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.

MUSHARRAF'S PAKISTAN AND THE CLAY BUDDHA

The pen was quiet and the mind was numb for a while. It is coming back to life, slowly though. I was wondering whether I should continue with Musharraf's name in my series
on Pakistan .I thought a good deal over it and finally decided to continue with it, for although closed now, Musharraf remains a powerful and for reasons both good and bad, an unforgettable chapter in Pakistan's political history. Another reason being that all my trips to that country were made during the former President's tenure.

The past few months have been extremely trying and turbulent for both India and Pakistan. The tremors of political
uncertainity continue to afflict Pakistan, with frequent incidents of terror attacks adding to the turmoil . And in India, in the wake of the devastating floods in Bihar , one can hardly heave a sigh of relief or rejoice over the final settlement of Amarnath land dispute in Jammu and Kashmir and the normalising of situation there.But alongside the suffering and misery , goes the festivity and celebration of the holy month of Ramzan and the pious days of Ganeshotsava . And as thousands and thousands of devotees on both sides of the border surrender to the power of the almighty and pray for peace and happiness, I am reminded of that extremely spiritual experience that I had during one of my trips to Pakistan.

I was in Islamabad to cover another round of peace talks between the two countries.After two days of hectic parleys, the talks had concluded successfully and we finally had some time for ourselves after the mad rush that covering Indo-Pak talks always is. We, in the Indian contingent decided to utilize the time in hand by making a trip to the ancient Indian, and now Pakistani city of Takshashila. Takshashila is located about 35 kms to the west of Islamabad. The locals pronounced the name quite funnily as Taxla (Tax as in income tax and La as in Lahore) and I couldn't stop myself from chuckling every time someone casually spoke of T-A-X-L-A ! We were supposed to leave in the afternoon and I chose to laze in my hotel room till then. I was absolutely thrilled at the prospect of visiting one of the most important Vedic and Buddhist centres of learning in ancient India.And over several cups of hot, steaming tea, I dreamt of the sights and sounds of the centre that once had Chanakya as one of its teachers.The chain of my thoughts transported me thousands of years back in history to the reign of the Mauryas and the great emperor Ashoka , during whose reign Takshashila became a great Buddhist centre of learning.

My reverie was soon broken by the ringing of the door bell. It was the housekeeping guy. He asked for my permission to bring something that he very earnestly wanted me to see. I was puzzled as to what was it that a stranger so desperately wanted to show me. Very reluctantly, I told him to get the stuff, or whatever that was. He reappeared shortly with a small object, about three and a half inches long wrapped very neatly in plain paper.He told me that a guest who had stayed in the same room as me about three years back, had forgotten it in one of the drawers of the cupboard. He found it while cleaning the room after the guest's departure . And since it was not of any use to him , he had kept it safely so that it could be given to the appropriate person. When I asked him as to how could he conclude that I was the right person, he just smiled and left.I stared and stared at the object as it lay wrapped in my hand. I was apprehensive and scared to open it. And after several minutes of tense thinking, I decided to unwrap it. What unfolded in front of me was something that stunned me completely. It was a small clay statue of Buddha. I was
too touched to even react or talk about it. Later in the day we went to Takshashila. The site of the renowned university was all ruins now, although the relics and remains of the golden era had been carefully preserved in a huge museum. It was a great spiritual and intellectual high for all of us and we returned with pleasant memories of a walk back into time. And yes, the clay Buddha travelled back to India with me.It today occupies the pride of place in my little temple at home.