Monsoon Trip to Kerala

                              

Trip to Kerala during monsoon was a dream which remained in the planning stage for years but materialized only when my friend from Kerala mentioned that she would be traveling by train with her family during summer holidays, and she offered that with other tickets, she would book my ticket as well. It would be a fun journey through  the  beautiful Western Ghats in the month of monsoon, I was told. 

Well, things do not go as per plan or as being told... Ever!! 

My friend and her family had to change their plan and by then another Tamilian friend decided to join us from Coimbatore, accommodation was booked at different places, along with my return flight to Delhi. 

Hence, instead of canceling my ticket I decided to go ahead with the trip to God's own country by Train. 

The daunting part was the 40 hours plus journey by myself. Longest Train Journey Ever in my life!!

Once, the train crossed Rajasthan/Gujarat, the landscape changed completely. 

Beautiful Konkan railway route is a joy to behold. Sights are amazingly beautiful. Had a few families with lots of kids around me who kept things busy with their antics throughout the long journey.  During monsoon, trains usually run late (ours was late by just four hours!).

                                                                         

Calicut/ Kozhikode 

Train finally reached Kozhikode railway station around 9am. The city is peaceful, not very crowded and friend's brother's house was a  beautiful villa. Post heavy breakfast, we went to the Calicut beach. 

Very few people and even less hawkers. Probably Monday 11am is not exactly the most ideal time to be on the beach. From the beach, we went to explore the local market and in the afternoon post lavish lunch of Malabari Biryani and fried fish we started for Wayanad.                   

                                                              

Wayanad 

Wayanad is two hours drive from Calicut, here we stayed at a cottage at Lakkidi Village resort (away from the main road) the resort is beautiful, it was evening-ish by the time we reached. We explored the resort which had a flowing stream , sports room, swimming pools and just about everything one could wish for on a relaxing holiday. Early morning the cacophony of birds woke us up at 5.30am. 

We ordered a heavy breakfast and went for sight seeing around Wayanad which is now also famous as Rahul Gandhi's constituency. There were many posters of him around the area. 

We went to a dam area which had a natural park and few other adventure sports' options.

          

From there we went for a guided tour of spice garden where we were shown the spices from their infancy-to- tree stage of growth and were explained their benefits by a gentleman who also carried umbrellas for us as it kept drizzling and kept switching during his lecture between Malayalam and English for my convenience.  We came back to the resort, had lunch and then went to see a lake which did not appeal much to our senses' as we had already seen too many amazing water bodies during the journey by then. 

Next was the traditional Ayurvedic Kerala massage followed by a steam bath.

      

By evening, we started back for Calicut as we had a train for Alleppey next morning. 

We reached Calicut in the evening and decided to visit my Friend's siblings. They all had amazingly aesthetic homes also, marvelous sense of hospitality.

The awesome food/meal is usually accompanied with warm water and sometimes boiled with saunf or some other digestive ingredient in it. Old age traditional wisdom still being practiced in most homes and eateries around Kerala.    

Our morning train was late (during Monsoons most trains run late, my lesson from the trip!) so we went to the beach again and then visited friend's sister who served us delicious appams with egg curry for breakfast. Alleppey journey was long as train was delayed, we reached in the afternoon. I lamented the fact that I had only eaten two appams in the morning!!  Our Tamilian friend had already reached Alleppey and was waiting for us. 

Alleppey/Allapuzha                                                                                                                                                

We reached in the afternoon and stayed at a home-stay at Alleppey. We went to Allapuzha beach in an auto which was a little far from the city. On our way back, we did some shopping around Allapuzha.   

For the morning, we had booked a sunrise ride of Shikara. We got up very early morning and the boat ride was worth it.  

One of the best mornings that one could ask for. It was quiet and peaceful. Almost spiritual, as our spirits soaked in the sights of nature and people living around the lake.

          

      

Kids going to school in the boat, construction materials being transported on boats, women catching fish for breakfast/meals for the day and the sun rising up from its slumber through the clouds only to disappear a while later for a drizzle. Rain made it even more amazing as I recited Faiz (with English translation!) to my Malayali and Tamil friends. "Aasman hadd e nazar ...

They returned back the favor with some bhajans in Malayalam and Tamil classical music. Some of the houses around the lake are evacuated during monsoons as the water level rises. The problematic aspect was that the houseboats and other boats running on diesel/petrol pollute the river and also throw their garbage in the water. 

Post this amazing morning at Alleppey, we had a brilliant breakfast of Idiappams and stew.  Morning at Alleppey was truly a blessing.      

We started for Munnar from Alleppey and as it turned out it was almost 6 hour journey as we traveled from plains to the hills. 

Munnar/Chinnakanal  

Munnar is at the border of Kerala and Tamil Nadu with one side of hills bordering Tamil Nadu. Munnar has rolling hills covered with clouds and tea gardens. We reached around evening and the temperature had dipped to around 11 degrees. It was pleasantly cold and we needed blankets for the night. Our friend had booked for us accommodation at a place which was an hour away from Munnar, Chinnakanal (meaning little canal) and we went to have fresh food at a eatery- named Johnson's after its ever smiling, chatty owner/cook (dhaba in North India and Thattu kada in South India) a place which seemed very popular with a view of tea gardens. We had fresh dosas with lemon tea for dinner. 

Next morning was a treat.  We went to Johnson's again for breakfast of dosa, vada, idli and tea/coffee. Our friend's friend (employed at Chinnakanal)  had promised us that he would take us to his favourite places.

   

We drove even higher and reached Suryanelle Tea Garden Estate and Factory. The Estate was set up by the British later bought over by the RPG group. We were given caps, masks, had to wash our shoes before we entered and photos were not allowed inside the factory.

Our guide showed us how the leaves are dried then processed into various types of teas. The aroma was splendid as was the tea that we had there, one of the best that I had ever had!

Their tea is mostly exported but also sold in retail to various tea companies who then brand them. They also provide dust for cola companies (Pepsi/Coke) for color. 

    

The Estate was beautiful covered with clouds and mist. It was literally a walk in the clouds. 

We came back for lunch and had a simple awesome Kerala meal at a restaurant near our stay.

Post lunch we started for a journey which was to a place in the jungles even higher up prone to elephant attacks. We were told how locals have been killed and precautions to take, if elephants are spotted crossing the way. We saw some people on the way who were burning forest for land encroachments.       

The wilderness led to a place which had a stream flowing and small puddles, of fresh water. It was almost like a  private pool as we splashed water on ourselves and then to dry ourselves lied down on the rocks under the sun.

       

  

From there we went further up to a village of Muduvan tribals who were the dominant community at Munnar before the arrival of the British. The village was a neat little settlement under a big rock, followed by a temple and then the neat rows of colourful houses started. The wood for usage is usually collected from the forest and kept at a common hut.

The drive back from the village was pleasant and full of beautiful cloud covered hills and water bodies.

Dinner was a six course meal  hosted by our friend at the Sterling resort. We had shifted to Sterling in the morning. Morning breakfast was a buffet at the resort, as we started for Munnar from Chinnakanal post breakfast in our friend's car. 

At Munnar market, we shopped for some homemade chocolates, tea and spices. I even inquired, if there is possibility of a job at the tea plantations and was informed of an opening at tea Estate owned by the Tatas  (wow!). Our Tamilian friend left for her hometown and me and my friend started for Kochi in the taxi which was around four hour drive from Munnar town.

Kochi 

We stayed at Angamaly near the Kochi airport as I had an early morning flight next day for Delhi.

From Angamaly, Fort Kochi was 40kms. We had booked a taxi for sight seeing. Ernakulam is one of the major commercial districts of Kerala. Like any other big city full of traffic and rush hour jams, similar eatery chains, crowded malls and similar urban architecture of tall buildings.

It started raining and after two hours we reached Fort Kochi where it was raining heavily and sea looked quite rough. Fort Kochi, Chinese Fishing net area and then Marine drive left us disappointed after the sights of Alleppey and Chinnakanal.

We had our dinner at the famous Lulu Mall and the "urban" life was back with a vengeance.

   

The famous hospitality was again at display as our home-stay host dropped me at 4.30am to the airport, at no extra  charge.

It took many days of journey to experience the natural beauty of Kerala and then half a day of urban chaotic life of Kochi before the journey back home.

We traveled from North to South Kerala, met amazing people had awesome food every where.

People and economy still had not recovered from the crisis they had faced due to floods in 2018 but that did not deter them from being hospitable or cheerful.

The socio-political scenario of Kerala is an inspiration for us North Indians. There were no BJP/Modi posters but of Left/Congress parties :)

Kochi eased me into the shock that Delhi would have been post Alleppey or Munnar just like the two day train journey around Konkan had prepared for the shades of green and beautiful sights of water bodies of Kerala. 

I loved Kerala for its natural beauty of course, but also for its cheerful people, delicious food, hospitality, weather and politics!                                                              

Last Village on The Border (Pul Kanjari/Pul Moran, Punjab)

“Goli se nahin.... GST se darr lagta hai Sahab" (we are not afraid of bullet but of GST) remarked cheekily 75 years plus, Sattar Singh* of Pul Kanjari/Moran, last Village on the Indo-Pak border on the Punjab side. Sitting on the picturesque side wall of the old Baoli (stepwell) flanked by fully blooming yellow sarson ke khet (mustard fields) till one could see and at a certain distance we were told was “the sarhad” (border). 

Sattar Singh Sahab had his humor intact even after living on the border for years and having seen serious armed conflict between India-Pakistan extremely closely in his lifetime on numerous occasions. His vivid memories of people getting killed, of loot and arson, losing loved ones and valuables in Partition riots, then the Indo-Pak wars of 1965 when they hardly had anything to lose except just handful of stuff and later 1971 war when Pakistan took over Pul Kanjari/Moran and later was won over by India after some days are some of the stories which he shared interspersed with some jokes exhibiting rustic Punjabi humor.    

Sattar Singh’s family is the 14^th generation staying here in this area. His son is a B.Ed and daughter-in-law a PhD both working as teachers at Amritsar. Other son is a farmer who stays with him.

                                                                                                                                          Story of the name change from Pul Kanjari to 
Pul Moran


Village is located between Lahore and Amritsar and owes its name as per legend to its association with Maharaja Ranjeet Singh. He used to often rest here and was entertained by his favorite young dancing girl (Kanjari/lower caste) named Moran. 
Once when she came to perform for the Maharaja, she lost her silver anklet while crossing the canal built by Shahjahan (to transfer water to Shalimar gardens). Sad over her loss, Moran refused to perform and Maharaja immediately ordered the bridge to be built over the canal. Since then, it came to be known as Pul Kanjari (only recently renamed as Pul Moran). Pul Kanjari/ Moran still has remnants of old canal, a big, beautiful 19^th century step-well which has a temple and three different sections for men, women and animals.                                                    

Sattar Singh ji shared stories of how Ranjit Singh was mocked for his fascination for the young nautch girl. Akal Takht Jathedar (Chief) wrote a letter in which he wrote, “Bind kanuje marna hai te munh kaala kyun karna hai?” (If you are going to die soon, why blacken your face/ turn white to black). And “Ja kehde dagge nu kyun kaala karda bagge nu” (Tell that one eyed bull why he dyes his beard?) Maharaja Ranjeet Singh used to dye his white beard because he wished to look young.

Sattar Singh Sahab told us another funny story before he left us of how sick were treated in the village. They had a blind doctor in the village, and he used to say, if you visited him when you had fever, “Je tu ek rupiya le aya ta bukhar itte hi chhad ja, je aath aane le aaya te adha bukhar kal le aa” (If you bring a one rupee then you can leave your fever behind, but if you get fifty paisa then bring your half fever back tomorrow).

Population and Partition (1947)

Entire population at Pul Kanjari/Moran now is of around 2500-2600 inhabitants. Mainly two castes of Jats and SCs (33% and 35% respectively) dominate the village. Population demographics changed post-Partition, but there is no ‘hisab’(record) of it. Earlier, Muslims used to live here then they crossed over, and now there are no Muslims here.

The village was a thriving trade center until Partition which saw loss of lives and livelihoods. 
Pul Kanjari/Moran in the 1971 war with Pakistan was occupied by them but was captured back shortly by India in a battle which has been commemorated with a memorial dedicated to martyrs near the BSF post near the border.  

During Partition riots, entire village was burnt down. Everyone migrated to the cities. Many people settled at Bagga (Kapurthala), Amritsar. Actual residents of this area left for Pakistan and other areas. Now, its residents are from neighbouring villages. The village that Sattar Singh himself came from was Dhanoa Kalan.

Indo-Pak Wars (1965, 1971, 1999)

“During the 1965 war there was no problem as such because India was on the offensive and had reached up to Lahore but in 1971, this entire area was captured by Pakistan. Second Battalion of Sikh regiment came to our rescue,” recalled Sarpanch Sahab.

'Machine guns from Pakistan side were going at a very fast speed Lance Naik Shingara Singh crawled up to the gun and uprooted it from the ground, then others took over and overpowered the rest of Pakistani Army jawans and re-captured Pul Moran. The War memorial is in memory of that battle. Army’s motto is always “Vijay or Veergati”. Army men were very well behaved and friendly. They even used to play with kids here,” he added later.

Some locals had lost their lives in the 1971 firing.

“1965 we went to the other side, 1971 they came here” is how most villagers describe and remember the two wars. People had left in 1965 their homes, but there was no “nuksaan”(damage) as such.

During the Kargil war of 1999, people had left the Village for safer areas, but nothing happened here.
                                
Landmines, Wires and Bunkers - Everyday Life At The Border Village

We went to the Village Chaupal under a large tree with many old men sitting on charpoys ordering young men to properly cut the sarson (mustard) in the nearby machine. Many villagers spoke about problems of staying at the border, apart from leaving homes when tensions rise between India and Pakistan. Although the area has largely been peaceful but whenever conflict arises they have to shift to their relatives place in other parts “andar ki taraf” (towards the inside).   

On Amritsar’s route, there is a drain which is considered as the ‘safe line’, once you cross that you are outside the firing zone, thus, safe, we were told by the Sarpanch.

“Wahan tak safe hai varna bomb to Delhi me kya kahin bhi lag sakta hai, koi safe jagah nahi hai” (Safe up to that point, although one can get hit by bomb even at Delhi or even at any other place. No place is safe) added an old Sardar ji with a realistic touch.

“When there is firing on the border we leave on our own, no such directive comes from the government”, says Suchcha Singh Laborer/caretaker of the baoli (Stepwell) since 9years, (‘Springdales School (nearby) gives him his salary, not the government’, he clarifies to us). His family also like other families, originally came from Dhanoa Kalan, but he was born here.

Villagers keep discovering land-mines even after Army has removed them. Livestock damages occur, when animals venture in those affected areas. People have also suffered injuries, have been handicapped for life, “kaafi nuksaan hua hai” (much damage).    

Those who have Farms beyond the wire, it is problematic for them to work there, there is hardly any time for farming, especially when land-mines are laid out.

Subegh Singh, has land near the wire fence. He described his many problems. During ‘foggy’ conditions, he cannot visit his fields, around the time of Indo-Pak tensions he has to leave fields, and consequently, livestock and crops suffer. They cannot take anything with them if they have to leave when tension escalates on the border, have to leave crops standing, just run with whatever is on them. They can only work on the farms near the fence from 9-10 am to 3-4 pm only, depending on summer/winter seasons. Government provides no facilities to people on the border.

He has lived closely with army, and says, ‘the way army behaves depends on Officer to Officer, they can be nice/ rude depending on their mood/day.’

Santogh Singh 70 years, originally from Dhanoa Kalan, has been a local friend of the Army. According to him, it would be better if government could settle them somewhere at the back but no help has come from the government. ‘If ever enemy attacks at night, we have nowhere to go. There was a stream which used to run up to Lahore now it is dry (water scarcity in summers). We are extremely unhappy here, “Rabbji dushman ka bhi hamare jaisa haal na kare” (what we are facing God even our enemies should be spared of such conditions).

He adds, ‘the land that we have here even half of that land if government gives us, we will shift, we will have some peace of mind at least. Our youngsters have no jobs and BSF is now recruiting girls?  Can girls fight? When bomb falls, Bibi will fall too’. And then he checked himself going in full Punjabi flow, as he sensed there was a woman sitting in the group.   

Bunkers are still in place at different places in the village. Every morning in a tractor BSF jawans go to check if there are any footprints of anybody crossing over on the damp soil. Sometimes there have been instances of people crossing over from the other side and they hand over the intruder to the jawans, if they are seen as harmless are often sent back very rarely taken into custody. Nobody has gone from this side to the other side of the border, as they say “Kyun jayenge?” (why would we go?)

The barbed Wire fence on the border is quite new. Only done on the Indian side of the border, then there is No- Man’s land and then the Pakistani sarhad starts. Pakistani side has no wire or fence on their side.

On the question of militancy during the late 1980s-90s era, our questions were met with  silences and then with unanimous murmurs of, ‘this part was not much affected.’ Later Subegh Singh added, ‘at that time there was no wire people did cross over to the other side for ‘training’ though’.

Religion at the Border  

There is a big gurudwara at the Village divided into two parts, older part and a new recently built fancy part with a huge kitchen where langar arrangements are made to celebrate special occasions.

There is a Dargah greenest green which is now being maintained by Rajbeer Kaur and her family since its caretaker Muslims left for Pakistan. Kaur and her family know nothing about the Dargah, who is buried there, his name or genealogy of the Buzurg but has extreme reverence for the shrine of which she is the official caretaker now. 
She had children after 16yrs of marriage and has immense faith in the buzurg’s powers. Inside the Dargah which is decorated with festive colorful buntings, and photos of all ten Gurus, Sai Baba and any other figure that Kaur and family may consider respectful or reverence- worthy are put up as a sacred symbol. 

Village on the border has its heart at the right place.      

   

---

With special thanks to Shashank Gupta and Shivam Pratap Singh for helping out with the translations, inputs, travel and other things.

*Names have been changed.

Me and My 'Chhat': Terrace' Memories

Once upon a time when people lived in homes where they had both land and terraces to themselves (chhat aur zameen), had good view of other people's homes and did not live in mid-air existence of box shaped homes, that is where my childhood memories stay. 

We had a part of sky marked as our own with some stars and a moon thrown in for decent decoration!

During most  of 1980s and 1990s the single/double storey homes at Shahjahanabad or Purani Dilli, terraces could give the view of Jama Masjid or even Red Fort and if you had higher 'tanki wali chhat' (where water tanks were kept) or 'barsaati room chhat' even better!!

The terrace was a special place in winters when we would sit on cots and peel oranges in the light winter sun after coming back from school. Older women would refresh razais and lihaafs and we would listen to endless stories and qissas of older generations or just their gossip.

In the early evening of summers we (children always ready to play with water usually got this duty) had to do the "chhirkav" or pour water on walls and floors on the roof before getting the cots out so that water cools down the roof temperature by the time people, mostly male members of the house, came to sleep upstairs. The ACs were not widely available and people used to prefer sleeping under the star lit skies with naturally cool air. Then there was also the additional duty of putting bistars on the cots.
We had a room on the terrace (barsaati) which had all the extra unused stuff /kabaad, an almirah where many books of my father were kept who had the habit of night-time reading and there was a bed too with a solitary bulb. All the beddings/bistars and folding cots were also kept here in this room. I often used to hide myself in all the unused stuff or smell the old books in the almirah or just lie there day dreaming only to be woken up by my Mom shouting my name and sending some neighbourhood kid to look for me!
    

During monsoons, children would bathe in the rain, the water outlet would be closed with bricks and a small desi swimming pool would be created for everyone to enjoy.
The houses were mostly open and you could also peep in and smell what others' were cooking in their kitchen.  

Many love stories started and died on these terraces, as young lovers stared into crush's homes and one could see boys and girls even at the height of summers on their rooftops (with no mobile phones available) throwing paper planes with messages on them or communicated through long-distance exaggerated hand movements/ 'ishaarebaazi'! 

Kabootarbaazi (pigeon flying), kite flying with loud music sometimes even dancing were other activities that people enjoyed on terraces. 15th August Independence Day was always celebrated flying and gathering kites from other people's roofs. 

Diwali and Dussehra fireworks were other views we looked forward to as kids on our terraces.

On Eid, Chand spotting was a special activity as everybody gathered on their rooftops to search for the elusive moon. Our neighbour 'Bhai Chand' and his bald brother would be subjected to some of the loudest jokes that people used to crack across terraces. 

On our terrace, we (my brother and some other neighbourhood kids) played cricket mostly (some other games were also often attempted like football in the rains, violent hockey mostly to hit each other with, etc.) and whenever the ball flew to nearby homes the fight was always about who would fetch the ball and get the next strike with the bat. The special skill that I thought I had was climbing up/down on high walls of people's homes and then if ever any elder would catch us trespassing in their homes or on their terraces to sweetly try and wriggle out of  the situation by conveying "Ammi's salams" and then as reply take their 'salaams' back to Ammi only to be scolded and reprimanded by my mother for doing too much 'awaaragardi'!

I had most of my accidents on terraces as well. As a child, I often fell from the stairs or somebody pushed from the wall or just fell trying to be 'brave' or 'showing off' some weird moves (often!! For example, the challenge would be how far you could climb up the terrace wall without falling down and eventually falling down from the wall and then be rushed to the Neighbourhood doctor with a bleeding head and be banished from climbing up any wall whatsoever for few days!! ).      

The night time long conversations as teenager with my childhood friends about 'life's philosophy and dreams' were special as neither friendships nor philosophy or dreams survived the harsh realities of life.    

At our old Shahjahanabad home, we still have the roof and the floor but the surrounding buildings have now gone four-five-six storeys high and there is just no view available from our two-storey home.
I now stay in a flat at Greater Noida and I cannot fly kites on the rooftops anymore :( 

Another terrace story: My memory of Razai stitching on Rooftops
http://uzmaazharali.blogspot.com/2016/05/the-making-of-razai-quilt.html

The Urdu Bible Woman

Georgie more than 80 years in age, is the youngest (in spirit) and most energetic person I have ever met. She is the caretaker of the Holy Trinity Church and a permanent at the Church Basti gathrings. I have always found her wearing colorful saris, smiling, almost always busy with something or the other but still taking out time to chat with me, whenever I have visited the Church at different points of time. (I always  start with Holy Trinity Church near the Dargah of Hazrat Shah Turkman Bayabani at Turkman Gate, whenever I take my students or friends' around Shahjahanabad). 

Over the years, we have become good friends. She has spent her entire life at Shahjahanabad and is most comfortable here, and never wants to go anywhere from her Basti. She studied in Urdu medium school, and  is now one of the few people left from the generation who still read their Bible in Urdu. Her Urdu Bible is kept separately from the rest of (mostly Hindi) Bibles. 

Georgie's husband died many years ago, and children are all settled. She lives with her two sons at the Basti. Daughters are married. Younger son is going to be a priest soon, she informs me and invites me for the future feast when it would happen, as she usually does whenever there is a feast at the Basti. 

She is the one who keeps the keys of the church. She told me when she prays mid night, she also prays for me. I thanked her and joked that she is the malik of the place, she can open/close/visit God whenever she wants late night or early morning, with her shy smile she nodded in the affirmative. While others from the Basti have often tried to proselytize and have given me lectures on how Christianity is better than Islam, Georgie mostly just chit chats, general inquires about work, food, etc. 

Once when I was speaking with other people of the basti, a young man whom she told me was of unsound mind started singing loudly. She came, sat protectively around me, shouted at him to 'buzz off', and then told me that it was getting late I should leave and walked me out of the Basti, also telling me to be careful, 'zamana kharab hai' for women.   

Recently, I attended the Lent prayer services. During one of the sermons, the Priest asked, "How many people here have enemies?" Everybody in the audience very proudly just moved their heads to indicate 'no'. Padri Sahab was disappointed. His logic was, "if you have enemies then it means you are doing something good. Jesus had enemies. If you do not have anybody opposing you, means you are not living your life correctly!" This comment sent everybody on a thought spin (including me) on "how to win enemies and live correctly!"  

Georgie, being 'the keeper of the house of God' is an exception and an epitome of those who could never make any enemy and also lived a correct life. Restoring my hope in humanity, may she live a healthy life for hundred more years! Amen.

Remembering Razai' (Quilt)

Just before winters started (usually post-Dussehra, pre-Diwali days-Oct/Nov), my mother would start preparing for the colder months ahead. This meant getting the winter clothes out, washing or putting them in the sun and also to re-do/freshen the older Razais and the Lihafs. Razais were the lighter versions of the Lihafs, process of renewal involved fresh cotton fillers, washing covers and then finally sealing them with the stitching of the threads. As a child, I always found the process very tedious, and then later as a grown-up time consuming requiring a lot of labor, but never boring!

It started with taking off the older covers, cutting their old stitching lines and then washing them (by hand, as we did not have a washing machine then!). The covers if they were worn out were replaced by newer, shinier dupattas/old suit pieces (the older clothes got recycled) on the top. The bottom part (astar) was either bought new, or old one was colored again. In hot water, color was added, mixed and then cloth was added for a brand new color (mostly red) of the razai bottom. The most tricky thing was the "goat"(not the animal, but meant the corners), which were of plain color in satin usually, contrasted with the print of suit pieces/dupattas. Once the covers were fixed/stitched together, it was sent to the market cotton shop walas for putting cotton fillers inside the covers. Weight of heavy or light cotton decided if it was going to be a Lihaf/Razai! Lighter Razai involved more work by my mother.  In case of the Lihafs, shop walas added the cotton and then also stitched it together. Since, the cotton was thick it was left to the professionals to finish the job. Razai on the other hand, was delicate needed stitching under the expert supervision of my mother. Once the cotton fillers were added to the covers, my brother would get the Razai back and then it was beginning of the hard work! 

Post-lunch, after we came back from our schools the terrace was the place to be! The terrace was cleaned then on a clean big bed-sheet the un-stitched Razai was spread out in the warm sun. The neighbours were called as volunteers to put the threads, either the older Tai' (our elderly neighbourhood Aunty) or my childhood friend Shabbo (whom I suspected my mother loved more than me! She had also done a Tailoring course and could stitch perfect lines!). The entire exercise brought our immediate neighbours in the lazy afternoons on the terrace, as Ammi gossiped or discussed family issues or politics (both Tai and Ammi were politically very aware, thanks to the TV in our homes and watched news with interest).

Sometimes it was all of us and the Razai finished in just a couple of afternoons, with sessions of gossip and chai (made by me). If it finished in a couple of days, it gave ideas to my Mum to work on another one! My favorite past time, while all this was going on, was to lie down on top of the new, soft cotton Razai (like a bedding), and then get numerous scoldings for flattening out the fluffy cotton! As I got older, and our neighbours shifted from there, it was just Ammi and me who would put the threads. Mostly just her, who would call me incessantly to  needle the thread or would just ask me to give her company as I observed her working, till her cataract allowed. Her fingers often got swollen up, or bled if needle pierced while stitching and whenever I offered to do the stitching she hated them! My lines never went straight, they always zigzagged and my explanation was always, 'its a new design pattern'! But, my perfectionist mother would have none of it! She loved her Razais and wanted perfect lines of stitching on them.

To me the entire process only meant one thing- who would get to use the New Razai? My father (Head of the family, but made no contribution in the making of it, although paid for it), or my brother (who got the cotton filled, but nothing more!) or me (made cups of tea for the Razai stitch Volunteers, cleaned terrace and flattened the new cotton!) or my mother (who did the maximum work, but never used the new one herself!) Often it led to fights between me and my brother and whoever got it, it would make the other to take 'revenge' by jumping/using it like a bedding to make the new fluffy Razai flat! 

Those light, home made, delicate warm Razais are a part of my memories now, like my mother. The things that we use now are commercially made blankets, they do not have the warmth of my mother's fingers and I do not have the luxury of flattening them as they are already too flat!

Kitni asaani se
Khuli ruyi ko
Dhaago se bandh deti thi
Waqt ki sard raat me
Mere din, lamhe, saal sab bikhar gaye
Astar boseeda ho kar phat gaye
Dhaage toot gaye
Koi Mohabbat ki razayi nahi
Jiski garmi me
Main so sakoon!

Editing Shahjahanabad- An Amateur Director's Confessions on Video I

Dear Editors of the world, you have my respect, hats off to you guys for doing this boring job with such passion!Well, nobody told me what I am going to tell you now- 

Editing Videos is the most tedious job in the world! 

Now coming back to Shahjahanabad, in hindsight it seems it was far easier to just shoot in the crowded market places (if only we could just upload the raw footage), but shot Videos needed editing before public viewing! So, we decided to start with the Sohail Hashmi Sahab's video footage first, and since it was a long video we decided to do it in two parts. One part was the walk focusing on the Shahjahanabad Architecture and the other, the short Jama Masjid narrative by Sohail Hashmi Sahab. My Videographer, was also my Editor, and we decided to start with the shorter Jama Masjid video first. We had a few videos, some images thanks to our brilliant Videographer and Photographer respectively, and the task was to add it with Sohail Sahab's interesting narrative, and Voila, video would be ready for sharing on the site! That cannot be so difficult, thought the gullible me, and I could not have been more wrong!!

 The Videographer, whom I had always treated like a younger brother now in the editor's chair, started by sharing a few of his edited films to watch at home (suitably impressed, but honestly speaking, did not watch any!). The equation was established he was the experienced senior, and I was the junior/inexperienced/amateur! 

We started first things first by inserting the slides with title, logo etc. Now, the narrative started, we heard the narrative and cleared the long pauses, unnecessary details, etc. My homework now, was to go home, see the entire clip, if possible transcribe, see what photo/ video should go where and then come for the next editing session! 

In my defense, my teaching classes were going on, and with mid-semester exams I had piles of answer sheets and assignments to check, thus already overworked, I did not do anything I was asked to do! 

We could only do half sessions on few week days as other half of the day, I was taking my classes,  and the Editor was busy editing other people's videos. I had to take appointments and in our limited time, sometimes the machine would misbehave too (yes, that happens). The mornings were starting too early for me and then stuck in the morning rush hour traffic, it would take me more than one and a half hours to reach office from my home, and if I found out that I had to wait more because machine was not ready or for some other reason, I would get upset! I usually carried some packs of snacks as bribe to keep Editor bhai in good humor, and often finished them myself! At the editing table, I managed to often entangle the wires of the headphone many times, once almost spilled the coffee, I was the fumbling older colleague, who had to hear scolding from the senior!

Sitting and staring at the screen for long hours takes patience along with listening to the narratives over and over again. Often by the third -fourth replay of the video, one memorizes the entire narrative, and it played in the head so much that I even had dreams of messing up the entire thing, and Sohail sahab shouting at me! (Nightmares of an Amateur Director, well that could be the subject of another blog post!)

Next session, I was inquired for the script by the Editor Sahab (Respect, guys!). My reaction was, "What? No way!" I know what Sohail Sahab is explaining, I know all the shot visuals, I can do it! We started putting the images/ videos with the narrative, and the fights started! I was making the Editor sahab go through the pile of images/ videos and then select them, a lengthy process. I would like something, for example, the aerial shot and Editor sahab would reject it, or he would put something to hide the jarring cuts, or some other image and I would dislike it. Sometimes, we argued so much that others had to intervene! Then, Editor sahab gave up, and stopped giving inputs, at first I was happy (no more arguments), but then it started to bother me after a while. What if I was doing it all wrong! 

When Editor Sahab left for his hometown in the Holi holidays, I decided to finish other work like shooting around Jama Masjid for some more of the images with our Photographer, and  putting the captions on the edited photos. I researched where I was unsure of details, wrote beautiful captions (in my opinion, of course!) and dedicated an entire day to it. Finally satisfied with my productivity, I finished 90% of the task in a single day. But SomeOne up at the Heavens wanted me to slog a lot more and so, I accidentally closed the window and since it was a new format for me, forgot to save the work!! Thankfully had a few days off with the Holi holidays and the weekend to shake off the sadma of an entire day's work lost! 

 Post- Holi we were back at work. I was getting teased for my inexperience and also being warned not to turn it into a "shaadi ka type video "! We had become foes from friends' taking digs at each other! The bribe was not working obviously and with my pile of answer sheets to check, I was not getting any time to do any "extra" work. But, we both diligently kept working at it and produced a decent version of the video. We showed it to the rest of the team, who liked/ approved of it with a few suggestions/changes. We thought probably an hour more to refine it and our first Video could go online soon! 

Once you get used to it, the editing process is enjoyable! While finishing a long days' work, Editor sahab finally remarked  at some good sense of judgement that I had shown for some of the images, and said sorry, while I thanked him for all the hard work and apologized for my rude behavior too! We were back to being friends' again (until maybe the next editing session)!
But, he had earned my respect for all the Editor Sahabs of the world for sure :)

Here is the link for Video I
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pgrn3ty3u8o

& the Link for the Sohail Hashmi Sahab's Walk
http://uzmaazharali.blogspot.in/2015/12/shahjahanabad-shooting-with-sir-sohail.html 

    

Guilty!

I was born guilty!!

Recently, there have been some construction work going on in the university where I am presently working as Project Consultant. I was talking to a Professor colleague (his office was recently broken down along with mine to enlarge library space) who remarked that without office, he felt like 'an orphan'. I just felt 'lost', not orphaned! I kept quiet for the next two minutes and ended the conversation. I have recently been  'orphaned'. This got me thinking on the plight of the orphans and I felt guilty for having not done much for them (Or for parents whom I lost, recently, earlier this year my mum, three years back my dad!)

 On Traffic signals (one of my earlier posts) it is this guilt syndrome that makes me buy stuff which I would never use or have any need for - from children, pregnant women and other disadvantaged people.

Religions dwell on the 'guilty' aspect. The thing that separates faithful from a sinner is guilt. Guilt over wrong things that he/she may have committed. Guilt can lead to redemption according to major religious philosophies. If God has given you more than others you should do charity to make for guilty conscience.

Environmentalists play on the fears of doomsday and make us feel guilty of the abuse that first world and our earlier generations have wrecked on the earth for ages. Okay, granted we may have done some damage too. Guilty we are of not doing enough or just sitting idle. 

I feel guilty if I have too much fun (usually an after thought, after having fun of course), or if I feel lazy till the deadline comes on my head!


Finally, I plead guilty to all that I have done (or not done!) and
I have been condemned to life imprisonment for it! 

traffic signal

Traffic signal

 Madhur Bhandarkar made a movie by the name of ‘traffic signal’ to show the chaos around this place which is in existence to create order on city’s roads. 

  All of us have witnessed the changes that have occurred on the traffic signals. There have been changes not just in terms of numbers and types of vehicles but also in the kind of people for whom it is their workplace. Earlier, we used to see beggars either old/handicapped/ women with young children. Now in addition to these we have kids doing all kinds of jigs, or selling magazines/ novels and other paraphernalia sellers. Then there are some who come and insist on cleaning glasses of your vehicles.

Recently these people have been joined by eunuchs. They feel that God has not been kind to them so it is the collective responsibility of the society to undo this wrong done to them by giving generous money to them. If you are not kind to them then God save you from their curses. They do not beg they ‘demand’ money from you. And no, one or two rupees will not do, they order you to give them from five rupees (if you are lucky!) to ten  to twenty rupees.

If it is a signal near a hospital then you would find people asking for sympathy (money again!!) for a close relative who is ill. Yours truly met a 60 plus woman who was crying for her son who had met with an accident and now she had no money for his treatment. It was a rare moment of smartness when I stumped her when I said that I had met her at the same place a day before as well when she had said the same thing. She just made a face and left without saying a word. It amused auto driver but he gave me no concession!!

  There are also women and kids who sell their stuff with pleadings like they have not eaten so if you buy their product they can buy a meal for themselves. Thinking that, well, they are not begging at least, I have bought numerous agarbattis, pencils, tissue paper boxes and God knows what not. Usually things that I do not need or would never require. Always, return home sheepishly usually with the same story and different stuff to an amused husband!!