Dial M for Music

I am but one of the million fans that Lata didi has. I am but a minion in the journey of music that she summited. I am but a speck in the universe of which she is now a part. And yet I cannot stop my thoughts from straying around her music and her sheer talent and genius. Like a river to the ocean, I am drawn to just her music since Sunday.

As the morning started with me trying to work on finding solutions to the issues sitting in my inbox, I was unable to focus without listening to her music. Even last night sleep eluded as I tried to attempt melody after melody and then restarting with something simpler. I just could not find something I was capable of singing. A similar challenge this morning was what to hear. There is an incredible legacy that she has left behind; even if one tried one lifetime is less to do justice to her music. What a blessed life!

I finally settled to start with an SD Burman album that is greatly influenced by Hindustani Classical, and incidentally the story of the film is about the musical talent of a woman. Yes, you guessed it – “Abhiman”. As I listened to the soul soothing “Nadiya Kinare” I was reminded of a musical incident that I had totally forgotten. This was high school. I was 14 and under the tutelage of a Ghazal singer when I was asked to participate in a singing competition. The trouble was this was to be a duet and we were in an all-girls school. Women duets are rare and those that one found were beyond our capability. Finally, we chose “Loote Koi Man Ka Nagar” from Abhiman. Given that I have always been at relative ease with kharaj I sang the male part. Listening to this track today, I am glad that I did so.

As I went through the day, I received two whatsapps that made my choices easier. The first one had a fabulous selection of Lata didi's solos. It reconnected me with the equally sublime and powerful “Jago Mohan Pyare”. When we were children, mother used to sing a slightly modified sthayee of the song while doing her morning Pooja. I had for some strange reason forgotten this composition. And with all knowledge that I am not worthy, I have decided to attempt this bhajan over this weekend. How successful am I will be known only in the coming days. In the interim I am listening to “Bekas Pe Karam Kijiye”. A few years ago, while mother was visiting Nani, Papa and a dear friend of his had wanted to see the live performance of Mughle – E- Azam at the NCPA. I went along and distinctly remember that when this song was being sung, I whispered to Papa – “please let us play the original in the car on the way home”. The “pukaar” and the “dua” that Lata didi infused in the melody heightened the message being conveyed by the lyrics of Shakeel Badayuni. As I listened to this and heard her intonations and emphasis on the word “sarkaar” I remembered Guruji’s early teaching where he made me understand the importance of extending, elongating, and emoting along with the “matras” and not the “akshar”. Music is truly divine.

The second whatsapp that I received from my grandfather figure and my epitome of grace and affection was “Yeh Jeevan Hai” from “Piya Ka Ghar”! What a movie from Rajshree productions! As I was listening to this song more than anything else the lyrics hit me hard. Specifically, the following –

“ये ना सोचो इसमें अपनी, हार है के जीत है

उसे अपना लो जो भी, जीवन की रीत है”

As these lines played, I recollected my conversation with Guruji this morning. At the end of the Riyaz I asked him why was it that all of Lata didi’s works were suddenly being taken out of the treasure chests now. They had always existed and in the same glory. So, what makes them more special today? He simply smiled said, “Well this is what life is”. I sometimes want to ask the creator why is this so but I guess I will need to wait my turn…

Music has been my one constant in my life and I do hope that I can now be consistent in my learning. I will never even be 0.00001% of Lata didi but I hope I can be 1% of her consistency in Riyaz. As Guruji said before he ended this morning “Always remember और कुछ नहीं पर ये स्वर साथ आते भी हैं और जाते भी।“

Dial M for Mangeshkar and you will get Music

 As I look at my twitter feed, listening to the music of the legend, I have a smile on my face and tears in my eyes. Of course, the world of music is poorer today and the void created cannot be and will never be filled. But my tears are just accompanying the ironic smile on my face. It was Basant Panchami yesterday. The day of Ma Saraswati. I restarted my Hindustani Classical training yesterday and the incarnation of Ma Saraswati went to her heavenly abode today. This time I will not stop, my learning will continue, but its just ironic. Or so I think and feel, and some of you who know me will know why this irony is so strong for me.

In one of her earlier interviews, she had said that devotional music was amongst her favourites. I am musically a pauper compared to her, but I also really enjoy that genre. In fact, when I started singing weekly bhajans about two years ago, it was also because her rendition of “Allah Tero Naam” was looped in my head. Knowing my keen interest in devotional music, just before Nani passed away, that is one song Guruji had started teaching me. This was in addition to the knowledge of the ragas and Riyaz that I was getting under his tutelage. As I started to sing the bhajan, I would listen to her rendition of the same multiple times a day. Other than her voice and intonations what struck me was how one could never hear her breathe while singing. Notice it. She is amongst the rarest of singers who while singing do not let their breath hit the microphone. Apparently, she would turn slightly away from the recording instrument and then inhale. What dedication to the art!

As hard as I try and recall, I cannot remember my first Lataji song. What I do have is a vivid memory of the two LPs that I played very regularly. One is a recording of her live performances with the legendary Mukesh and the other one is that of her live performance at the Royal Albert Hall. I still have both the LPs and had to share this picture from the first one, which is her tribute to the singer she called an older brother. This LP introduced me to one of my all-time Lataji favourites, “Aap Ki Nazaron Ne Samjha”. The lyrics somewhere depict what love means to me and her rendition makes that emotion extremely palpable. Madan Mohan who was the music director for this song incidentally was also the composer of her last full album as well – Veer Zara. The song “Tere Liye Hum Hain Jiye” from Veer Zara awakens every pore in my body and every corner of my soul. Her voice conveys the deep emotion of love so well that I can feel that love in my own bones! 

The second LP had two songs that have stuck with me all through – “Satyam Shivam Sundaram” is the first. In fact, one of the weekends, I thought I could try and sing this bhajan and then had to acknowledge how far I am in my journey to be able to attempt this song. So, respecting her kala I did not even venture to attempt the first line. The second one is “Ehasaan Tera Hoga Mujh Par” from Junglee. The profound lyrics come alive with her soulful rendition. This one I tried to attempt (even my attempt to try was meek) and shared with Apyrrhicvictor. A very dear friend who understands music and revels in it as much as I, he is the only one I feel I can share some of these recordings with. He is honest and gentle in his feedback, and I am not scared of being judged by him. In almost two decades of friendship, he must have been done with judging me multiple times over! 

One movie that I can watch multiple times over is the Hrishikesh Mukherjee directed “Chupke Chupke”. C Ramachandra has just lit the plot with his absolutely perfect scores. However, I can never get over the title track, “Chupke Chupke Chal Ri Purvaiya”. Lataji sung it with such ease, that the grace with which the melody envelopes the sublime lyrics is purely prepossessing. It’s been a song that has always inspired me to have control in my singing. She had this innate command on music and voice where she could just use control to convey the emotion. No intonations, no murkhis, no alaaps. Just pure simple controlled rendition and the song seemed to be from another planet. That is exactly how she could invoke the patriotism of millions of Indians when she sang “Ae Mere Watan Ke Logon”. She used the right amount of softness and force in various parts of the song so that the listener feels the call to duty, the pain and the valour all in that span of a few minutes. I remember watching Indian Idol recently where one of the contestants had brilliantly sung a Lataji classic. While commenting on the performance, one of the judges said that while he could not take away the stunning capability of the performer her real challenge would be to bring about the same emotions without having Lataji’s rendition as a guide. And how true he was. Very few singers have been able to get this control right.

In fact, as I write this, the other melody that comes to mind is the beautiful “Gudiya Hum Se Roothi Rahogi” from the film Dosti. It’s a song that Sequoia and I often sang to the pampered Bonsai and later to our Mini Mouse when she would get upset. The playful innocence with which Lataji sang that song really captured the emotions of a mother trying to cajole a sulking child. Throughout childhood it was a fun song to sing and tease Bonsai when she would needlessly mope or brood. The music of this song was given by the duo of Laxmikant – Pyarelal. Between 1963 – 1998, Lataji recorded 712 songs with them which is the highest number of compositions she sang with any music director. If we are counting then her top 3 music directors after Laxmikant – Pyarelal were Shankar Jaikishan (453), R.D. Burman (327) and C Ramachandra (298) with Kalyanji Anandji at a close 297 next.

Lataji with Shankar Jaikishen gave us some absolute classics that are evergreen and of course “Ehsan Tera Hoga Mujh Par” is at the top. But one other hauntingly melodious creations of the trio, for me, is “Ajeeb Dastaan Hai Yeh”. This is another song where Lataji has empowered the melody and incorporated control to convey more than what the lyrics could. Another one is from the movie Saanjh Aur Savera. While Suman Kalyanpur has sung some of the songs from the film no one could have sung “Manmohan Krishna Murari” like Lataji did. The unconditional devotion pours out of every note. This is one bhajan that I have been singing regularly now because it is attemptable, and her singing is just inspirational.

“Bekhudi Mein Sanam” is a song I recently recorded as I had to sing it to get out of my system. I had been humming it incessantly and once when accidentally my mic was on during a zoom meeting. Embarrassed to the core, that I night I sung it finally. Obviously, it is no patch on the original, but it is a great example of the nostalgic classics that we got when Lataji sang with Kalyanji Anandji. The other one being “Chandan Sa Badan” a song in raag Yaman that I attempted just last night! 

One of my all-time favourite Bollywood soundtracks is Aandhi. This is RD Burman’s pinnacle in my view. And this album would not have been what it is without Lataji. The call to love with “Is Mod Se Jaate Hain” to the acknowledgement of love with “Tum Aa Gaye Ho” and finally the acknowledgement of the longing for love with “Tere Bina Zindagi Se”. None of these songs would have their souls had it not been Lataji breathing life into them. What an incredible voice and musical talent house she was! It seems unbelievable that she has transcended to be with the Gods, the creators of music. Think of it, while she sang for RD Burman, she also sang for his great father SD Burman. Remember "Katon Se Kheench Ke Ye Aanchal" and the "Guide" soundtrack? She also sang for mothers and daughters - Tanuja and Kajol are one example!

As we moved to Bombay, we had the absolute fortune of attending her last live concert in the city. There was a massive live orchestra and then there was the much anticipated performance of “Ye Kahan Aa Gaye Hum” with the Bollywood numero uno Amitabh Bachchan. Shiv-Hari are classical maestros, and they outdid themselves in scoring the songs of “Silsila”. The music is a class apart! When the orchestra played the opening notes my toes started tingling, but I will never ever forget the sensation that shot through me when Lataji started singing this song. I have always been very partial to this song. It was this melody that made me want to visit Keukenhof and as an MBA student I saved for a trip to visit the Tulip Gardens. That day, walking through the rows of flowers, I kept listening to Lataji’s live performance of this song. At every step of life she seemed to have been there with the music, with her voice.

It sounds silly as I am even thinking of writing this next bit, but however stupid it may sound, given the vast repertoire of bhajans and Bollywood classics that Lataji had garnered I never even thought about hearing her work in her native Marathi. A few years ago, a friend shared her music collection on a thumb drive. She is an ardent music lover and a Maharashtrian so of course I had the opportunity to skim the surface of Marathi music. And in that came a beautiful Sant Dyaneshwar composition “Mogara Phulala”. I was completely soaked in this composition. Speaking to my friend I realised that while the voice was that of Lataji, the music was composed by her brother Pandit Hridaynath Mangeshkar. The entire family is blessed by Ma Saraswati and today I pray that she grants them the strength to carry on without the matriarch.

If I do not make a deliberate attempt, I will not stop penning today. How can one when she has sung some 30,000 songs in 36 languages, across genres and generations! But I have to stop. 

As I paid my last respects to this musical genius and goddess, what struck me was stuning. Maybe my restarting my training yesterday was very timely because I had her blessings while she was here on this planet. My eyes are still moist, and my smile remains but the smile is no longer of irony but of gratitude. 

They say that the soul takes a few days to transcend from this mortal world to the abode of the Gods. Any attachments, here, make that transition difficult. I pray that the love that the nation has for Lataji makes it easier for her to reach the abode of Ma Saraswati so that she can bless us all forever and ever. So filled with deepest of gratitude, I thank her for the music that she has blessed us with.

Music & I

 Long Post Alert* 

Through the multiple schools of childhood where I carefully made friends, through all the turbulent and exhilarating years of adolescence and then through the journey across countries and companies as an adult; I have had one steadfast companion, one constant, and that has been music. With both parents being ardent music lovers I believe music is a blessing that I inherited from them. They furthered that interest and left no stone unturned to get us exposure to varied genres, and musical education both vocal and instrumental. 

A large part of summer holidays were spent at Nana Nani house in Jaipur. Mother had grown up there and had the fortune to have learnt under Pandit Vishwa Mohan Bhatt. So she was hopeful that one of her daughters would also have that luck. I was the chosen one, maybe because she had caught me multiple times recording songs that I heard playing on the many LPs at home. I went to Guruji to learn the Sitar at the onset. A restless me found it quite a tall ask to sit in the required position for the duration of the class. I would shift and fidget. So after the first few classes he told mother that maybe she should be less hopeful, which is when she requested that he teach me vocal. At her request he mustered courage to give me one more shot. Well I passed that litmus test and during those holidays I learnt from him; my fortune. 

As a child I had no appreciation for the depth of Hindustani Classical. I enjoyed it tremendously though and with all modesty I say that potentially at that age I could read the notes of a bandish and put the melody together, a task that today is nearly impossible for me. Tiwari sir was a very soft spoken and patient musician. He used to play the tabla at school and mother requested him to train me in Hindustani Classical while school was in session. He kindly agreed and I was introduced to the Bhatkhande system. Why do I remember these details to date is because of one particular incident. 

I was probably seven or eight years old when I was told at school that I would need to perform two songs at the annual day - one Hindustani Classical and one Western composition. Both teachers said that I could select what I wanted to sing and get it cleared from them. English was easy. I went to Yashoda ma'am saying I wanted to sign Abba's I have a dream, a song which to this day is one of my favourites. She consented and agreed to train me! Bless her. To this day I hesitatingly share my bhajans and writings with her. I just cannot disappoint her after all the efforts she put into us lot.

So one song decided, I began to search for the Hindustani Classical bandish. Not sure why, but I was a lot more particular about this one and so sat with the Bhatkhande book daily until one fine day I stumbled on two that captivated me. One was a raag Yaman composition and the other was raag Asawari. I do not understand the raag system well even today, back then I was a total illiterate in that respect. Tiwari Sir made the final selection and Asawari is what he taught me, with a Tarana and all. I remember that composition to date down to the last swar. How blessed were those days. 

After that, summer holidays were not with Guruji. Why, I don't know and before that thought even crops up in your mind, no the reason was not the restless or the fidgety me. However, instead we had a masterji come to Nana Nani house to teach bhajans to all of us cousins. That was my favourite time of the day and it used to be my endeavour to please him the most as well and be his favourite disciple. Here is what that led to. 

Masterji used to come in the evenings and have his evening tea while we kids had our evening milk. Given that we were at the grandparents' house, milk meant cold coffee, a luxury that was a mere dream for the remainder of the year. So there came a point where I decided that I would make masterji's tea and the cousins' cold coffee. I was probably nine or ten and no more. The family's trusted helping hand, Mr Lanky, was there to supervise and guide. Except for one day I could not find the ground sugar powder that went into the coffee. I waited but Mr Lanky was not making his way to the kitchen. So I went into Nani's bhandarghar (pantry) and after opening a few boxes found the white powder. I put that into the smaller container that had its place in the kitchen and went about my chore. I gave tea to masterji and cold coffee to the cousins. Masterji drank his tea but the cousins said that the cold coffee tasted different. Who cared about siblings when masterji was happy. So I turned a deaf ear. 

The next day a similar reaction came my way and I returned my indifference. The third day one cousin complained of stomach ache at night and we all wondered what had we eaten but no one could put a finger on anything. Nani house seldom had food from outside. So the next evening as I was making tea for masterji, I decided that the stomach ache candidate should not drink cold coffee and took out one glass less. That is when Mr Lanky walked in. He asked me why there was one less glass and I said that cold coffee may not be the best beverage for someone with a stomach ache and authoritatively asked him to pass me the small container of powdered sugar. He was wasting my time. I had to get the tea quickly to masterji. As Mr Lanky was passing me the container he removed the lid and shouted in horror , " is this what you have been putting in the cold coffee!" An indignant me said, "yes. I found it all by myself when you were not here to guide and I also give this fine sugar to masterji". Oh he burst into splits! Apparently I had been using flour, as in plain white refined flour, in my tea and coffee instead of powdered sugar! That explained the stomach ache to everyone and to my embarassment in front of masterji. He was gracious though and said nothing but only smiled. I am red as a tomato even as I write this....

Back to music. Masterji taught us a number of bhajans but two have stuck with me for their melodies and yearning. One is Surdas' "Prabhuji more avagun chit na dharo" and the other one is the raag Yaman based "Sada Shiva bhaja man nisdan". Masterji's tutelage, apart from that one incident was very uneventful or so it seemed then, but today I realise that it was that early learning which instilled in me the appreciation for bhajans and the emotions that it brings out. Masterji's deep voice along with the harmonium reverberates in my ears even today. I wish I could go back to those days..

Coming to think of it Yashoda ma'am and masterji both have to be credited for introducing me to folk music and patriotic songs. Masterji taught us Rajasthani folk songs which also helped me pick up Marwari, a language that amongst sisters and cousins probably I have the best grasp on. Oh of course this is not a modesty post; or was it supposed to be! Oops! One of the most memorable Rajasthani folk songs he taught is the fun filled "Anjan ki seeti mein mharo man dole" completely ruined by Bollywood's insistence to modernise almost everything! Yashoda ma'am's contribution to my musical memories is endless but the top one has to be "Himadri tung shring se prabhudh shudh bharti", a Jaishankar Prasad poem set to music that is a tribute and a call of duty to the armed forces.

As we moved to Malaysia we were introduced to the Organ. I described then as a combination of the keyboard and the Piano. Father insisted that we use the opportunity to acquaint ourselves with the Western classics. So a tutor came to teach us and an Organ was purchased (it still is with us albeit only ornamentally). Bonsai refused to learn and got away with it. Sequoia excelled at reading music and was the teacher's pet. I on the other hand, enjoyed playing by ear and could reproduce the melody with my eyes closed but abhorred reading notation. As a result I was an average and slow student. While this was not a mutually satisfactory relationship, it was this period that I delved deeper into the old Bollywood classics. And that started a love affair which continues to date. 

Going to school, across the border in Singapore seemed glamarous but was arduous. My classmates spoke Chinese, a language that todate is foreign to me. I had just a friend or two and for a people person like me it was an identity crisis. That's when music came to my rescue. The local radio played old Bollywood classics at night. So once everyone was asleep, I would sneak downstairs to where the music system was, switch on the radio and spend time with my one steadfast companion. It brought me peace, joy and hope. I would dream and smile and wait for times where I was more content. 

When we moved to Mumbai mother decided it was time to restart my training. Once again I was lucky to find a teacher who was a great Ghazal singer. His classes were strenuous but extremely intriguing. It taught me breath control like I had never experienced before. I got hooked to Jagjit Singh and must have spent tonnes of pocket money buying his music. This was also the time that country music came into my life and John Denver and Shania Twain were in my top 5. But this period too was short lived as engineering became the reality of my life. Music in varied forms stayed in my life but the discipline of practice and training stopped. 

As I moved to London, Opera and I made acquaintance and started to enjoy each other's company. I also started listening to Western classical, fusion, world and Hindustani Classical music. It was a period where my knowledge of music genres grew. Whether it was a Bon Jovi concert or a U2 concert, whether it was Pandit Vishwa Mohan Bhatt or Ustaad Zakir Hussain performing, whether it was the Opera or the Jazz club; I was soaking in regular performances. Pizzas with jazz became an event to save for. Mama Mia, Phantom of the Opera were seen twice or thrice over. It was a time that made me musically richer and monetarily more disciplined to be able to afford the musical  richness! 

Finally when I moved back to India the Benevolent One decided that it was time I restarted my Hindustani Classical training. He wrote a note for the karta dharta of Bhartiya Vidya Bhavan. I knew once I went there with that note I would get into the class I wanted. But I was probably not ready yet and so I tarried in indecision. It was next father's turn to twist my ears a bit. He called a family acquaintance asking for a guru for me. One was duly suggested, however, guruji's condition was that he would come and meet the family. If he found us to be musically inclined only then would he accept me a student. Wow! This was almost like a pre cursor to an arranged marriage proposal. And before your mind starts conjuring images there was no nervousness or display. But it was a judgement day just like that. 

Guruji took to father immediately and it was more because of him that he took me on as a student. The day of the first class the tanpura started and I was asked to just sing the Shadja or the Sa. All the efforts of all my earlier teachers, the inheritance of parents and the years of listening did bear fruit and I hit the note immediately and was in tune. Guruji listened for 50seconds and then asked me to stop. He heaved a sigh of relief saying, " after I accepted you as a disciple I realised that I had not heard you. What if you were tone deaf or had no idea about swar! These had been bothering me, but you have potential. And I will work with you." That was literally music to my ears, literally! 

So my courtship with classical music began and since the last five or six years Hindustani classical, old Bollywood classics and bhajans have been my go to music. In between I do turn to other genres of course and to Abhijit Pohankar's fusion music, but what brings me solace is the former. 

Once I started riyaz I started enjoying sitting with music. I became less hesitant to mother listening to my riyaz. In fact I liked her inputs from time to time. On nights that I worked late I would think if I should sleep in late and postpone class but the drive to improve kept me from cancelling. What I realised on the contrary was that even with less sleep, a music class helped me put in the same number of hours with the same energy. I started recording our sessions and would listen to them in the car. It helped me spot errors and improve. I was enjoying. And then as I broke out of the constraints of my range, my paternal grandmother passed on. Classes were put on hold for a month and a half. When we restarted I had lost some ground and so took time to get back to the pace of learning I enjoyed. As I got to that level and started enjoying, the Benevolent One decided it was time for Him to transcend to His abode in heaven. It was blow and a big one. But He had wished me to learn and so I restarted. Work had been mentally wringing which was having physical consequences but I kept learning and was growing slowly. It was one foot in front of the other. Music kept me sane through those times. And then when I found my mojo again Nani passed on. 

That 25th January as we landed in Delhi and Sequoia texted to say she and Pape Smurf were at the airport I knew Nani did not wait for us to reach. But it also struck me hard that everytime I was beginning to enjoy music I had lost someone. Was this a relationship that got me bad luck. Was this a relationship that was not meant to be. These thoughts paralysed my momentum and I stopped learning. 

Soon Covid hit and in person classes were not possible. Guruji called. We could do whatsapp and / or zoom classes. But my fear and anxiety had a strong hold on me. I was unable to get out of that mindset but I could not live without singing. So I started singing a bhajan every weekend. For accompanying music I played the keyboard and then later discovered a karaoke app. Slowly I was singing and recording more than bhajans. It became a nightly ritual to sing one song before going to bed. My bhajans got appreciation and the most validating appreciation came from mother who knows this kala so well. I started to feel maybe I could have music in my life and it was not a doomed relationship.

The thought to give music and me another chance was brewing in my head, when Guruji called again. They say you don't accept a Guru. It is a Guru who decides that he wants to invest in you, guide you and help you learn. In my case, his call demonstrated just that. Guruji called. We spoke and the next thing I know we are fixing a date to restart. 

As I wait to meet Hindustani Classical again, I am excited and I am nervous. Music is important to me and I want this relationship to succeed. I do not want to think ahead and I do not want to jinx it. I am soaring as well as I am hesitating. And because I want the universe to help me in my journey I took pen to paper and am writing this down, hoping that with all of it out there the Gods will have mercy and will help me attain my dream this time round. 

Keep tuned in for my progress...

 

Ladakh

I could feel myself burning. My limbs were so heavy that I could 

not move even an inch. My eyes were glued shut. My voice was 

being held hostage inside the chord cage. My only option seemed 

to be to continue lying down as I had been. The head felt as if a 

boulder was weighing on it. Sleep seemed a million eons away and 

yet I knew I needed to be able get some rest.

Unable to find an alternative I remained on the bed, feeling the fever rise. But I needed a distraction, something to take my mind off of all that the virus was causing. If not sleep, I needed to relax so as to help my body get through this first night. Music, my all time remedy, could not be a comforter. I had no energy for music. So I decided to shut my eyes. Some solace would come my way, I was sure. 

And as I heard the faint late night traffic move, my mind started playing the reel of our journey to and from Khardungla. Even through the strains tying my muscles, I could feel myself smile. Ladakh. I could feel peace fighting to enter my body. The trip in September had rekindled my love affair with the mountains, a love that I had long forgotten. I always knew mountains made me smile wider than beaches, made me sing sweeter than did the waves and made me soar higher than salty sunsets. Somewhere I had lost that loving feeling. But Ladakh came and I was a teenager who had found her first love. That emotion settled in me, I needed no distraction because I was transported back to the paradise of India. 

Khardungla had stirred my pot.  The number of vehicles and people trying to pass through, get a customary picture, and grab a cup of tea was an interesting sight. Yet it was freshly white, uniquely spiritual and uncannily calm. As the mind played that reel it also seemed to hum the melody Jaan Nisaar from Kedarnath. I had no means to understand why this melody then, but as I am writing I think it's because in the last few years I have terribly missed the mountains and do not want to make that mistake again... न मारेगी दीवानगी मेरी, न मारेगी आवारगी मेरी, के मारेगी ज्यादा मुझे मौत से नाराज़गी तेरी। No more staying away.

The mind was helping me and the reels kept pace. The next one that came up, when I had experienced it in person, had excited my core and calmed my being all at once. This was the drive from Leh to Upshi to Chumathang before getting to Tso Moriri. A scene crafted for the big screens by a graphic artist, this drive had the grey, purple and brown mountains running on one side of the highway with the faint blue river running alongside. In spots there were trees crowding together and then there was sparse land with red and brown sand. Soon came sudden oases of red, orange and green foliage humming of autumn and then very slowly they faded away. Had the virus not caused my heart to beat like a train on the track, with this memory it surely would have flown away. 

But nothing could have prepared me for what came next - Tso Moriri. As the visuals from the lake started to play, my heart beat began to relax. The clear blue skies above were cradling the lake in the crib of the mountains. Tears started to unglue my eyes. The setting sun had created an orange and golden crown atop the snow capped peaks. My limbs started to get some of their life back. Standing a top the viewing point, looking at the horizon where the turquoise and deep blue waters of Tso Moriri melted into the glorious mountains, I felt as if this truly was paradise. The biting cold felt like a lush lullaby soothing away all the tenuous knots of worldly concerns. The other tourists,  like birds on a winter evening, flew away from my vision. I just stood there in stillness, absorbing the mighty mountains and the lucious lake. It felt I was in the sanctum Santorum and nothing could touch me. As I relived that evening my first omicron night, all my heart could do was hum मैं सर झुकाए खड़ी हूँ प्रीतम , के जैसे मंदिर में लौ दिये की। 

Tso Moriri waters were sweet. So much so that lying on the bed I craved a sip of the same. The calmness I encountered at the shores of the lake the next morning cannot be explained in words. What I can say is that the same stillness got my body to relax and rest such that even though sleep still alluded me, I felt lighter. The weight from my limbs was gone. The eyes moist were now open. My voice had got itself unhooked, and even though I was still burning I was lighter. I got up from the bed, had a sip of water and said a prayer of thanks. One day I will go back to Ladakh. I will travel there to feel all that and more again. And till that day I will continue to be grateful for the mountains and for the memories of Ladakh. 

The waves and the whirlpool

The second Covid wave was brutal. My days started at six in the morning and ended way past midnight. In between work and chores I attempted to connect the needy to the ones with means. Very often I felt like a hustler. On occassions I hated the fact that there was just not enough; enough time, enough resources, enough energy, enough compassion or enough decency. There were multiple extreme frustrations and there were some small wins. By the time May 2021 bid adieu, I started to look at this frantic pace coming back to a more bearable rhythm. Soon it all quietened out and life came back to normal or the new normal.

 

Tonight as the ambulance sirens once again tear the dark silence, I am taken back to those dreadful days and nights. Each time the phone chimed the adrenaline rushed and the mind sat upright. However, very thankfully today the phone remains silent. It's a milder wave or so they say. Those detected positive chime this. There seems to be comfort. But these terrorising ambulance sirens take me back to those day; those days that cannot return, those days that we cannot live again. 

Maybe it's time to share what has not been said. It started on 17th of April. It was a simple message of help needed in Indore. I reached out to an old acquaintance. He was gracious enough to lend some help. Well the help went some way through. The ship still seemed to be in control. The storm was rising but the vessel seemed to stay afloat. 

And then came the fateful day of 22nd of April. Like any morning I sat browsing the digital news when my phone rang. Usually one to ignore calls from unknown numbers I uncannily decided to take this call. And I had not even said hello when the lady on the other end started to beg for help, "Ma'am you have to help. He is unable to breathe. Please help his saturation is at 60". I could not have heard this correctly. So I ignored the last bit and with complete composure took stock of the situation. His fever had not taken a turn for the worse but his breathing had. What the doctors had labelled typhoid was actually Covid. The city of Kanpur was seemingly out of oxygen and an urgent hospital bed was needed. 

I hung up and called a known doctor knowing I would get some help or guidance. Instead I encountered pure unadulterated arrogance. "You do what you want and call who you want but we will not admit your patient". The lack of compassion is not what shook me. But it was the sheer conceit; the unleashing of power that this life saver held. Not to cower down I called HR for reinforcements. The machinary started churning. I was going to put all effort to ensure this life was saved. So I dialled someone with political connections. Worst case I would have another dose similar to that of the doctor but my skin was leather coated by then. The response had me humbled. Compassion came pouring out with a promise to help. So now I waited and my patience was rewarded. HR had found a bed and the connect had an order from the distric magistrate to admit the patient. Having hustled many oxygen cylinders of all shapes and sizes, team HR and family now prayed as the healthcare workers took him in. The air was ripe with anxiety. It had been a tough five hours but we now had hope. Suddenly my phone rang and it was over; the help had come a little too late. There was nothing more to hold on to, no more hope and no point in prayer. I slumped in my seat and I stared. Words, tears, emotions; I was bereft of all things seemingly human. Twenty minutes later I started going about my meetings and obligations to inform stakeholders of our loss and put the next steps in motion. Nightfall came, ambulance sirens filled the suspending gloom and sleep decided I had to repay for my failed attempt. The storm was a whirlpool. 

For the next three weeks I spent hours in trying my hardest to ensure that there would be no repeat of 22nd April. The first small satisfaction that came was when on a Sunday we were able to get timely help for an acquaintance's mother in law. The price was 3x but we got help. The next was when a desperate couple were led to a refilling station to have an urgent refill of their oxygen cylinder and rush back home. The wife was grateful and apologetic at the same time; grateful for finally having refilled and apologetic for breaking the queue. But the one that I feel most grateful for was being able to help the teacher who we got timely to the hospital. Both her children were away and God ensured we could be a conduit of help. The whirlpool was not sucking me in anymore. I was swimming on the top. 

A neat methodology was put in place to transport goods from one part of the country to other. A chain of people was formed to organise consults, oxygen and medicines. A number of strangers came together to provide help when the above two failed. It seemed that the whirlpool was ready to spit me out; and eventually it did. But when I landed I was fatigued. So July and August were spent in replenishing the energies and from there on life came back to normal. 

What I missed, however, were the bruises. As the sound of the sirens tonight send the bile up my throat I wonder why is the pain so excruciating? Why is the adrenaline not rushing to my rescue? Why is the body still? And in an answer to these questions I am seeing the unhealed bruises, those who with just the sirens are getting scratched again. 

Writing has always been cathartic and so I took the pen to the paper and started writing this piece. This may be a milder wave but it is a wilder wave. I need to regain the strength and the calm to tide this without coming in contact with the whirlpool. With this post out there, I am hoping that I will be able to deal with ambulance sirens without the bile. That every friend messaging with a positive detection news will be cheered and comforted. That every instance I will pull myself towards the life boat and away from the whirlpool. Here is hoping that this wave ebbs with the same pace with which it rose and that we will all heave a sigh of relief soon.

Sunday Ramblings

This is a war and not a battle; and to win this war, every small unit has to brave on. These were my thoughts as I woke up this morning. The night before I had gone to bed thinking of how the world has changed. How the daily sights and sounds have altered, bringing in regularly, the not so good ambulance sirens and the divine sunsets that previously one travelled far and wide for. It's really become a life of soldiering on.

The smallest unit in this war is the individual. And like in every way the units need to be patient, resilient, alert, prepared and most importantly adhering to protocol. It is tough following a daily routine of home chores and work, not being able to socialize, and cleaning and sanitizing every object one comes in contact with. Yet we need to be resilient in continuing with this new protocol. We need all our strength to be patient till that day when we can start socializing again. We need to be alert to our body and our mind because those are what we need to prepare the most against the vicious enemy, the virus! 

All units need reinforcement in the time of war. That timely call for help can draw the fine line between victory and a bravely lost battle. The help has to be for self care, mental and physical. The help has to be for those around us who need comforting or continuing with daily routines. The help has to be for the extraordinary circumstances that may arise. Being alert and prepared, one needs to draw on from others because right now we are all in the same boat! 

Community as a unit cannot be ignored. And that is where responsibility towards one another matters. We need to be empathetic in our approach of patient, resilient protocol administering. We need clear and alert communication of the situation, protocol and preparedness. And we need to respond in time and without discrimination in a call for help. But above all we need to know that if the individual does not do it's ask, the community accountability will not be of any use. 

Lastly it is the bodies of governance who make available the infrastructure, the enablers and the line of sight. Our governance bodies need to adopt more agility, higher tuning with the ground level events and suspend their own personal agendas till the war has been won. Once that their own battles can restart and they would not have lost much. But if personal ambition supercedes the larger goal, there will be no use of having achieved own goals. 

These are tough times that are drawing on mankind's ability to survive. And that not only means adapting ways we live, but also the way we think, execute and relate. Once this is over, those nations that come on top will be the ones who will emerge powerful, stronger and more united. Those that fall behind will have generations of pain that will be difficult to ease. We have the choice and we have the might. Question is whether our sight is fore or narrow...

A New Flight

In this topsy-turvy time, the one thing that has remained steadfast is the daily sunrise and sunset. In these uncertain times, the one thing that gives hope is the unrestricted and uninhibited flights of the soaring birds. In these strange times, the one thing that brings familiarity and comfort are those who you can be with. And that is what I saw as I walked this sixtieth evening of the corona quarantine times.

As the phone clicked to capture this image, I could not help but smile in gratitude and humility. Both the emotions came from three very different angles, three that I thought of sharing.

The very first one is in gratitude of nature and in humility of how even today, after humanity has plundered so much of it, nature seems to be working constantly to sustain humanity. The sun still shines to give us food, the rivers still flow to give us water and the wind still blows to ease the heat. Nature may want to reclaim its glory, but it is not blazing Armageddon. The warning shot may be with rage but not in revenge. It is those open spaces that have not been plundered to be populated by mankind that are sanctuaries of safety, and ready to take those who will accept the unfamiliar ways of life. Such love, compassion and tolerance are the most prominent traits of mothers and it is no wonder that from time in memorial we have been taught of the beauty of mother nature and mother earth. I bow down to the greatness of these mothers who are trying to forgive us and help us find a new way of life that may be more of collaboration and co-existence.

The second one is in gratitude of the untiring and heroic service of the front line workers, and in humility of the unrelenting human spirit.  These have not been easy times even for those who have comfort of a roof on their heads and food in their stomachs. And in these times when you want to be with the ones you love the healthcare workers are rallying day after day to ensure that they can help as many recover as possible, not just from corona but from other ailments as well. All the while being the most vulnerable to this so far incurable infection. Just as them, it is the law enforcers who hear the brickbats and the criticism and yet are out there to ensure that they can maintain discipline which is the first line of prevention in the current times; even if it means they catch the virus. Joining these brave forces are the city sanitation and cleanliness workers who are ensuring that the spread of other diseases is curtailed, the public transport employees who are getting all of the above to their stations of duties, the logistics teams ferrying medicine and food globally and locally to make sure everyone has enough, those who are getting the essentials to you and me putting themselves at risk and then there are the volunteers. There are so many other segments who are working to keep life as uncomplicated as it can be, that I cannot name them all here, but I sincerely salute them all.

And last but not the least I am in gratitude of the those who told me I was being a romantic, forcing me to see the other side of the coin and I am humbled by their acceptance of the stark reality. At the start of the pandemic, as India went into a lockdown, I said India would never be the same again. Of course, the world was never going to be the same again but the romantic in me theorised that this was the nation’s second world war moment. The moment where the millennials stopped to spend and started to save, where the entrepreneurs stopped to cut the pie and started to cooperate to grow the pie, and where the politicians forgot their differences and adopted bipartisanship to sail us through to the other side of the storm. What the last two months have highlighted though is while the millennials may be seeing a new way of life, our industry and political system is far too hard wired to bring in the shake that we need. It has been disappointing to say the least!  We could have done a lot more and for a lot less! We could have done for a lot more with a lot less! There truly have been some great decisions but the setback is when we look at some of the more recent decisions. They are not just confounding but incomprehensible. I want answers and have reached out for them but am but a mere ordinary citizen and hence received only what I deserve: silence. My balloon deflated, I feel defeated because probably naïve as it was, I overinvested in the belief of good and the judgement of the wise.

Yet in this defeat lies victory: victory of the human spirit of which mine is a part! I may have learnt a lesson but I am ready to embrace this new normal, ready to embody the sun daily and do my part, ready to hope again and fly with the birds and ready to stand with those who are mine because they are the ones who I answer to and who understand.

Be well and stay safe!