BARACK OBAMA AND IRAQ'S INCOMPLETE STORY

The picture that you see here was the grim reality of Iraq six years back. Unfortunately, it is the same today. I took the picture barely a week after the U.S. led coalition forces invaded Iraq in April 2003 . In the heart of Baghdad, a shopkeeper was fighting fiercely with the American troops who had taken position outside his shop. He wanted them out of his space. They were armed with the most sophisticated weapons and he had none. But he had no fear for his life. I think this one picture describes and portrays the indomitable and aggressive Iraqi spirit most aptly. The natives of this ancient civilization that we all have known as Mesopotamia have been through so much of violence and bloodshed in their centuries old history that they have no fear left in their blood.George W Bush and his allies, in their shortsightedness and incomprehension of the Iraqi psyche and the country's deeply factious social set up , created the kind of mess in that country that his successor, Barack Obama, who assumes office today, will have a hard time clearing up.

Bush Junior's 2003 Operation Iraqi Freedom turned out to be Operation Iraqi Destruction and proved to be his regime's most aching liability. For one, it stripped the ferociously freedom loving Iraqis off their sense of freedom and sovereignty and two, it further widened the rift between Iraq's three main factions - the Shias, the Sunnis and the Kurds.In their over anxiousness to correct the historical wrong of repression and isolation of the Kurds and win over their alliance , the Bush regime gave the Kurds the lion's share in Iraq's ' America-installed democratic set up' .Doing so, it alienated the sunnis and the shias.Worse was that it did not even win them the Kurd community's loyalty to the state of Iraq.The Kurds, who have always considered themselves as separate entities did not share the American regime's enthusiasm for a democratic , united Iraq.

Between the other two communities, the majority Shia and the minority Sunni populace of the country, the American regime could not strike a balance.Shias accuse them of siding with the Sunnis, whom they consider their most bitter rivals and Sunnis, while still nursing the grudge against the toppling of their most powerful leader , Saddam Hussein, now also blame the Americans of treating them unfairly against the majority Shias and the Kurds.Result is a deeply divided and chaotic Iraq, always on the boil and on the brink of a civil war.Suicide bombings and factional clashes are the order of the day and the one lakh forty five thousand plus American troops still on ground in Iraq have little but succeeded in winning over the trust and support of ordinary Iraqis.

And therefore, Barack Hussein Obama, who assumes office today as the first Afro-American President of America has tough tasks cut out ahead for him.As a liberal, Obama has always opposed the American invasion of Iraq and later, the Bush regime's policies in the strife-torn land.In one of his famous speeches during last year's Presidential polls , he famously remarked, " I was against it in 2002, in 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008 and I am going to end this war in 2009." He has even set a 16-month deadline for total troop-pullout from Iraq.Although, considering the sensitive security scenario there, analysts fear a civil war like situation in Iraq once American troops leave the country.And that exactly is Obama's challenge - extracting his troops out while ensuring Iraq's peaceful transition to democracy, with if not perfect, at least reasonable amount of peace between the three main factions of Iraq's hugely divided society , particularly between the Shias and the Sunnis.

It certainly will not be a cakewalk for the forty seven year old American President who has come to the White House riding a huge wave of change.And it is not just America that is anticipating and expecting change from Obama.It is the entire world and like the rest of the world, Iraq too waits for its moment of change. It waits for the completion of its story..for its march towards freedom and long lasting peace.

A SPIRITUAL JOURNEY - 2

It was like one of those stray thoughts that begin quite randomly and carelessly and before you realise or take serious notice, overtake your mind and senses and soul completely.I was reading a description on the ancient and holy city of Varanasi (Benaras) when a quote by the acclaimed American author, Mark Twain caught my attention , " Benaras is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together," Without saying much, these words conveyed everything and filled and possessed me with the overpowering desire to explore the legendary, ancient and holy land of Lord Vishwanath.

And so in the last week of the year's last month, we set out on a curious and inquisitive journey to the holy city of Varanasi, which is also known as Kashi in Hindu scriptures.But late December in northern India is not a very good time to undertake long journeys.Dense clouds of fog and smog envelop towns and cities and due to poor visibility, more often than not , trains and flights get delayed, sometimes for hours and hours at a stretch.In our excitement at exploring the legend and antiquity of Benaras, we failed to foresee this cumbersome reality of north Indian winter.And as a consequence, ended up spending a good twenty hours, either waiting for the train or languidly whiling away time in our compartment once it started the journey.All this while, the anticipation and excitement continued to build up.

We finally reached Benaras at night the next day instead of the scheduled early morning arrival the same day ! The body was tired but the mind felt surprisingly fresh and active.Did it have something to do with the cool and sacred breeze coming from the direction of the holy Ganges or had the resilience and quiet strength of the ancient city of Lord Shiva started rubbing on to us ? Afterall, it takes an exceptional and extraordinary amount of physical, material and spiritual strength to be the oldest surviving city in the world !

The first sight that caught the eye as we set feet in Benaras was that of the imposing structure of the city railway station.The building modelled like a temple complex was certainly the most innovative design for a railway station that I had ever seen.There was a chill and sharpness in the wind and I shrunk further in the warmth of my jacket.We took an auto rickshaw and set out on what turned out to be a two-hour long hunt for a decent hotel through the narrow lanes and bylanes of the city.It was way past nine pm and the darkness and the fast thickening fog were making the search more difficult.We finally found a place to check in barely three hours before the pre-dawn Mangala aarti at Kashi Vishwanath. We had just about two hours to freshen up and absolutely no time to catch a nap.

Packing ourselves in layers of clothes, we took a cycle rickshaw ride to the temple at about two in the morning.It was a brief but very quiet and contemplative ride through the empty, fog laden streets of the city.The temple is located in the heart of the city on the western bank of the holy Ganges.The area is old and congested and like all holy places, no vehicles are allowed inside.Besides, the lanes leading to the temple are too narrow for any vehicle to be able to move about freely.There was heavy security at the entrance to the pathway to the temple even at that early hour.Heavily armed security personnel guarded all the important points leading to the temple.We were told that the security at Kashi Vishwanath was particularly beefed up after the terrorist attack on another famous temple in the city, the Sankatmochan temple, in March 2006.

After all the security checks, we were finally ushered inside the small Kashi Vishwanath temple complex where the jyotirlinga of Lord Shiva is enshrined.It is said that one can earn the merits of darshan of all the twelve jyotirlinga sacttered in various parts of the country by a single visit to Kashi Vishwanath and therefore, every day, thousands and thousands of devotees from all across the world throng the temple complex to seek spiritual peace and divine blessings.This Shiva temple is believed to have been there in the site for thousands of years.But due to invasions, it has been destroyed and rebuilt a number of times.The current structure is believed to have been constructed by Maharani Ahilya Bai Holkar of Indore in 1780.The Vishwanatha temple consists of a mandapa and a sanctum.The sanctum has a linga set into the centre of the floor in a square silver altar. The Linga is of black stone.

Once inside, we joined other devotees at one of the four entrances to the sanctum.The Shringar ceremony of Lord Vishwanath had just started amidst chanting of holy mantras by the group of priests performing the pooja.The linga was bathed with water, milk, ghee, honey and then decorated with offerings of fresh flowers and garlands.Fresh new clothes were placed on each side of the linga within the silver altar.There was a magic in all those chantings and prayers and as I looked upwards , I saw the most beautiful site of my life..through the early morning fog, the golden temple spirals glistened and sparkled majestically as the leafless branches of an old tree caressed them softly.

As the Shringar ceremony got over, all of us looking at it from outside the sanctum were asked to come one by one for darshan from closer quarters and for making whatever offerings we had brought for the Lord.At the crack of the dawn,accompanied by the unintrusive and soft strains of tanpura, the legendary M S Subbulakshmi's soulful rendition of the Kashi Vishwanath Suprabhatam announced yet another spiritually enlightened morning within the sacred premises.It was the beginning of just another ordinary day in Benaras, but to my deeply awakened mind and senses, it seemed the most important moment of my life.

A SPIRITUAL JOURNEY - 1

Phew!!! It's been a whirlwind time as I just wind up my fifth journey in the last few weeks! Yes, I have been travelling most of last month, sometimes for work and sometimes, for reasons personal. It all began with a trip to Amritsar early December, in fact, I wasn't supposed to travel to Amritsar. It was to be a quick trip to Kurukshetra.We finished in Kurukshetra quite early, and as luck would have it, caught glimpse of a milestone that said 'Amritsar 380 km'. Something clicked inside, I now call it the pull of ' Darbar Saheb ' (The Golden temple), and we immediately decided to drive all the way to the holy city for darshan.

It was a long but pleasant journey and we managed to reach the quaint town before dusk.Checking into a hotel close to Darbar Saheb, we decided to visit the holy shrine early next morning.At night, a stroll through the narrow lanes and bylanes of Amritsar took us back to the times when this historic border town had not yet seen the bloodshed and violence of partition.Nothing seemed to have changed , yet everything had changed .There was an unmistakable calm and serenity surrounding the city.One did come across the ocassional mall and Mcdonalds, but the city, it seemed, had succeeded in retaining and preserving its heritage and old world charm.

Community work (Sewa) lies at the heart of the Sikh religion and hence, early next morning, as we walked through the gates of Darbar saheb, we saw Sikh men and women, young and old alike, washing the marble walkways along the sacred pool with milk and water.The Golden temple, splendid and magnificent in its divine aura, sat in the middle of the crystal clear waters of the sacred pool. The entire atmosphere was reverberating with recitations from the Guru Granth Saheb by the granthis inside the sanctum.

Legend has it that before his death, the tenth Sikh guru, Guru Gobind Singh, told his people that there would be no more living gurus after him and they must follow the Guru Granth Sahib ( the Sikh holy book).From that point on, the text remained not just the holy scripture of the sikhs, but is also regarded by them as the living embodiment of the Ten Gurus.The Guru Granth Sahib consists of more than one thousand pages of teachings, guidance to good living and hymns.The hymns and teachings are called ' Gurbani ' or ' Word of the Guru '. To the Sikhs, the Granth Sahib is more a living saint and therefore, every morning, it is carried in a procession to the sanctum and put to bed at night.

We watched the ceremony in the morning with much reverence, heads bowed and eyes half closed in worship.There was still some time for sunrise and as we sat along the peaceful waters of the beautifully illuminated holy shrine, I marvelled at the never failing ability of faith and religion to soothe and calm the human soul.Although a Sikh shrine, Darbar Saheb is visited by people from all walks,sections and faiths of Indian society and I caught a pleasant sight of some young Buddhist monks posing for pictures.In their curious and happy faces, I could see all matters of religious dispute and conflict evaporate.Pluralism, I concluded , however problematic it may seem, also happens to be the biggest strength of this country.

Later that day, we embarked upon a pilgrimage of a different kind. Close to Darbar Saheb, is the Jallianwala Bagh. Through the busy early morning streets, we covered the small distance on a cycle rickshaw. The rickshaw puller was an old Sikh man with a flowing white beard. He told us that he had also lost an uncle in the brutal massacre and to this day, his large, extended family worships him as a hero and martyr.

The board at the entrance to the historic site read – ' This soil has been made pious by the blood of nearly two thousand patriotic men, women and children .' My heart skipped a beat and I gave out a sigh.Closing my eyes, I tried to picture those violent moments of terror , exactly eighty nine years ago, when the British Army Commander General Dyer made the reckless decision of ordering his troops to open indiscriminate firing at an unarmed gathering of innocent men, women and children.Their mistake – they had gathered there for a peaceful pro – independence meeting.Records say that the firing lasted about ten minutes and more than sixteen hundred rounds were fired in that small duration.One could still see bullet marks on the walls ,carefully encircled.The only exit passage from the park was blocked and the poor people holed inside had nowhere to go.We also saw the well within the premises in which many of them jumped to escape the bullets only to perish in its never ending hollowness.And as I looked down into the well, I could hear echoes of voices calling out for help.They were all unsung heroes of our freedom movement and it truly felt like a pilgrimage visiting the site of their martyrdom !

P.S. - I wish all my fellow bloggers and readers a very happy and fulfilling new year !

THINKING OF HAAUU !

November is here and brings along chilly mornings and cold evenings.The woolens are still not out in their entirety, but a thin shawl is the order of the day.Getting out of the cosiness of the bed in the mornings is becoming an increasingly difficult exercise.Day's first cup of tea loses its heat fast and I have to settle for a second one in quick succession ! I sit cosily wrapped in the warmth of my shawl, fingers clasped firmly around the tea mug and as I look out into the view from my cosy little balcony, the mind wanders off to winter mornings decades ago when I was a schoolgirl in Jammu.

Suddenly Haauu comes back to life in my vision in the flashback. Haauu was a thin, small woman, around fifty years of age.She was our domestic help.Years of hard work and toil had wrinkled her face, although her hair was still jet black, not a single grey strand there.She came originally from Bilaspur, miles and miles away from Jammu.Her husband had left her and their three sons for another woman years ago.
Devastated and left alone to fend for herself and her children, Haauu left the shame and poverty of her village one fine day and came looking for better prospects in Jammu, where many of her village folk did small and menial jobs.

Ours was many of the households that Haauu did domestic chores in.Early morning tea with us after finishing her work was almost a daily ritual.And many a winter mornings, she would regale me with stories about her ' des ' (village) in a strange sort of dialect which I didn't understand much.Neither did she understand my language much, yet, quite strangely, everything got communicated and understood. To everything that I said, she would nod her head and with a big smile, say 'haauu' (yes !). That was how we started calling her Haauu ! Her original name was Phoolbai.

Haauu told me stories about the river ' Mahanandi '(Mahanadi) flowing by her village and menacing tales of the river's fury during the rainy season. She told me stories about her husband and his family. Her poor parents had married her off when she was a little girl.And as she would drift off in her mind to those blissful early days of her wedded life, her eyes would gleam and the smile on her face would widen a hundred miles.Haauu's husband was a much older man,yet she loved and served him wholeheartedly till he dumped her for another much younger woman.The glint in her eyes would now get clouded by the shadows of sorrow and mouthing choicest abuses against her husband, she would bravely fight her tears back.

Haauu always wore a thin saree tied a few inches above the ankles and wrapped just a torn shawl around her slender shoulders even in the harshest of winter months.She wore no socks, or rather, could not afford a new pair.I did once give her an old pair of mine, but she never wore them herself. Ever the sacrificing, suffering Indian woman, she gave them to her youngest son.She wanted him to study and become a babu when he grew up.She kept him away from the sweat and toil that she and her other two sons endlessly went through.She had high hopes from the youngest and was terribly heartbroken when she discovered that her 'bitwa' had fallen in bad company and had taken to excessive smoking.

I saw her last during one of my trips back home.She had grown further old and I could see a few silver strands also in her hair , but her smile was as charming and disarming as ever.Bitwa was a fully grown man now and yes, he could not become a babu.

Very recently, I went to Chhattisgarh for a pre-election opinion poll and as our flight hovered above the jungles and villages of the young state, I thought about Haauu and her village and the fury of Mahanadi.

SALGIRAH MUBARAK HO DEV SAAB

Let me begin the post by wishing a very, very happy birthday to that star of stars, that evergreen, romantic hero of all times, the dashing, suave and debonair Dev Anand. Yes, it is my all time favourite star's eighty fifth birthday today and like his millions of fans across the globe, I wish him health, happiness and more and more films.

The admiration for Dev Saab dates back to my childhood days and it runs deep in my family. All the women in my family, including my mother and my late maternal grandmother have been diehard and devoted fans of Dev Anand. We have all smiled, laughed, sung, wept and cried with the evergreen and ever youthful charmer. We absolutely loved his carefree, casual and very chic style. He always looked so natural and convincing in all the characters that he played. My favourite being his army officer act in the 60s classic Hum Dono, the suave Delhi architect bit in his home production Tere Ghar Ke Saamne and the hippie act in the 70s blockbuster Hare Rama Hare Krishna. He has always looked strikingly handsome, yet very, very real and believable. I think his appeal lied in his easy and modern style. Dev Saab never relied on unnecessary melodrama, because of which his charisma and appeal cuts across all age groups.

And that energy and zest for life and most importantly, for his craft of filmmaking is so infectious and inspiring. He continues to make films without a break Even today, at eighty five, a new project excites him as much as it used to when he was a rank newcomer way back in the nineteen forties. Dev Anand doesn't like to rest on past laurels. He never looks back. In his own words, "The need to keep learning and keep moving, is the need to live."

He also happens to be an incorrigible romantic. Here's another quote from the romantic star," I think life should be romantic, not necessarily in terms of lovemaking, or a love affair but if you are reading or writing a beautiful line, it is romantic, if you are wearing a beautiful neck tie, it is romantic, your speaking is romantic."

Such beautiful words. I have often drunk in and taken inspiration from these words.

Let me share with you a very interesting anecdote. Five years back, sometime in 2003, I was anchoring an early morning show with a fellow anchor. The show carried a story on Dev Anand who had been conferred some award. Seeing the story, I cribbed to my colleague that inspite of being one of Bollywood's greatest stars and a living legend, it was highly regretful and sad that Dev Saab had yet not been awarded Indian Film Industry's greatest honor, the Dadasaheb Phalke Award. There was anger and hurt in my voice as I wondered aloud to my colleague as to whether the authorities concerned had turned blind to the fact that the living legend was the most deserving candidate for the prestigious award. Later that night, as I was preparing to hit the sack, I got a call from my colleague and what ensued henceforth was simply unbelievable.

"Sheetal, did you hear the announcement on TV?"
"Which announcement?"
"Arre bhai, it has just been announced that Dev Anand will be awarded this year's Dadasaheb Phalke Award.Tumhari shikayat door kar di gayi hai ", she joked.

Stunned and shocked, I turned on the TV only to find that the news was actually true!

There was more to come in the next few days. In town to receive the award, I actually got a chance to interview my childhood and adulthood crush. I interviewed the superstar in one of capital's swanky hotels. I was nervous before the shoot and Dev Saab made me feel completely at ease as soon as he entered the lobby.

"Hello, Sheetal. That's a lovely, vibrant colour that you are wearing," he remarked in his inimitable style with a broad smile and a warm handshake.

This opening remark from the century's greatest star relaxed me completely and I opened up instantly. Of the many things that he said during the course of the interview, the one that I remember very clearly was the stress and importance that he laid on having one's own, distinct style.

"I like to wear things that none else has. Everything that I have on me, this watch, or this muffler, or even these loose pants should speak of my individual taste and choice. The way I walk, or speak, or react, is my individual, original style. It is very important to be original. Being one's own self is being original. You become a role model only if you have originality in your style."

So, that was the master's mantra straight from his mouth.

Signing off with these lines from a very famous song from Dev Anand's film Hum Dono, which sums up his personality and has provided inspiration to many -

"Main Zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya,
Har fiqr ki dhuyein mein udata chala gaya,"

P.S. - Many thanks to Sagarji for the link to his site and to Yunus Sahab for Kabban Mirza's pictures.

SING, SING A SONG

I was sitting in the make-up room getting ready for my show. My eyes were closed as I tried to soak in the beautiful melody of that dreamy composition from the Hindi film ,Razia Sultan. AAYI ZANJEER KI JHANKAAR KHUDA KHAIR KARE, DIL HUA KISKA GIRAFTAAR KHUDA KHAIR KARE. The song was courtesy our hairstylist, who has a fantastic collection of music on his cell phone and often entertains us with some number or the other. Kabban Mirza’s unique voice, Jan Nissar Akhtar’s soulful poetry and Khaiyyam’s exemplary music were creating a magical sort of aura in the room and we all hummed and sang along. It was a moment of sheer bliss and harmony.

The trance like state, however, was soon shattered by Piya’s voice. ‘ Sheetal, what is wrong with you? What crap are you listening ? And what a weird voice ! Is that some twelfth century song or what? ‘ I was horrified and shocked. How could somebody be not knowing the famous Khaiyyam composition and most importantly, how could one be so insensitive to a musical masterpiece? But then, one couldn’t really blame Piya , for this vivacious, young colleague of mine probably must have been in her diapers when Khaiyyam composed the famous song. ‘ Piya, that’s a very, very famous composition by one of Indian film industry’s best known music directors. Ask your mother. I am sure, she would have heard it,’ I tried reasoning it out with her.

‘ C’mon, give me a break. My mother doesn’t listen to such behenji stuff. Her choice is very hip.’ ‘ Hip, as in? Rock, Pop, hip hop, etc. ? ’ ‘ Of course, She listens to Beatles, Boney-M and all those 70s and 80s bands .’ ‘ And so do I. But, I also love my Khaiyyams and Mehdi Hassans and C.Ramchandras.’ ‘ Now, who are all these folks ? ’

Our conversation ended there, as I had to rush for my show. But it set me thinking . It was actually very unsettling for me that someone could be so discriminating of music, a language which is so pure and universal. Atleast I have grown up believing that. I have always been fascinated, charged, touched, stirred, encouraged and thrilled by music. It is something that gives an instant boost to the energy levels. My love for music of all kinds dates back to the days when I was just a toddler. My parents tell me that I used to try singing the famous song of the late 70s , KABHI KABHI MERE DIL MEIN KHYAAL AATA HAI in my baby voice. We grew up listening to the wonderful collection of music that my parents had, which ranged from Jagjit–Chitra ghazals to the 60s and 70s English bands of Beatles and Carpenters to the 50s Geeta Dutt and Hemant Kumar melodies, among others.

We never discriminated one form or genre of music from another. The sitar and guitar fusion of the Beatles’ NORWEGIAN WOODS stirred me as much as the soft, lilting Talat Mehmood song MAIN DIL HOON IK ARMAAN BHARA,TU AAKE MUJHE PEHCHAAN ZARA. The famous American rocker Neil Diamonds’ KENTUCKY WOMAN, BROOKLYN ROADS and PLAY ME touched my soul as much as Shahenshah–e-Ghazal Mehdi Hassan’s AAYE KUCHH ABR KUCHH SHARAAB AAYE and DUNIYA KISI KE PYAAR MEIN JANNAT SE KAM NAHIN. The lively Mohammad Rafi composition of MAIN ZINDAGI KA SAATH NIBHATA CHALA GAYA inspired me as much as the carefree Frank Sinatra melody of MY WAY. Beatles, Eagles, Carpenters, Jim Reeves, Frank Sinatra, ABBA and Marc Anthony were as much the norm of the day as Lata Mangeshkar, Talat Mehmood, Mohammad Rafi, Bhupendra, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Mehdi Hassan and Chitra (the famous South Indian singer).

My days would begin and end with music। They still do. Only the list of favourites has expanded further. It now also includes the likes of Natalie Imbruglia, Celine Dion, John Mayer, James Blunt, Shreya Ghoshal, Mohit Chauhan, Sona Mohapatra, Rabbi Shergill, Shafqat Amanat Ali, Shantanu Moitra and the trio of Shankar, Ehsaan and Loy. I sometimes feel I am a little biased towards music. I may not exactlylove every second melody that I hear, but somehow, I can never bring myself to criticise a composition outrightly. I like to embrace music in all its forms, hues and genres. And wherever I travel, within oroutside the country, a large chunk of my shopping includes the music of the place! To me, music is the essence of life, the strongest driving as well as calming force. It is sacred, it isplayful and it is meditative. And therefore, I would like to sign off with the famous Carpenters’melody which is my musical anthem for all times – Sing, sing a song

Sing out loud, sing out strong
Sing of good things, not bad
Sing of happy, not sad
Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Just sing, sing a song

BLASTS IN DELHI AND THE LAST LEAR

I am stunned, I am speechless and I am totally and completely wonderstruck. I am also deeply troubled and distressed at the same time.The Delhi serial blasts, inspite of weeks and months of warning by intelligence agencies trigger off the last two sentiments and an out an out exceptional performance by that living legend of Indian film industry, Amitabh Bachchan inspires the previous three emotions. It was my day off and I was in the throes of a deeply intellectual and artistic high as I sat watching Rituparno Ghosh's much talked about English film, THE LAST LEAR in one of NCR's plush cineplexes when a friend informed me of the serial blasts that had rocked the national capital. The news was tremendously unsettling, not shocking though, for everyone knew that Delhi was next on target after Bangalore and Ahmedabad. The security agencies had already warned of the notorious Indian Mujahideen's Operation BAD(Bangalore ,Ahmedabad and Delhi) and seeing and knowing the inability of the state machinery to prevent such attacks so far, one feared secretly all this while for Delhi. I wanted to get out of the hall immediately to get the latest brief on the tragedy, but something stopped me from doing so. Was it resilience, stoicism or worse still, plain indifference towards a happening, which has fast become a rule than an exception in this country? Or was it anger and a sense of acute helplessness at the nation being hit again that I was stubbornly trying not to acknowledge? I tried to escape the unease and starkness of the harsh reality of the moment by deciding to carry on with the show. It wasn't long before my troubled thought process began taking refuge in the warmth of another awe inspiring performance by the genius called Amitabh Bachchan..I was now all focus and concentration on Bachchan's exceptional portrayal of the insanely obsessisve and idiosyncratic mannerism of the theatre loving and cinema despising protagonist of the film, Harish Mishra, who as an aging stage actor showed
little respect or tolerance for anyone not acquainted with the literary genius of William Shakespeare. And as I watched with absolute wonder that extremely theatrical moment in the film when Amitabh's character breaks into a Prospero soliloquy from theShakespearean play " The Tempest", I couldn't but stop myself from marvelling at the cinematic genius of the master. There was a stubbornness in his tone and tenor, a resolve not to falter and always be perfect, the best.This incidentally is the same streak of stubbornness that the actor has displayed in his personal life as well by making a conscious and adamant effort to not give in to the temptation of falsely holding on to his superhero onscreen persona in real life. And one can't but empathise and sympathise with the man's need and fierce attempt to lead a normal, ordinary life, outside the arc lights. .After having been constantly and unsparingly dogged and courted by controversy, he now refuses to retaliate or react. He apologises for no fault of his, maintains stoic silence over the meanest of provocations and inspite of the mental trauma and pressure of constant public, political and media censure, consistently and constantly delivers one powerhouse performance after another. His devotion to his art is undying and his mastery over his craft is unquestionable. He lives, breathes and embodies cinema . And that is perhaps where all that strength and resolve to live a common man's life comes from. Tell me how many superstars have the courage to bear criticism for not standing up and giving in to the tomfooleries of a wannabe politician hell bent on using the famous name to further his political interests ? No one but Amitabh Bachchan . And this refusal to stand up against provocation is not because of cowardice. It is a desperate attempt by a man to separate reel from real, to keep the actor and the person apart.He doesn't believe in false proclamations of strength. And that is not to say that he is meek. It is just that like any other citizen of this country, very much like you and me, he seems to have acquired a certain indifference and resilience to circumstantial adversity. Life has given him everything, name, acclaim, money and stupendous success. What it has denied him is the freedom of being an ordinary man.And that is what he desperately and adamantly wants to and attempts to hold on to.His detractors may deny him the liberation of living an ordinary life, but Amitabh Bachchan just like his character of Harish Mishra in THE LAST LEAR is an exceptional man, insanely obsessive and possessive of his conviction, belief and vision. And no amount of provocation or pressurising would deter him from that.
After two hours of the show, I was back once againto the naked reality of death and devastation that had hit the capital.And even as news channels splashed pictures of the blast sites and the victims of the tragedy, there was business as usual on the roads.Was it resilience, stoicism, helplessness or plain indifference, the troubling question invaded my mind again. Only that there was no Last Lear to take refuge in this time.