माथा पच्ची

 

     घर में उत्सव सा माहौल था। पाँच साल बाद बेटा बहू अमरीका से आ रहे थे। वो भी़ अकेले नहीं, दो दो नातियों के साथ। चार साल का पोता और डेढ़ वर्ष की नन्हीं पोती। अमरीक सिंह और पत्नी दर्शन कौर के साथ साथ बूढ़े दादा दादी भी फूले नहीं समा रहे थे।

       गांव का सबसे होनहार लड़का था उनका अजीत। बाहरवी में 97 प्रतिशत नंबर लेकर इंजीनियरिंग कॉलेज चला गया था। फिर एमएनसी मे प्लेसमेंट पाकर तीन साल में ही अमरीका। वहीं उसकी कम्पनी में ही काम कर रही सुनीता से शादी पक्की कर ली थी़। उस का परिवार जो पास के शहर का ही था भी़ खुशी से राज़ी हो गया था। बस दोनो पंद्रह दिन की छुट्टी लेकर आए थे। हफ्ते बाद शादी और तीन चार दिन बाद ही बेटा बहू शहर मिलने मिलाने चले गए, वहीं से दिल्ली एयरपोर्ट और वापस अमरीका। यूं ही पांच साल निकल गए थे।
   "अरे मेरा परपोता आ रहा है। हम दोनो को तो सोने की पौड़ी (सीढ़ी) पड़ेगी। मै तो अपने हाथों से चूरी खिलाऊंगी उसे,"अजीत की दादी ना जाने कितनी बार दोहरा चुकी थी। दर्शन कौर मुस्करा कर बोली,"मैंने तो उसके लिए पड़ोस की बेबी की मदद से कुकर में केक बनाया है। देखें क्या खाता है चूरी या केक।"
     शाम को टैक्सी आकर रूकी। दरवाजे पर तेल चू कर बच्चाें को अन्दर लाया गया। गांव की औरतों ने शादी जैसा माहौल बना डाला। दोनो बच्चे मम्मी पापा की गोद में थे। उन्हें देख कर दर्शन कौर और दादी के आँसू नहीं सूख रहे थे। थोड़ी देर बाद उन्होंने पोते को गोद में लेना चाहा तो वह सहम कर अपने पापा के कंधे से लग गया। नन्हीं पोती सोई हुईं थी़।
       रात को अजीत के बहुत कहने पर पोता दर्शन कौर की गोद में आ गया। वह उससे तोतली भाषा में बतियाने लगी। पर बच्चा बिलकुल कुछ समझ नहीं पा रहा था। वो कभी उसके मुंह की ओर देखता कभी अपने माँ बाप की ओर। कुछ ना समझ पाने के कारण वो उसकी गोद में तिलमिलाने लगा और उठ कर अपनी मम्मी के पास चला गया।
"आप लोगों ने बच्चे को अपनी भाषा बिलकुल नहीं सिखाई," दर्शन कौर हतप्रभ थी। "हम तो इससे बात ही नहीं कर पा रहे। हमारी तो तमन्ना दिल में ही रह गई अपने पोते से मीठी मीठी बातें करने की। उसकी प्यारी बातें सुनने की।"
"मैंने कई बार कहा भी़....," अजीत ने सुनीता की ओर देखा और चुप हो गया।
"अब दस पन्द्रह दिन के लिए कौन माथा पच्ची करता। वहां तो हम यहां की बोली बोलते नहीं", सुनीता ने तुनक कर जवाब दिया और बेटे का हाथ पकड़ कर अन्दर सोने चली गई।
बूढ़े दादा दादी और दर्शन कौर  निस्तब्ध थे।    

     

REMINISCENCES OF A SEXAGENARIAN

Reminiscences of  a Sexagenarian 

Reminiscing or going down the memory lane is therapeutic if you want to remember good and happy memories.They can bring a smile to your lips or  guffaws if you are sharing with a sibling or old friends. On the other hand sad memories bring tears and heartache. I wouldn’t go there!

I don’t remember much about sixties. I guess the life was black and white like the movies. About movies I remember seeing many from the front benches where our peon would seat the four of us, leaving the youngest who was a toddler at home, thankfully. And being the eldest I remember he would pay one rupee for four “passes” which the cinema owner would oblige us with, being the kids of Tehsildar sahib.

Ah those seventies! Who wouldn’t remember the bell bottoms, elephant pants and parallels. As the name would suggest the elephant pants were even wider than the loose parallels. For a while lungis also came in fashion, so our mother sacrificed a couple of old sarees to get those made for me and my sister, also a visiting aunt and a cousin and we would proudly flaunt those uniforms around! I remember wearing tunics with double breasted Jacket and trousers to a movie “Kal Aaj Aur Kal” and feeling delighted at seeing the hero wearing the same combination..the HERO not the heroine! How innocent we were!

Seeing my interest in photography my parents had gifted me an Agfa Click camera worth fifty rupees. It was my prized possession for many years. I still have black and white pictures of my sister combing my grandma’s hair or another one with my brother sitting as a king, one sister fanning him from the back, the other brother standing and blessing like a Rajguru and the youngest sister draped  in a dupatta saree sitting on the floor with folded hands, directed and clicked by me.

            The mornings would invariably start with film songs on Urdu Service on radio, our only source of entertainment for a while. Then we got HMV record player with LP records, our prized possession for a long time. After a couple of failed attempts to watch tv at friends’, our father agreed to buy us a black and white TV on the condition that we would not go to the plains for our winter vacation. So now we could see those weekly Chitrahaars and movies at home. One benefit of living in a hill station was that along with Amritsar Doordarshan we could catch Lahore TV loud and clear. So we got hooked to Pakistani dramas like Uncle Urfi, Dhoop Chaon et al.

TV was black and white but it was fun to watch cricket test matches as the players wore white. We would dread the death of any political leader as for days the tv and radio would only broadcast mourning classical music that would kill us. 

         Those days the concept of holidays was limited to visiting grandparents or relatives who lived in plains where it did not snow in winters. likewise they would visit us in summers when the weather used to be pleasant in our town. We would take them around for picnics to picturesque places around in Papa’s official jeep. 

For us teenagers, the greatest fun was our daily walks where our friends would join us on the way. We would be a giggling judgemental flock of girls on the winding roads making fun of the tourists and breaking into chaste English when anybody passed us.

I remember once my sister and I made fun of a gentleman for his unusual style of walking, repeatedly mumbling  “twisting man” while passing him on the road. A couple of days later we were aghast to see him on our door. He was an officer in the PWD and had come to meet father on some business. We were scared to death that he would complain to Papa about us but thankfully he never did or probably had not heard us.

        Those days we thought we rocked as we could sing along ABBA and Carpenters and shake a leg or two on Boney Ms. It was the in thing to be abreast of the latest “pop” music. We used to have jam sessions at home crooning to Nazia Hassan’s Disco Diwane. “Bobby” had been a craze and almost all  girls had the posters of the lead couple in their rooms. My parents were kind enough to allow Star and Style along with The Illustrated Weekly, Readers Digest and Dharamyug to our home subscriptions. So I was fully familiar with how Kaka (Rajesh Khanna) proposed to Dimple or how Dharam Garam was chasing Hema Malini.

          My parents were also musical. both could sing beautifully something which I have not inherited unlike other siblings. I have fond memories of some evenings when power would be off and all of us would sit in the glazed varandah under candle lights and our parents would sing old songs and duets.

          My father especially had high expectations as far as my studies were concerned, me being his eldest I guess. And I tried to never let him down. He was a law graduate with Honours in  English and his command over the language was astounding. None of us come anywhere near him. He would often make me write a précis of an editorial from the Tribune. Listening to English news was always a part of the day. He would dictate to me my speeches extemporaneously whenever I would be participating in declamations or debates which was often.

             

 

 

              *To be continued.....

मुस्कान

 

                                                      

सुबह के दस बजने को आए और अभी कमला नहीं आई। मेरा पारा चढने ही लगा था कि कमला घर में घुसी और सीधे बर्तन घिसने लगी।

"आज इतनी देर...", अभी बात मेरे मुंह में ही थी कि कमला ने भरी भरी आंखों से मुझे देखा और झुरने लगी,

"क्या बताऊँ बीबीजी, आज तो दिन ही बुरा चढ़ा है। रात भर बकरी घर नहीं लौटी। सुबह पांच बजे पहाड़ी के पीछे जंगल में ढूंढने गई तो बुरी तरह जख्मी मिली। कमबख्त जंगली कुत्तों ने बुरी तरह खाया है। अभी इतनी हल्दी पट्टी करके आई हूं। आज जल्दी जाऊंगी । डंगर डॉक्टर को बुलाया है।"

कमला रेल की पटरियों के पार  शिवालिक पहाड़ियों की तलहटी पर बसे छोटे से गांव में रहती है। सुबह निकल आती है  और दिन भर घरों मे काम कर  शाम को गांव वापस लौटती है। मैने उसे जल्दी घर जाने दिया।

अगले दिन सुबह कमला आई और गुनगुनाते हुए काम पर लग गई। 

"तो बच गई तुम्हारी बकरी?" मैंने पूछा।

"कहां बीबीजी, वह तो मेरे घर पहुंचने तक पार हो चुकी थी। भला हो कसाई का, आधी खाई बकरी के 1500 रुपए दे गया।" 

कमला के मुंह पर विजयी मुस्कान थी।  

वैश्या

 

तेज़ बारिश के साथ साथ बिजली कड़क रही थी। अंधेरी सड़क पर टैक्सी चल रही थी। पिछली सीट पर वह पड़ोस के माताजी के साथ डरी सी बैठी थी। सुबह वे दोनो घर से शहर के लिए निकली थीं। शहर में जहां उसकी ससुराल थी। ससुर फिर बीमार हो गए थे। पति को कोई जरूरी काम आन पड़ा था उन्होंने पैसे देकर भेजा था कि ससुर को अस्पताल में भर्ती करवा कर और सास और छोटे देवर को हौंसला देकर लौट आना। यूं तो रात रुक कर आने को कहा था पर घर में दो साल का बेटा और पांच साल की बेटी के कारण उसने रात को लौटना ही ठीक समझा। पड़ोस के माता जी तो साथ थीं ही जिन्हें वह साथ के लिए विनती कर अपने साथ ले आई थी।  मगर रास्ते में टायर पंचर हो जाने के कारण वे और लेट हो गए थे। उस पर तेज वर्षा के कारण टैक्सी धीरे धीरे चल रही थी।  रास्ते में कहीं रुक कर कोई पीसीओ ढूंढ कर पति को बताने का अवसर भी नहीं मिल पाया था।                                 

 रात के बारह बज रहे थे । रवि बेड पर औंधा लेटा वीसीआर पर ब्ल्यू फिल्म देख रहा था। बीच बीच में ग्लास से व्हिस्की सिप कर लेता। क्वार्टर खाली होने को था। दूसरे कमरे में पालने में छोटा बेटा गहरी नींद में था। उसने  खांसी की दवा का आधा चम्मच उसे और एक चम्मच बेटी को पिला दिया था। दोनों बेसुध सो रहे थे। नीचे कालीन पर  चौदह पन्द्रह बरस की काम वाली लड़की भी बेपरवाह सो रही। थी। उसे आज उसने बच्चे को संभालने का बहाना कर के लिए रोक लिया था। रवि के मुंह पर अजीब सी मुकराहट थी।

      इतने में बाहर घंटी बजी। इतनी रात को कौन...। उसने जल्दी से वीसीआर बन्द किया। बोतल को बेड के नीचे खिसकाया। दरवाजा खोला तो बीवी सकपकाई सी खडी़ थी। 

"इतनी लेट.. इस टाइम पर तुम सड़कों पर घूम रहीं थीं। क्या ज़रूरत थी रात को ही वापस चलने की। सुबह आ जाती। रास्ते में अगर पुलिस या कोई रोकता तो क्या सोचता कि कोई वैश्या अपनी पिंप बाई के साथ कहीं जा रही है...", रवि का क्रोध और बौखलाहट चरम सीमा पर थे।  

स्त्री सशक्तीकरण

   स्त्री सशक्तीकरण

बस ठसाठस भरी हुई थी़। जितने लोग बैठे थे उतने खड़े भी थे। गर्मी और उमस से माथा भुनभुना रहा था। मै ड्राइवर की पिछली सीट पर खिड़की से लगी बैठी थी। यूनिवर्सिटी में स्त्री सशक्तीकरण पर सेमिनार अटैंड करके लौट रही थी। ट्रेन मिस हो जाने के कारण लोकल बस लेनी पड़ी थी।

 बस हर दस मिनट के बाद रुक जाती । प्राइवेट होने के कारण कंडक्टर हर स्टॉप पर सवारी उठा रहा था। इतने मे फिर किसी स्टॉप पर बस रुकी और कंडक्टर चिल्लाने लगा,"जल्दी उतरो भई और लोगो को भी चढ़ने दो"। 

अचानक उतरने को उन्मुख,  खड़ी हो सवारी कर रही एक औरत ने सामने की सीट पर बैठे मोटे तगड़े फौजी से लगने वाले व्यक्ति को एक झन्नाटेदार थप्पड़ रसीद कर दिया। साथ ही चिल्लाई,"इसने मुझे आंख मारी है। मुर्दुआ आधे घण्टे से घूर रहा था।"

औरत पैंतीस के आसपास की रही होगी। हट्टी कट्टी पंजाबन, गहरे रंग का फूलों का कढ़ाई दार सूट, लाल लिपस्टिक और काला चश्मा। रास्ते मे किसी गांव से चढी थी। सारी बस में सन्नाटा सा छा गया। 

उसे थप्पड़ दिखाते हुए फौजी ने गन्दी गाली बकी और चीखा, "तुझे और आंख.. साली शक्ल देखी है क्या शीशे में!"

बीचबचाव करते हुए कंडक्टर गुर्राया,"चल अब उतर भी़ जा क्यों अपना जुलूस निकाल रही है।"

तमतमाया हुआ चेहरा लिए औरत नीचे उतर गई।

बस फिर चल पड़ी। फौजी तमक तमक कर औरत को कोसने लगा,"ऐसी बेहया औरतें तमाशा करती फिरती है।"

हर कोई अपने विचार देने लगा। 

ड्राइवर ने मूछों को ताव दिया और सामने के शीशे में से मुझे घूरता हुआ बोला,"अरे ऐसी सजी धजी चलती हैं। अगर किसी ने आँख मार भी़ दी तो क्या हुआ, चुपचाप उतर जाती। अपनी इज्जत अपने हाथ।" 

कंडक्टर समेत सब हामी भर रहे थे।  

और मैं अपना स्त्री सशक्तीकरण का पेपर गोद में दबाए चुपचाप आंखे बन्द कर सोने का उपक्रम करने लगी।

LIFE ON A HILL STATION

 Life on a hill station

 It was a beautiful hill station. We used to live in a double storied house, a part of Metro Hotel right next to Subhash Chowk in the centre of the little town. It was the main chowk from where one road went to the courts where father was the administrator. The other was called "Garam sadak" as it used to get the sun and ended into GPO or Gandhi chowk from where it turned into "Thandi sadak" where the snow used to melt last and spiralled back into subhash chowk. Mostly the independence day and the Republic day functions used to be organized at Subhash chowk or Gandhi Chowk where Papa wearing a band gala coat and a Kullu cap would hoist the flag. His boisterous speech used to be the highlight of the day. Children from the government schools would perform patriotic songs or items. I remember the "chacha" as he was known, a halwai would sometime recite his poem in chaste Punjabi, "har koi ajj Khushi which Mast Hai, 15 August Hai ji 15 August Hai".  

            Just on Subhash Chowk was the gate of the old Convent School and College, an elite residential institution where girls from different states of North India studied and where I went as a first year graduate. We never participated in those independence day or republic day functions. We had our own annual concert and fete where only parents were allowed to attend not the general public. I was one of the few day scholars, initially treated with disdain by the hostlers who changed their tune and accepted me once I beat them in all my subjects in the first trimester exam. 

    Summers were great. I used to especially love the monsoons with mysterious mists and the music of rain drops on our tin roof, though my mother used to hate them as the clothes wouldn't dry for days. Rains used to be torrential for a couple of hours then it would clear up as suddenly but the fog and mist would envelope everything and make the dry clothes also wet. During those times if at home I would be sitting for hours ferociously painting with my water colors mostly drawing inspiration from the back page of Readers Digest for paintings. Then they would adorn the back of the wooden cupboards which worked as a partition in our hall. I had wanted to take up painting hobby class in the college but an honest civil servant could hardly afford the extra exorbitant fee the convent was charging so I decided to go it solo.  

The whole summer, the town used to be full of hustle bustle of the tourists flocking from Punjab and other states. We used to hate them for their flamboyance, their lewd stares and loud gestures. They would invade the serenity of the sleepy hills and scatter litter around in their wake. Of course the town's other population welcomed them with open arms, especially the hoteliers and the shopkeepers with their over the top gift and souvenir items. There was this "imported Serdie" as we called him, who would sell spurious goods "imported" from different places, which in those pre liberalization of economy times were a great attraction both to the locals as well as to the tourists. Omnipresent on the roads or chowks, used to be the "Chana zor garam" wallahs. Ten paise for one rolled up cone of chanas or roasted peanuts which were a must in our hands as soon as we would come down for the walks. 

Every evening it was a ritual for us to take a walk through garam sadak to GPO and back through Thandi sadak. That was the time you would meet friends or mom's friends on the road, almost daily pick up a fight with the boisterous young tourists on the streets. As especially me passing through an awkward stage of being exceedingly tall and lanky would not take eve teasing at all and retaliate at the slightest provocation. 

             Winters in our hill station were extremely severe. Unlike the present globally warm days, sometime the snowfall used to exceed three feet or more. The whole landscape would transform into some picture book surreal beauty especially in the morning when you woke up to a fresh heavy bout of snow. We young siblings would revel in the surrounding beauty while our mother had to face the jarring music of the hardship of day to day life. The water would freeze in the pipes. The roads would be blocked. The maid would not come. The cook was gone hours buying vegetables of which mostly potatoes and onions were available. The funny sight would be the rows of frozen clothes downstairs in the glazed varandah. At night we would scare our youngest sister in dim light. The bloated hanging rows of pants and shirts would look like as if someone was wearing them. All the slanting roofs would have hundreds of big pointed knives of ice pointing downwards, sometimes making it look eerie. 

The town used to be cut off from other places sometimes for a couple of days till the administration could make a pathway in the center of the roads for vehicles to ply. This would create high walls of snow on both the sides of the road. Once my mother who was coming from Punjab got stuck five kilometres away beyond which the road was blocked with snow. Only jeeps could ply and she had to wait in biting cold till a jeep could be sent to her. Even that would have taken more than one hour to reach in the snow. Just then she saw mother superior and another sister getting into a jeep from the stranded bus. She went to them and requested them for a lift. They refused and went away. My mother had to wait a long time till she was picked up. She never forgave them for this. She would always say compassion and empathy are more important virtues to practise than preach. 
                 Those were the seventies. Life was an Eastman color kaleidoscope those days for my young and impressionable mind. We would walk down the hill to watch a movie in the cantonment cinema hall. We had one theatre in the town too but it was more fun to go there especially with friends. Sometimes film actors would come for shooting. And we used to be in great demand as due to my father we would be invited to have tea or dinner with them in the hotel where they were staying. And our parents would allow us to take one or two friends. There we would run into the children of other officers, mostly our peers and we would show off as if we were not enamored by the stars on the table. 
Those were growing years, care free, fun times before the grind of higher studies, career and family life set in. 
Like a drop of dew.. Fresh and sublime! 

  

Said...unsaid

   SAID..UNSAID..

 

You were taken in the blink of an eye

Passed into the lands unknown

Transcending the mortal bonds and ties

To a heavenly abode have you gone

                   Shredding my heart into a million pieces

                    Breaking the promise of a lifetime 

                     You went without a goodbye 

                   To be one with the Sublime

I never asked for so much “me time”

Never wanted to be left alone

Yearn for that companionable silence

Both  being busy doing our own

                      Miss your presence around

                      your clockwork routine

                      Making your tea

                     Surprising you with your favourite cuisine 

Miss sharing those little delights

Squabbling over puny slights 

Your long discourses which I used to miss over chores 

Wish I could now hear once more

                      Wish I could say to you

                      So many things left unsaid 

                      How much I love you 

                     Praise you on your face not behind your back 

How great you were in your simplicity 

  Wish I could say

How proud  I was of your brilliant mind

Could say all that and more if there was a way

                     I know you are with our precious little angel

                     Whom you loved most 

              Who was alone probably snatched away from our arms

               Leaving us so bereft, forlorn and lost 

But how to mend my broken heart 

Or heal the bruised one of our younger lot 

Who yearns for your touch on her head 

Inconsolable in her grief for losing her mentor 

           Who yearns to share her moments of glory

           Or seek your counsel when at sea

             Who wants to share a million stories

            But cannot hear your soothing pleas

I still had so much to say

To spend the dusk of my life

With you by my side 

But you were taken in the blink of an eye 

              God didn’t give you time to say Goodbye.