forbids them from giving in.

And now come the women. They all say that a woman is God’s most complex creation. No man would ever fully understand a woman. Well, the best things in the world are not meant to be understood but only experienced. ;) Women indeed are complex. But they are not really different. They all come in varying shades. Shades that range from being the most sorted to the most complex.

I recently attended a family function. While the occasion saw only a handful of men in attendance, the chaos of the women remains unforgettable. From a ten year old to a sixty year old, the range was extensive.

Every woman had similar traits and thought process. They all discussed food, families, friends, foes and each other. Yet they all were different. Well, not stark different, but as I said, the shades were evident. While one loved sarees, the other doted on salwar kameez. While one insisted on taking a zillion profile photographs, the other was busy profiling fellow female guests at the do. While one took hours to get dressed the other got dressed in no time to hog the early limelight.

While one was busy 'checking out' the guys at the event another was 'checking on' her guy. While one constantly fidgeted with her hair, the other let it all down sinking in her phone beneath. 

They may be at loggerheads with their spouses, yet are offended when someone says something against them. They may like someone's outfit but will take the ego way and compliment the worst dressed. They may love the food and even parcel some extra but would call it names anyway. They may thoroughly enjoy the party but still there would be that something that was amiss. 

They may all appear to be the same but indeed possess those different shades. Shades that nobody can truly decipher yet recognize.

Complex..?? Naaahh.. ;) 

City of Dreams.... Really?

Mumbai - the city that houses a million and plays host to another million (visitors). Where every individual learns about its true essence ever since birth. The city which promises to fulfill the dreams of practically everyone; the ones born here and also the ones who migrate to the city. With the ones who are born here do not really have too much choice at their disposal, but those who migrate here are the ones who need to be acclaimed. (No any offence to any community or individual) I truly wonder what is it that people really like about this city. Until about fifteen years ago, a person could atleast think about living here, earn substantial amount of money, build a steady career and yet find the time to socialize. As of today, a regular Mumbaikar still does all of these. Yet, one other huge factor that has been appended to all these is the ‘stress’. Stress that makes people go to office for sure but with a baggage and a looming burden of passing through the day. Stress, that definitely allows a person to attend social obligations but under the pressure of fixing up a smile on their face and the worry of pacifying the egos of friends/relatives. Stress that lets us attend the midnight party at the nightclub but under the fear of being caught by the moral police for a crime never committed. Stress that allows us to go on a vacation but only with the incessant emails we receive on our phones, perpetually reminding us of the impending work.

There are several cities across the world buzzing with so much activity and life as Mumbai. They too are stressed. Yet, when it comes to Mumbai, the levels of stress are simply much more. So why is it that we are living under so much anxiety inspite of so many ways that we could in fact espouse to make the quality of our life way better? Why is it that we are caught in this deep well when all we need to do is just take the plunge and set free?

They say, Mumbai is a city of dreams, especially for every other Indian citizen residing beyond the city limits. Everyone here wants to fulfill their dreams and the city apparently provides the ways and means to attain them. Well, it is true. The city does have a lot to offer and there are more than a zillion who are geared up to grab the offer as well. Everyone wants to make it big here. Everyone works very hard and struggles to get to their goals. Putting efforts day in and day out, until the midnight oil gives way, everyone slogs. Waking up way early in the morning, with no time for breakfast, swiftly getting ready to go to the office. Getting the scheduled train or bus at the same time every day. Struggling to even stand in the excessively crowded bus/train. Cramping up in an auto (after a long altercation with the driver) which is shared by strangers who are gasping for breath and sweating profusely. Standing in the long queues for hours together at railway stations only to update the monthly pass. If you are not a seasoned traveler then doing so as a ritual everytime you decide to take the train. Dingy train compartments and filthy platforms decorated with paan spit all over. Women and girls being subject to frequent molestation at railway stations and buses. The roads are specially fabricated to accommodate zillions of potholes, making the average Mumbaikar refrain from buying a new car, yet the traffic jams cease to ease out. And with all this trauma, as one reaches the office he/she is expected to perform and come up with the most innovative strategies to enhance the business. After putting in ten hours of daily work on an average, when the person reaches home, with little or no energy whatsoever, the woman is expected to prepare scrumptious meals and the man is expected to either help or complete some pending work. With Saturday as a half day working (which is as good as a full days job), there is hardly any time for rest. And then arrives the grand Sunday where the first half of the day is spent gulping down the fact that it is Sunday indeed or sleeping or just a little further, attending to an important obligation or catching a movie. The second half is spent worrying about the Monday which is the official evil every Mumbaikar dreads, while on a trip to the nearest mall. And with all this trauma and tribulation a Mumbaikar spends weeks over weeks translating into years gone by doing what? Achieving goals and earning money. And when the time really comes to enjoy the success and celebrate it, one is so tired that all he/she wishes to do is nothing.

Apart from Bollywood, nothing about Mumbai is glamorous any more. All it has apart from this is a job for every person from any background, education, caste, creed or sex. Jobs that can fetch good money but not a good quality life.

The watchdogs of our system are busy repleting their pockets and the people are habituated to living in the rut. No zest to go against the system with so much stress haunting them already. Each of us is tried tested and troubled. People have given up although they may try to put up a brave show each day. And yet, through all this jazz, everyone still aspires to scale new heights in the city. Yet there is a sharp rise in the number of people migrating here each day. Everyone wants their share of Mumbai however sweet or bitter it may be. Here, everyone wants to run the rat race and win it too. The race would never end but only if the system is improvised, it would atleast be worth the run.

Guru

So who is a Guru anyway? Someone as powerful and as noble as God or someone as ordinary as any lay person? Going by the book, it means a spiritual leader but I do not account it as the ultimate definition of a Guru. He or she may be someone who only teaches us what is right and wrong, or someone who only guides us, or someone who plainly listens to what we have to say or may be a combination of all these. For today is the day to revere them and express gratitude to the Almighty for their presence in our lives, Guru is someone who has been conspicuously missing in my life.

I have heard infinite stories about the Guru being the ultimate enlightened one, imparting awareness and educating us on the ways of life. As a child, the only people doing such were my teachers from school and tuition classes. At that time I never really comprehended the significance of having a Guru in my life. I was pretty well-off without one for the simple reason that teachers in those times only did one thing- screeching! I was petrified, let alone deeming them as a Guru. However, as I grew I slowly began to understand the stature of a Guru in one’s life but still do not have one or long for one either. If I were to have one, may be the least he/she could do for me is just listen to me without judging me and making things simple for me. And the one who does so would definitely be my Guru for life.

I know a lot of people who have one and who are Guru themselves. Well, when I say Guru I don’t just mean the angelic ones, but just simple people who have been benevolent and plainly brought about a difference to someone’s life. Basically just the good doers. A very close friend just called me and told how delighted he was because one of his employees just arbitrarily called him and said, “Hello Sir. How are you?” My friend asked how the work was going and the worker replied, “It’s going great Sir. If everyone has a Guru like you, it always would.” My friend was elated. Every word his subordinate stated only exuded the sheer power and influence of a Guru.

A Guru need not be restricted to our school, college or workplace. They could be anywhere. Any person who has touched our lives and has made a huge contribution to what we grow up to be and where we finally end up. A family friend recently visited us. While indulging in profound conversations with her about every fathomable topic and issue, she told me about the bond she shared with her older brother. She is eleven years younger to him. While she was in pre-school and their mother was busy with the household chores catering to the joint family, it was her brother who would look after her. He would wake her up, brush her teeth, bathe her, feed her and dress her up for school. He fulfilled every obligation a mother would for her child. And it never just stopped there as he has been a guiding force for her through all the difficulties she faced over the years. Now she is forty-two and still a little child for her brother who uncomplainingly steer clears all her problems or at least helps her deal with them. He is her Guru- the one she knows she can always trust and bank upon, no matter what.

Although I do not have a Guru, life did give me a chance for a brief period to be one when I would teach school kids post their schooling hours. I was their ultimate authority figure when the case in point would be, well, their studies. I had only three students- two boys and one girl who would study in senior kindergarten, grade one and grade four respectively. We were one happy bunch who thoroughly enjoyed our time studying. While they studied from their books, I would study how to manage them while they did so. They hadn’t the slightest clue what Guru Purnima was all about, yet through all the fanfare they went through at school, they decided to make me a card and wish me. I was absolutely thrilled and ecstatic. No gift ever exuded so much innocence, chastity and mere good wishes. It truly felt great. No words could ever articulate my happiness. It’s been five years since I stopped taking tuitions but the fact that I was someone’s Guru at some point is good enough to make me smile every time I think about it.

In retrospection, I truly feel that every one of us does have a Guru within - The one that certainly inspires someone or the other in his/her course of life. We do give others a chance at least at one point of our life to look up to us or only just thank us for bringing about a difference. We need not be with someone all the way through to be a qualified as a Guru. Just one small difference and that’s all it takes.. 

Fear for Life..

Fear- A quintessential part of every individual. We all have fears. Fear that is built into our system, ever since our childhood. Fear, that would stay with us no matter how much we try to curb it. It is so intact, that it reflects in each action or reaction we have for every incident that transpires.

Fear of getting bad grades in school, fear of getting a bad college, bad friends in college, fear of choosing the wrong career, fear of getting a terrible job and an even terrible boss, fear of competition, fear of displeasing parents, fear of displeasing the spouse, fear of expenses, fear of making less money, fear of growing white hair, fear of being unable to keep up with the latest fashion trends, fear of all.

But the latest Fear of all Fears is the ‘Fear of Commitment’. With all the other fears that we have, this one tops the chart.

While in conversation with an ex colleague, I was enlightened by her incredibly amusing theory about fear of commitment.

She says, “I have a particular problem when it comes to committing to work.  I refuse to commit because I do not fear anything or anyone. For me, it’s what I enjoy the most that matters. Work is not something that anyone enjoys or is genuinely happy dealing with. Eventually it’s all about the money.  I do not have too much money yet I end up doing things that I enjoy the most. It’s not that I don’t like to work. It’s just that I feel work should come very naturally to a person. It should not be done under any kind of fear. Committing to work under fear makes me sick. But again, if I do not commit to work, a new fear crops up and that is, fear that I would end up broke and perpetually dependent on someone all my life. So in this case even if I decide to be fearless, fear just makes its way through.”

After listening to her, I contemplated for days. And all I came up with were more and more questions.

Why are we living under fear? Are we so addicted to it that we can’t find a way out? Has it become such an integral part of our lives that we are unable to look beyond?

It basically boils down to the fact that we have to ‘Fear to Survive’. If we can’t do away with fear, we have to live with it. Is it really so crucial for our survival? And if we have to fear in order to survive, then when do we actually live? When do we do things that we actually wish to do?

Are we just going to watch our lives go by while we live in the constant fear of what is in fact unknown and unpredictable? 

BHAAI..

For the world he was Bhaai Shetye. But for me he was and would always be My Bhaai- my grandfather. Although he detested when any of his grandchildren called him Ajoba, I would tease him just that- Bhaai Ajoba. He would irritably get up to catch me and I, as an ideal three year old would sprint away laughing impishly.

Tall, not so dark and handsome (even in his seventies); Bhaai was an absolute mix of finesse and acumen. Sporting a crisp white shirt, white trousers, black shoes, glasses and a watch strapped across his palm was his trademark. There was some kind of magnificence in his aura that always drove people to respect him.  

The glorious days I spent at Dadar, so to say ‘Shetye Building’ as a child, are completely unrivaled. I simply cannot think of any other happy times I may have lived with so much freedom, space, care, love and as a crazy hoodlum. My parents had a tough time dealing with me but I was a complete ‘devil-may-care’ Shetye girl on the go. Bhaai always said that in me he saw his childhood. Being the second born to my parents after an elder sister, the family awaited a boy. But there I was, a not-so-fair looking GIRL. My grandmother was supremely upset as she expected a boy. But Bhaai was happy from what I learnt later on. He was the best grandfather any child could ever ask for. He fondly called me Sokri. I always craved for a pet name as a child since my sister had one and often grumbled to my parents for not giving me one. But the name Bhaai gave me made me so happy that if he called out to me from any corner of the house, I would run to him, because he addressed me with my most special and exclusive pet name. I took absolute pride. I still do not know what the name means. I never did. But it has always been dear to me.

When I was about three, he suffered from paralysis. It was not really a suffering because he never let anyone feel that he was ill or physically unwell. Post his physical condition, his personality and attitude towards life, people and everything in general underwent a dramatic change. In contrast to his previously grim and stern personality, he was relatively mellow and composed (as my mom recalls). I distinctly remember the day when our family doctor came home to treat him. I was about four then. Short and little. Bhaai was lying down on the couch, the doctor was checking him and all the elders of the family stood around him. Standing behind my mommy, when I peeked in to see what the doctor was doing to my Bhaai, I saw Bhaai look back at me with a full smile and I smiled back at him, raising my eyebrow in a way as to asking him what’s he upto? He was a fighter.

At Shetye Building, we had the entire third (last) floor for our family to ourselves with a grand terrace. We were the quintessential joint family of the times. With so many cousins, uncles, aunties, grandparents all around, life was surely at the hilt of joy. Nothing seemed better than that. And until today, nothing is better than that. We were about eight kids in the family, forever upto some or the other prank. Bhaai had the routine of snorting his tapkir (powdered tobacco). Everytime I saw him snort it, I would wonder what was it in there that he loved so dearly?! The curious prankster in me told my cousins about it and there we were, four kids, grabbing a small bottle and snorting tapkir. It made us all sick. Sabko naani yaad aa gayi. But hell we enjoyed it.!

There was one particular day when I was incredibly upset with him. I called him Ajoba the entire day.! The reason- Our exam results were out. While my sister turned out in the first five in her class, I got the 21^st rank. I was more than happy to see that I got a rank.! When we showed Bhaai our report cards, he exclaimed- “21^st rank!!??” And said, “Ramnee (nick name for my sister) is in the first five of her class and you got the 21^st rank!!??” And with that he and my entire family had a hearty laugh.! I was angered to the extent that I would not eat dinner that day. It was my duty to call out to him for his meals while he sat in his chair in the corridor reading. And I called him Ajoba all the while. Mummy tried to feed me dinner that day but I wouldn’t budge. She hit me and I cried. And boom. Bhaai skipped his meal because he could not see me cry. He could not stand the fact that anyone hit me or brought tears to my eyes. I angrily went upto him and said, “Why did you laugh at my scores?” and he laughed again. I was quick enough to forgive him.

In our home, we followed a ritual every Navratri when the entire family would gather to sing the evening aarti. I thoroughly enjoyed those nine days as I was the official pianist of the family. Our mandir was placed in the kitchen and all the elders would be in there while the children would fool around in the living room. The couch in the living room had a thick backrest that opened from the top as a piano. While the family sang aarti and my cousins danced to it, I played the piano, imitating my school teacher who played one during the national anthem. I was ecstatic with the holy chants, dance, music and my piano all around me.

When we (Mom, Dad, Shweta and I) moved to Chembur, I was totally dejected. The thought of making new friends which were not my cousins was terrifying. After every exam my sister and I would rush off to Dadar. Summer vacations were the most splendid there. Indulging in playing Rummy with Bhaai was a favourite pastime. It was my cousin Gaurav, Bhaai and me. Gaurav was the eternal and official cheater of the game. And his art was imparted to me when I would see Bhaai’s cards in his glasses and even then lost all the games. He was the camp. We were so obsessed with the game that we played it all day amidst my granny’s screeching music (to have our meals). The days when we did not play cards we wished to go to Shivaji Park and as always we never had the money to venture out because whatever we had was invested in buying maggi. So we would sheepishly go upto him and tell him to give us ten bucks. Our puppy faces left him with no choice but to oblige.

One evening my dad called up to remind us that our vacations were over and we had to resume school. None of us wanted to leave. We refused to ply with our dad and he was furious with us. I cleverly passed on the phone to Bhaai who was the only man ‘my dad’ was afraid of. Bhaai grimly told him “the girls are not going anywhere and will be staying here for two more days. You may go ahead.” And we all jumped..! I was elated. Nothing was more important to me than staying put in our Dadar home. We spent the most amazing two days. All thanks to my Bhaai. He was my star.

I vividly remember the day he passed away, five days preceding my birthday. Leaving us all shattered. I was eleven. At first my heart plainly refused to believe that he was no more. While he lay there near the same couch on which he was once treated by the doctor, I peeked at him with a smile and he did not smile back at me. I was hurt. I felt as though he cheated me and he could not do this to me. I did not cry. Tears just could not reach my eyes until the tenth day after he passed away. That was when I was told about the crow who comes in the form of the departed and you know his soul has rested in peace. I never believed in that story, yet when the crow came in, I could not hold back my tears.

I know for a fact that he has not left me. He is there with me, always watching me and protecting me. Standing by me and giving me all the strength I need. He is talking to God and asking him to assist me in times of obscurity.

He is My Bhaai. Embedded in my life, memory and my heart and will always be there with me.. And I will be his little Sokri forever.. :) 

Grow Up.!

They say, however old we may grow, the little child in us would always stay. Physically we may grow, but psychologically, this little child would always show up in our everyday lives, irrespective of our age. They also say that life follows a cycle where we escalate from being childlike into our teens, our twenties, thirties and so on until we reach our sixties which is the official age for senility, where we come back to where we started from- being a child.

But the truth is- we never really grow up to become mature. Never. All we do is pretend. Our each and every action is dictated by the little child in us. Whether we accept it or no. Our obstinacy, crankiness, temper tantrums, all are a solid proof that we are a bunch of tykes. 

I have a friend whom I have known only for the past two years while studying in the same college. We are the quintessential convenience friends. I have begun to call our friendship such, since very recently. Until now we were good friends but the real picture has slowly made its way. All thanks to her own illusions about things I never did, things she always misconstrued, her presumptions and her definitions of friendship (absolutely surreal).

We are on each other’s chat messenger list, discussing about the silliest and dopiest things until a few months ago since the conversations have become grim and reprisal. The transformation has seeped into our friendship courtesy her ‘refusal to grow up’.

She is a classic case of immaturity. The child in her overtakes her personality to such an extent that she in fact forgets who she is. On profound comprehension, I have come to realize that her childish self is all that she is. That is her. A child with no siblings, pampered, bashed by her mother while she was young (in age), gets easily irked for no fault of anyone but only hers and an inflated ego. Every new person she gets involved with, she cleverly manages to create an impression of being the most obliging and compassionate individual one could ever come across. But just a month about getting to know her and the ugly face shows off. A face that is so repulsive that more than loathing, it fills one with fear of not displeasing her so that she keeps off her ugly face and at least momentarily pretends to be nice.

As her interesting personality, one other interesting thing about her are the messenger status updates and pictures. They win hands down! I challenge anyone to compete with her. She is the champ of the trade. The girl is lonely and insecure to the extent that I feel nothing but pity. Her latest update stated, “Never expected people to be so selfish.. Past few weeks have been good eye openers.”

For things she can never say upfront, it all shows up in her status updates. Be it anger, disgust, happiness, it’s all there. An exhibit of every possible emotion. She has a reaction to every status update anyone posts. Awfully annoying for readers yet its stay put. It’s a social media war of sorts.

For my twenty-seven year old friend, growing up seems a far cry for she is habituated to thinking and behaving like a child in any given situation. More than habit, it’s her personality now.

The child does exist in all of us but what we need to learn is, when and where to let that child show up and when not to. If not anything else, her curious case has brought me to realize that age is definitely not the touchstone for someone to be mature. It’s all about choice. Choosing not to grow up and resorting to childish means of expression. As the famed saying goes, ‘Growing old is inevitable but growing up is optional’. My question is, ‘Why are we keeping it as an option?’ A bit of sense and maturity will do no harm. Apart from fostering relationships, it brings in a totally different perspective of the way we see the world. Life can be absolutely different if we act with at least little maturity. I believe it’s not too much to do, because if it’s ever going to benefit anyone - it’s you. So while growing old, might as well grow up a little. 

No Such Thing as ‘Selfless Deed’.

I first came across the statement while watching a famed TV show. Full credit to it for confronting me with this glorious fact of life- a fact that always loomed around me but was somehow under wraps. I never took it seriously then. Overtime, it all began to make sense. The exactness of the statement cleared the fog completely.

In this world, we are surrounded by millions of people. We come across a several hundred in our daily lives and are close to a few starting with our family, our friends and other significant ones. But the fact remains that each one of us is an individual. One single person donning several expectations, worries, needs, demands, wishes, fears and lots more. Each one of us is on a path- a path which leads us to happiness and peace. Everyone has their own definition of peace and happiness. And in order to get there, we are ready to give up anything and anyone, no matter how important that thing or person is. Most of us are not upfront about it, but in our secret space we do harness such feelings.

At the end of the day, everyone wants to be happy in their own lives and be the way they imagined themselves to be. Nobody really cares for anyone. Even if a person claims that they wish to see the other person happy, they do so because ultimately, it would make himself/herself happy. Nobody does anything for anyone solely because they are concerned about the other person’s happiness. Ultimately everyone is concerned about his/her own happiness. If your good deed manages to bring a smile on someone’s face, you know it would ultimately bring a smile on your face too.

I consider myself no exception to this theory. But what makes me wonder is that, are we all programmed to be this way? If there is no such thing as a selfless deed, then why such clamour about the selfish actions of others? Why so much anguish when we ourselves do not practice what we preach? Actually, nobody practices what they preach. Then why so many expectations?

May be its not just about being selfish or not. It’s not just about categorizing it only as black or white. There are the shades of grey, which we often overlook. Like in this case, it is about the degree of selfishness or selflessness that is important. There are people who are less selfish and some who are more. But again, where do we draw the line to precisely set out which is the highest, lowest or moderate degree for being selfish?

With so much said and done, it all comes down to two things. Accept more and expect less. Accept the fact that everyone is selfish and do not expect anyone to be selfless because there is indeed no such thing as a selfless deed. 

For God’s Sake.. It's Facebook.. Not Dear Diary..!

It completely annoys me when I see how a platform for expression could be used so shoddily and terribly. Come on.!! Snap out of it people. It’s just a social networking website. Not some place where you could express even the smallest reflex you may have. It’s not your Dear Diary.!

Nobody really cares about anyone here. You get to check out on your friends (most of them on the list are not even ‘friends’), the latest party they’d been to. Whether they’re single or what, who’s looking hot & not. That’s it.! Isn’t there something called as ‘personal space’? - A space where you share certain moments only with yourself and not parade it to the rest of the world. Or is it that people have become so desperate for attention that they would do anything to be in the glare?

Forget the attention. Have people even lost their basic dignity? Is the website so demanding that you could claim your dignity too? Or what is it?

There are people who update each and every moment of their lives. Events that are as insignificant as the millions of people you pass by while cutting through a busy street. Yet the updates are all up there. It’s all so annoying that people you know could be so freaky..!

I too am on Facebook. I have tons of pictures posted on them. Well, they are the best way to make people aware of your life and how happening or not it is. Atleast until now. But I see the definition of expression has changed way too much in the recent times. People are ready to give up on their true beliefs (atleast they claim them to be true) and their sense of basic dignity as well.

I saw a new feed on my FB wall a few minutes ago. A friend (haven’t interacted with her since God knows when) used the check-in option on the site. Any guesses where she checked-in.? Well, at a popular temple in the city… Now this is a classic case of insanity! God certainly didn’t ask for it. So why the grand show? I completely fail to comprehend the rationale behind such airheaded moves. The entire act is so phony. It’s screaming- phony!

Why would she do this? Does she want to reinstate her belief in God by doing such? Or is it an ‘I am a nice girl, I go to the temple’ ploy? Or does she really have such a huge appetite for attention that she wouldn’t even spare God? Or what? I am so unable to hit upon even the remotest excuse she could have for posting such a feed.

Aw come on.. Give the good Lord a break.! I’m sure he’s laughing his heart out at the way people are going these days. And to begin with, are we really going anywhere anyway?