Running After Truth - Guest Post by Navin Dutta

Note - This is a very long post, but every small length of it is worth digging into. It happens to be one of the most fascinating, and comprehensible write-ups I have read/heard, which deal with a subject as complicated as the definition and pursuit of truth, but decodes it with the help of instances and characters that have been a part of childhood. This childhood is what constitutes the fabric of our collective memories, and there-in lies the kernel of truths of life as we know them. Read, and ponder. 

******

Prologue

Truth is belief. Truth is reason. Truth is passion. To be truthful, to me, is also to be moral. Truth is intent. Truth is outcome. Truth is death; the harshest one. It is also life. I believe it should lead me to peace. That is how I see it or want to see it.

Truth is understanding why are we here. Does it make any difference? Our actions? Or may be only some action by some stalwart in his time matters. So does this mean the rest of us are living life like insects? To say that is such a wrong thing. Do insects play no role? Or is that our role is similar to those insects i.e., in completing some sort of a cycle? Seeking truth is about answering so many simple questions that have not so simple answers. Truth is a quest.

 

The author, pondering over his truth

Truth of a Teenager

For three decades or so, I have been around observing, trying to get hold of the flawsophies in understanding the real meaning of life, of why and how and what. The first decade of my life was perhaps the best. After that I started indulging in a paranormal activity called thinking – one of the bigger blunders I have sketched so far. Why is that you ask. Hmm… I think for that you will need to know the nature of my indulgence with the world around and perhaps my own the realm of thoughts. In fact there are so many aspects of my existence, that I really do not understand them all. Whenever I tread that path of pursuit and speak to my fellow peers and friends, I come back empty handed. And with every such attempt my belief in Darwin's theory stands reinforced, getting convinced that we have descended from apes.  But let’s focus on trying to uncover the essence of truth.

As a kid, I have lived a life of blissful ignorance. I have lived in the times of Chacha Chaudhary and Saboo. I have lived to believe that He-Man was one of the masters of the universe. However funny it may sound to you, I would scathe the fields with a stick and shout in all the glory - "I have the power".

Somewhere, I actually felt that I had the power. I would rescue all the butterflies, when kids from the block would ran around trying to capture them. I felt heroic. It was like saving the world from the harsh, cruel truths. That thought, perhaps, was my first tryst with truth. Since then it has been a journey of sorts.

I believed in some things so dearly and fiercely that they held the status of the absolute truth that could ever exist, if it exists that is. To share with you a long kept secret, I believed I could fly. Not like a bird would fly, but I believed while jumping I could punch air underneath my feet and take off even higher. The jig was this - I would jump off the ground and paddle in the air to go higher. And then I would come down. The next time I would go even higher. These mini-flight were a treat of the awesomeness that I had access to. I would smile and, again, slash the air with the stick in my hand and exclaim - "I have the Power!!!"

Growing Up

And then it stopped. I grew up.

I was not under the cognitive overload poor kids these days have to face. I had access to many comics and scriptures that induced fascination to do things beyond one’s reach, to save the world and feel proud. One such book was "Jatak Kathayein" that had Buddhist stories, each with a moral. They inspired enough to make me fan of Gautama Buddha.

I didn't quite understand him then but I knew there was something common between us. Something that really connected us. It was his pursuit of truth. When this hit me, I was so motivated to pursue truth further that I seriously wanted to leave my home, everything and go. Sadly I was never able to do so, else I would be an enlightened soul today.

Talking of enlightenment, I think I was afraid of the dark. It freaked me out to the brim of crazy. We have frequent power cuts in the small towns, which facilitated many encounters between darkness and me. These encounters became my moments of introspection, faith and belief.

For clear differentiation between truth and untruth, right and wrong, just and unjust, I would try all sorts of methods to meditate and become the enlightened soul I had always read about - the know-it-all kinds; but not like a babajee of course. I also wanted to have the love of my life with me, around me. I wanted to love her to the best I can; write poetries, sing songs, dance, make merry, and I would not leave her like Siddhartha did. Not at all, if she was as pretty and intelligent as Yashodhara was described in those books. Sane. Pretty. And at the same time a very dedicated partner.

Companionship?
A painting the author drew, inspired by Leonid Afremov

I have had this strong urge to set out and explore the course of life like a river, to not be contained but be out there. While I do not want to sound any smarty pant, I realized that my peers - my friends at school and my sisters, were not like me. I was different. I do not know how. I felt I was in the crowd but aloof. I did enjoy company, but there was a sense of solitude that I enjoyed more. How did it compare? Perhaps that’s a question I’m still negotiating. I find in me a recluse who would enjoy sitting on a rock on top of a mountain and feel the joy of having achieved the climb. Maybe I don't fit. I find myself socially awkward and I have mixed feelings about that.

It is not that I don't long for a friend with whom I could share without inhibitions. It is also not that I don't long for companionship. I do. Just like anybody. I hate the void. I long to hold hands and feel assured. Or feel secure and loved in a hug. I crave for that. But I would never initiate it. I would rarely ask for it when needed. Instead, I while away. I drift. I think this is also because my parents, though loving, have been very firm and inexpressive. They have taught me not to rely too much on others and do things by myself, to be by myself. I love them, and so do they, yet rarely do we hug. It takes such an effort. Really. Sounds crazy? Well that’s how it has been.

Anyway, getting back to story of truth, now you know how similar my life then was to that of Siddhartha; except that I didn't have a loving wife, a kingdom to rule but we shared the same notions to run after truth, to seek answers. I used to think about it and discard the thought of abandoning home, mulling - "I am barely 12. Siddharth left home when he was 29". Now, I realize that he was more decisive than I am or ever will be.

The Spider Bite

Every now and then, I would see the futility and worthlessness of my existence and try to ascertain whether or not I’ll make a dent in this universe. In fact there were so many ways that I could sneak in and punch the whole strata that I started exploring, and the more time I spent exploring, the more I realized how insufficient my experience was. I had taken a plunge and it was a fall. I needed the right terminal velocity or I would drown in the history or perhaps in my own unfinished dreams. I needed the right pull before I could catapult my ideas in search of truth. I think it started, when I was 7. It was then when I was first introduced to Spidey. Yes. Our very own Spiderman from the friendly neighbourhood.

Now Spidey, I found, was an interesting character. He had similar notions of pursuance. Yes, I am talking about the truth. The urge to go beyond what is in your reach and help the world in better ways.

As Spiderman, he would beat the bad guys; jump off buildings; weave his own truth; wear his own lie yet be loved by all. As Peter he was good at studies; he was respected by girls; he helped the needy and did all this as a common man. So he was master of both his universes, not just one. To top it all, he didn’t have to leave Mary Jane. He knew exactly when to switch roles. Sadly later in the story I realized, that like Yashodhara’s case, he had to distance himself from MJ. This became a point of my concern. A serious one. Both these fair ladies were very committed to their heroes, still had to live a life of lonesomeness. This truth was a little scary. What is truth if it is not shared? No better than a lie. I thought about it. Why is it that no one who pursues it so fiercely gets to live with his companion? I was finding more and more such stories, yet my craving hadn't died. The saddest part being that most of the time, the hero opts out of the relationship, despite loving their beloved so dearly. Another hero of truth, I recently found was Mahatma Gandhi. His story is similar, but let’s not go there. This post is more about my truths than his.

Through the early years of the second decade of my life, I hoped that I would someday leave all behind and go in search of truth. At times I would secretly wish that a spider would bite me and I would morph into some kind of a super hero. Sadly, none of them happened. Perchance the mosquitoes did try, but nothing substantial came out of that.

I was still a popular kid. The females would love to have me around, so much that my guy friends would get jealous and pass comments.  I guess it was I who kept these girls at a safe distance. You see, I wouldn't mind female spiders but I guess they didn’t fancy biting me. The only way to tackle this was by engulfing myself in the inky darkness, relentlessly slaughtering all the other thoughts. It was like I was under the spell of truth. Then I was stripped off that too, by deception.  Deceptions question your illusion of validity in the frames of reality in the bigger context. Truth is then judged and measured on the scale of happiness.

Peace, Satisfaction, Happiness

To ideate deeply, there are some encounters in each of our lives that invite us to pause and think about our lives. I realised while this pursuit was an honorary and cherished one in my life, it was slowly losing its charm. So far I hadn’t understood that satisfaction and happiness are two different things and absorption in a task or a routine or a drive cannot always give you both. I originally linked truth with peace, peace with satisfaction, and satisfaction with happiness. This was changing. 

So what is it that I should aspire for now if not truth? What was happening to me was no less than any hysteria. I could see there were more side effects to it. I was becoming too serious, too rational, too giving and all of that was not easy. I had my own suffering. I was beginning to understand that perhaps "no drive" is also a "drive". I also understood that circumstances that we can’t choose and the structures in life that we choose have less to do with satisfaction or happiness or peace. All of this is largely determined by temperament. It is rarely an after effect of truth. So what is the rhyme and refrain here? It is logical to view life as series of moments; each with a value; each episode with a truth of its own; connected with the intent more than outcome. The rhyme is the understanding in repetition. The refrain is questioning your very own understanding. Well that is debatable I know. And I am still hooked.

Truth Can Seduce You

While writing whatever was coming to mind, I was wondering what exactly this post is about. What is this "essence of truth" I have been talking about? Yet again, not an easy one to answer.

Are eyes the site, or medium of truth?
The author does end up drawing them a lot.

So I asked some questions. Simple questions seeking simple answers. These seemingly simple questions led to more questions, rarely offering answers, that too in bits and pieces.

"What is truth?" - I asked myself.

Truth is something that conforms to reality, is factual, is derived out of consensus; has a logical conclusion. Yet we know that truth, sometimes, is only true in a context. I am talking about relativism. 

Questions that now propped up were:

What is real? What is factual? Is it not very dependent on individual perception? Can it always be proved by some logic? Even in relativism all points are valid, and with such a premise truth may not be true out of the premise and it so turns out that it is contradictory. Can truth be self-contradictory? Doesn't relativism defy the very nature of truth itself?

What I exactly wanted to do was define it but it seemed impossible. So if it can't be defined, does it really exist? Some say such a truth can only exist in faith. Is it? I doubt.

Truth is, maybe I am here for a reason.  Or maybe truth is that there is no such reason at all. I am just blabbering. The idea of truth has seduced me for long. What came out was no less than a gaping void. In the age when boys run after girls I ran after truth.

To think of it, whatever the truth is, unless it encounters more realms than yours it is no better than a lie and it is meaningless in essence, even if it holds good. And what good is such realization that makes no difference to you or the world around? Every truth needs a meaning. Buddha found it in sharing with people, telling them what is right, leading them away from the "ladna marna" on the path of ahimsa. Spidey found it as the exact opposite. He understood he needs a mask and people would not understand his truth. They would get irritated as to why he is endowed more than a normal human.

While truth does not lead us to chaos or a safe bay, it is just the temperament that changes in how we lead our lives. For example, if you marry a person it doesn't mean he is a chest of happiness (or sorrows, for that matter) in your life. It is his temperament (and yours), more importantly, which is deterministic in actual situations.. Truth is independent of it. It does not make a dent. Temperament does. Massively.

With that in mind, truth to me, is about a belief that I would want to carry all my life. Truth is supernatural and perhaps the greatest kept secret as well. Truth is political at times and also free from all reasons. Truth is passion. There are so many layers to it. I cannot define it as one clear emotion, or as one clear definition. It is an amalgamation of sorts.  Go ask the same question to people out there and you’ll get different answers each time. That’s what truth is. It is everybody's perception. What is yours?

Do you have something to offer? Then sprinkle me some truth. I am game.

*******

About The Author - Navin Dutta is some awesome, successful professional in his routine existence, but in the world where I had my first tryst with him, he is a majestic writer and a wonderful human being. He has an unbelievably rich trove of talents, which he quite consistently dazzles us with. Extra-ordinarily well-versed in most affairs of the world, humility stands out as a glaring, yet pleasant aberration in a person of his stature. The above write-up is an edited version of what he read out to an eager audience at the eleventh gathering of the Poetry and Cheap Humour group. You can write to him at dutta.navin@gmail.com or follow him on twitter by searching for @flawsophies. 

Hum Aapki Kyun Karein? - Guest post by Neelkamal Pandey

Hum aapki kyun karein?

Aapne humein paida kiya, toh kya?

Aapne kiya, hum hue! 

Hum humaari sehmati se toh nahi hue.

Hum aapki kyun karein?

Aapne humara laalan paalan kiya, toh kya?

Aapne kiya, humne liya!

Humein karke zimmedaar toh aap hue.

Hum humaari sehmati se toh nahi hue.

Hum aapki kyun karein?

Kehte ho bahut suvidhaayein di hain, toh kya?

Aapne di, humne li. 

Arre suvidhaayein thi tabhi toh di na. 

Ismein hum kahaan kasurvaar hue?

Hum humaari sehmati se toh nahi hue.

Hum aapki kaahe karein?

Doosre se tulna kyun karte ho?

Har race mein kyun bhagwana chahte ho?

Aur usmein bhi awwal number lavana chahte ho.

Ghode toh hum hain nahi, 

Kiya toh aapne manush hi hai. 

Aur who manush aaj niraash hai.

Tulna karna, race bhagwana hi hai

Toh bhai ghoda paalo na.

Manush par kaahe apna daav laga rahe ho?

Woh toh khud sansaarik jue mein vyast hai.

Us se kyun aas laga baithe ho?

Dekho, tulna karna band karo.

Ghadi, ghadi shikaayatein band karo.

Aapne kiya, ab hum ho gaye hain. 

Apne pairon par – ladkhada hi sahi – 

Par khade ho gaye hain.

Hum ab jad-buddhi nahi hue.

Hum humaari sehmati se toh nahi hue.

Vishwaas rakho, who bhi dridh.

Karenge hum kuchh adbhut, yeh kar liya hai pran. 

Parajay sweekar karenge nahi

Jeevan ki aapa-dhaapi mein ghoomenge nahi

Karenge, nishchit karenge

Vilamb hoga, samay lagega, nishchit woh bhi

Ban-na hai peepal ka ped,

Jhaad patte nahi.

Apne diye hue sanskaaron par vishwaas rakho

Thoda hi sahi, par dil ke paas rakho

Sanskaaron ke diye se bahut se aeb jalaane hain.

Atah sansaar ko apna loha manwana hai.

Aur phir,

Phir aapse wahi prashn poochhna hai.

Ki kyun kare hum aapki? 

Aaj tak nahi hare jeevan ke jue

Hum humaari sehmati se toh nahi hue. 

- Neelkamal Pandey

The poet

About the poet - Kamal, as he is known to me, is one very unique and talented kid. I have not known him for long, but in that brief period, I have seen him grow and mature - in manners difficult to put in words. He has overcome inhibitions - and the above poem is one big and priceless example of the same. Even though it begins with a strong statement, lets all understand, this poem seeks not to disrespect or subvert any established notions  - it merely is a plea, which reveals the heart which many of us felt heavy with while growing up. It is an expression, to let out that which is stifling and restricting. It is a request, a sensitive one, to be trusted for one's abilities. It is that which  most of us can relate with.

This kid is a beautiful addition to my life - and discovering him, and knowing about him has been a process I have enjoyed a lot. Among his many facets now known to me, another is that he is a prolific painter along with being a poet. Below is a painting he made as a dedication to Nirbhaya - the braveheart whose imprint will remain on our collective psyches. I only wish Kamal keeps exploring himself and the world around him, and is able to arrive at a destination which does justice to his talents. 

Ode to Nirbhaya by Neelkamal Pandey

Pyaar is PACH

Dear PACH

You know writing to you means a lot to me. A lot more than these letters are ever able to convey to you. I always thought of you as this grand entity, to whom I could write a lot of letters, about the kind of difference you make to my life - and you would give my letters a cursory glance, a benign nod at most, and then forget about it, allowing it to sink somewhere in the deluge of fanmail you get. But you, PACH, you're different. Nervous and excited, as I entered your ninth carnivalesque gathering, little did I know that you would have ready for me letters and notes and colours and brush-strokes - an entire collection of artistic treasures in response to all these words and love-filled gestures I have sent your way. Its only someone with a heart as large as yours who could have managed it - yes, you!

"P aur CH ki shaadi se kaam achchhe hue hain
Mubarak ho aapko, PACHche hue hain!"

 

Remember that day you were born? Oh, I am talking of your rebirth - not in that faraway land, but in my own backyard. That was the day you filled me with mirth, and filled three other quiet quills with inspiration. Yes. You were born as an inspiration, or better still, you were born to inspire, to motivate, to instil in tentative minds an urge to explore their dormant creative facets. I am not kidding - you can ask them around. Yes, you can ask those very faces who were waiting to burst into cheers and laughs from behind the colourful door at Bade Bhaiya's house. Tell me, aren't you glad that genuinely amazing people like Bade Bhaiya, Bhabhi, Sripriya and Amma associate themselves with you? That they not only open the doors of their house, but also of their hearts for you? That their love reaches you not just via the warm reception you get, but also through the aroma of most sumptuous, home-made food that is laid down specially for you? That Manmohan bhaiya always manages to find time to share his compositions with you despite having ultra-busy schedules? Also, aren't you, like, totally flabbergasted to have someone like Sandeep bhaiya add dollops of exuberance to your already lively existence, and then, to have him invite you over for a snug session somewhere in the chilly month of December? Yes yes, I know you are excited to go over and revel in the mutual exchange of happy, positive energies - but there is time till we get to that. 

Bade Bhaiya - "Larger Than Life"

S P Uncle, Manmohan Bhaiya and Sripriya -
I consider myself lucky to have met them :) 

I am not able to get over the love that poured out of sweet dish which Amma made for us. And the subtle cheer which Ambika bhabhi carried in her personality. And also the wisdom which poured out of S. P. Uncle's simple versus drawing a contest between technology and traditions. This time when we all met, there was a perfect confluence of enthusiasm and sagacity - an experience that can only be felt, not delineated. When the teacher and taught are present in the same room, with no walls separating them - as spectators what you get are little hints into what 'perfection' in life comprises of and what the true definition of a 'blessing' is. It all happens when you go places, PACH. And you are zooming around at a pretty mind-boggling speed. You still give us ample time to sit down and savour moments and allow them to seep deep into our beings. How you manage such crazy, magical, impossible, contradictory acts - well, its time I stopped asking you that banal question. 

When excitement was on its uphill journey 

I hope the superboss does not mind this little transgression I am going to make while whispering something into your ears. I remember this day I gave my mother a long-ish letter, written in my unbelievably grotesque handwriting, with a lot of random crayon strokes forming the background. She said nothing, merely read it and smiled - and this day, I know she was happy and proud. But more than either of them, she was surprised - because she did not think I was capable of such expressiveness (and yes, I am trying hard not to sound vain, but PACH, I know you understand. PACH always understands). I wrote that letter for no specific occasion; only because I felt like doing it, and invested great hours into perfecting each sentence, so my mother understands how important she is to my life. The sense behind narrating this non-eclectic incident to you is to try and approximate the immediate thought which occupied my head between the end of surprises and beginning of introductions. PACH, you surprised me. Well, I know thats what you intended - but no! Its not the surprise that surprised me - your capacity and capability did. Your skills and warmth did. Your eagerness to love did. Your will to share did. Your remarkable maturity did. The gleam in your eyes did. So much more did. I feel like telling you what I often tell Anup - whoever gave birth to this phenomenon, it now has acquired a life of its own. It just knows where to go, how to progress. 

"Poore PACH ka jama chittha, ek jagah chipkaya hai"

You have little idea of what you pulled off. Given a week's distance, I am in a better position to understand and appreciate the spectacle. To Neha, I need to say - I cried. I should have been howling, but I could not understand half the buzz which surrounded me. Its a great feeling to be subdued once in a while - take my word for it. I might try and repeat the mommy metaphor here - but, you get the drift. 

One day, we'll read and not eat this one :) 

Dear PACH, how does one pack so much together? Do you know what all? Drama + Mad laughs + Chocolates + Feelings + Love + Tears + Sugar + Bling + Disbelief + Riddles + Poems + Colours + Energy + Creativity + Blessings + Beauty + More disbelief + Even more love + Wishes + Fishes + Hugs + Tales + Some more love... and I'm cutting short this list only because I am too sleepy. You can still know that you made me feel infinitely special. I can go ahead and say that this was one piece missing from the jigsaw of life. Only you were capable of putting it there with all crazy, gaudy shades. 

This picture carries one of the rarer, photographed smiles of
perhaps the most prolific poet I know - Navin Dutta. I'm learning from him, each day. 

He just might be narrating his letter to his future wife here.
Wonder how many would be scurrying in his direction after hearing him out. 

I came back home and I cried. Shamelessly. I cried remembering the surprise and the things that followed thereafter. I couldn't get over the fact that people from such diverse backgrounds and experiences sat down together and shared anecdotes without any fear or inhibitions. My favourite part of the day was when a voice that has alternately and ironically been called the fairer, but second sex found expression in a poem which contained echoes from a pleading womb. A few of us related incidents where our gender became our curse, but then, the elders in the gathering assured us that things are changing - that daughters are the glory parents are eager to embrace. PACH, I felt secure among all those good people, and I am carrying the satisfaction of having arrived at a good and pure place in life. 

Nautanki! But bahut pyaari wali

Aastha didi - why could have I not met you sooner?

This letter is not even close to its end, but, I would quote the tiny princess of PACH here and rest my quill till the next (festive) tryst with you. Also, because I am sleepy and will drop dead in next five minutes. So, as Aavika says - "Kuchh baatein adhoori rehne diya karo, mann bhara rehta hai."

You see that guy in his staple red shirt?
I am proudly his fan! 

There, right there are seated some of the most awesome poets Delhi has been witness to. 

PACH, among the many epithets you've acquired, I love it when they say - Love is PACH, and PACH is love (I heard both). I'll thank you once again, with a kiss this time. I am happily, crazily in love with you. 

More love, 
Saumya
(Panda)

Alter ego. Happily so!

PS - We're meeting next a day before Diwali. You're all like family now, and it only makes sense to share some sweets and hugs with you on this grand, bright, merry occasion. No firecrackers, unless they are of the Mago variety which cause laughter mayhem whenever lighted. Even if you have never been to PACH, and are reading about it for the first time, trust my word and book this Saturday for us. Drop a mail to poetry@pach.in for an invite. We're looking forward to you all! 

I wish I had preserved this!

Heights of craziness is this - gifting me Afremov. How?

(Thanks Kamal!)

PACHyatra - to Sapera Basti, Mandi Village

Dear PACH

In my last two letters, there is much that I have told you - about you, about me and about us. All of us. However, while glancing through them again today, I realized, I left so much unsaid. You know what, lets just summarize it in two words again - Crazy and Magic. Yes. That is what I have come to understand you as. After our last tryst, I am further convinced that you are capable of doing magic, and that too in a manner which is unanticipated and plain crazy. Yes, so while you are going crazy with excited disarray in your head, people still call you organized. Fun? May be. Humbling? Sure!

I did have an idea, but I could never have created a complete image of the place where I met you this time. You took us on a trip, literally and otherwise. Had it not been for you, I would never have known that somewhere, at the end of winding roads which are like modest boulevards lined with grandiose farmhouses, there exists a village of one-time snake charmers, which does no justice to the exotic image of India which the Occident created. Given animal rights regulations, most of these villagers could not take up their familial occupation, and many had to resort to odd jobs, or contend with being jobless, yet survive. In this Basti of Saperas, we met some little faces in whose world we got lost for hours. Not some, a lot of faces, different expressions characterizing different faces - innocent, naughty, sincere, curious, sulky, blank, eager, reserved, distant; and then, I think I saw some nastiness, and some awe as well in those faces. I am sure that the young ones of the entire village had assembled with us after a point - the point at which we stopped trying to ascertain what number of children are we trying to involve in our creative session.

Meeting Elizabeth and Shibumon - the minds behind Bharat Seva Samity - was an experience I was wanting to have, and needed to have. Their story is both, lovely and inspiring. So yes, PACH, thank you for making it happen. What I need to thank you more for is the kind of amazing day you gave us, in which, my friends and I, and the little kids we had just met, left nothing unexplored in the realm of creative arts. We made the kids dance, sing, draw, recite rhymes, share ambitions, and do just about anything that made them feel happy, and open, and confident. Did you notice the bright smiles on their faces? I know you did, but perhaps you were too tired to sit back and savour all the magic you spread. Still, what you should know is, halfway through the session, a child wanted to know if we were going to come back and do all the masti with them again. I don't know about you, but I was too touched to be able to answer it.

I have many favourite moments from the day, and I think I should take out some best frames to show those to the world reading this letter along with you. So yes, here.

That is my friend Neha. Umm, twin Neha. Till about a month ago, she would need a push to share her lovingly written stories with us, and this day, she confidently places herself in the middle of all the kids to narrate a story about her favourite being in the world - her pet dog, Chintu. Kids talked about their pets as well, and I stood somewhere, really happy to know, that her stories, written keeping children in mind, are now finally reaching their destination. 

Don't see these two for what they seem like. They are generally known as Anup Bishnoi and Sidhant Mago, but here they are Chintu doggy and Dolly baby, characters straight out of Neha's story, performing antics and enthralling children. Forget children, I caught myself bursting with laughs. Yes, bursting is a good word here. 

Thats Nabila Sadiq, the sincere one among us to have carried an original poem to share with and teach kids. More than the poem, what she aspired to tell this young crowd was that its important to dream, and so dream, they must. Along with her, it was only Shrutiy Chakraborty who got a poem customized for this very special gathering, but once lost in the world of kids, forgot to share. I think PACH feels bad, and has its ears perked up for a reading among an audience which is slightly elder, but only in years. 

Though I am not sure what exactly is happening here, I can take a guess. In this setting which reminded us constantly of Sholay ('Solay', as echoed), the famous 'Kitne Aadmi The' dialogue is being played out. Popular culture works so well to engross and amuse everyone! I loved this rock, and secretly hoped that I would get to climb up and settle there. But my back. Bah. 

This picture was clicked on request - I requested this star kid to pose with me, because I like to remember good singers.  And Ankit, for that is his name, is sulking because I made him stop drawing his red car under blue clouds for this click. He sang a romantic bollywood number with confidence and innocence which only someone of his age is capable of combining. 

This tiny tot, whose name I do not remember (Jatin, may be?) troubled me the most. However, I think I made good friends with him at the end of it all. 

The laughter he spread was so contagious and effective, it was only obvious that Sidhant Mago would end up being a huge hit among all the children. The caricature a child attempted to draw of him (successfully, of course) is only a proof of what kind of love all of us received at Sapera Basti. 

Among the many rhymes we taught them, I think we did this the best. Chubby Cheeks, acting out the Dimple Chin here. What an amazing feeling it was to hear these simple, childhood words being echoed all around us in a cacophonous chorus. I have no idea when I last did this, acting out rhymes. Its good, I've done some practice before I have kids of my own. Aah, I'll try and keep my focus. 

This girl wants to go to Mumbai when she grows up - her ambition quite evident in this picture. Like all, I too was pleasantly surprised when all this talent was unleashed on us by these incredible packets of energy. 

These pretty packets were put together with much love by some resourceful PACH members, and, more importantly, enthusiastically decorated by the tiny students of Crayons and Strokes - art school run by Aastha Seth, who is the creative genius behind all the unbelievably amazing posters which announce our fortnightly poetry sessions. Isn't it a wonderful thought, that little kids from one part of our city spent a day making colourful stuff for little kids located on the fringes of our city? Fascinating, for me at least. 

This is where the madness of drawing and colouring finally started. Calling it madness is an understatement. But I know each one of us enjoyed it, most of all, Aastha di, I guess. You can see her in the back, getting ready to manage her set of learners, while Anup settles right in the middle to spend a fun and harrowing time among all these fans he cultivated. 

Why am I the crazy, laughing woman in the picture? Because a very composed and bright girl named Pooja wrote a rhyme for me, and made it pretty with all these colours and a rose. When you go along with PACH, and return with a poem as a gift, it feels as if all the pieces have fit in perfectly. 

Applauses. This is what we gave them in copious quantities. We gave a lot of love too, but then, they gave more of it back. 

So, coming back to you PACH, tell me, how do you actually lead us to such 'scintillating' highs? No, how? Those who witness the day said that this party-like class was the best they had attended. Here, this is what Duolos Jose (he, of course, the person who made this event possible) had to say about what we accomplished on Sunday, and you must hear - 

"It was the longest event in this basti, they usually get bored fast (even when I show them movies)! Your interactions (mixed with fun) had a great impact which held them back for hours. Also, I never knew that some of the kids could dance and sing so well.. even paint so well. Hopefully, an artist shall emerge from that slum some day."

So, there. I am actually short of breath as all these musings come to an end. There is one, tiny memory which lingers on. When we asked the kids - "Aap bade hokar kya ban-na chahte ho?", a boy of about 8-9 replied, "Padhe-likhe". Just that. That simple, yet not.

May be I will come back here someday.

Crazy, again.
You're all of two months, and though you are growing at an alarming rate, these are still your nascent days.
And you're just not ceasing from showing us your magical ways.

PS - You can read about Bharat Seva Samity, and Elizabeth and Shibumon here - http://www.bharatsevasamity.org/index.html

Thanks Aaqib, Navin ji and Aastha di for the wonderful pictures. How will we ever relive PACH moments if not for you all. Thanks Archana and DJ for making this happen.

I loved quoting a particular verse (half of it, perhaps) in my school days. I  don't know the poet, but I am taking the liberty of reproducing it here, hoping that in some way it applies to all those kids we met on Sunday.

"Hum toh dariya hain, humein apna hunar maaloom hai

Jis taraf bhi chal padenge, raasta ho jayega"

Among my favourite pictures from that day.

Mere Piya Gaye Rangoon...

A lot of us remember Deepal Shaw gyrating her hips in an insult of a school uniform skirt, thrusting her bosom into the camera and making all sorts of raunchy gestures to the beat of ‘Kabhi aar kabhi paar’. A lot of us will also remember the entire lyrics of the peppy ‘Saiyaan dil mein aana re’, made extremely popular in its remix avatar, and at all parties, we would’ve have chorused its ‘Chham chhama chham chham’ beat. Some of us might even remember Kajol trying her best to sing ‘Kahin pe nigaahein kahin pe nishana’ in the iconic Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge, when Shahrukh Khan eases his hand on top of Mandira Bedi’s shy fingers, assuming her to be his lady love. This song then, I feel, became an idiom to tease every person whose targets skipped away from in front of his eyes. Oh, and it is a staple at all wedding antakshari contests too!

Why these songs? Well, that’s because they are united by a voice full of life, which, ironically is being remembered at the time when it has transcended the mortal world. It is even more ironic that while we remember each word of these very hummable songs, only a minority of us will be able to recall the name behind the voice which gave character to these songs. I am talking of the inimitable Shamshad Begum, whose singing was not made up of the velvety, soft, soothing or sugary voice we so admire in our modern day singers. Her voice was husky, unconventional, bold, full of zest and conveyed a sort of mischief, which could be found in each of her renditions. Yesterday, at the age of 94, and much after she left an indelible mark on the Indian music industry, she passed away at her Mumbai residence.

Shamshad Begum forms an important part of my childhood memories. Summer vacations were spent at my maternal grandmother’s house, where, all of her six children (my mother included) were great fans of old Indian music. By old, I do not mean the R. D. Burman numbers, which are as far back as the younger generation’s imagination goes when we utter the word ‘retro’. My family was keen to dig out retro from its very roots, from before the time giants like Mohd. Rafi or Lata Mangeshkar marked their presence. I used to sulk and make faces at the ancient melodies which came out the tape recorder, and it was not until much later that I could briefly remember names of Noorjehan, Uma Devi, Zohra Bai Ambalewali, and then, Shamshad Begum.

It was my eldest mamaji, who left for his heavenly abode last year in a heartbreakingly unexpected manner, who was instrumental in making me develop a taste for old, golden music. This taste has flowered to such an extent that today, I have lyrics of an endless number of classic melodies at the tip of my tongue, and a noticeable share of those melodies belong to Shamshad Begum’s corpus. She was one of the earliest female singers to have become a part of Indian music industry, and was its reigning queen for quite long, well into the fifties, when O. P. Nayyar made her sing immortal melodies in Aar Paar and CID. Along with Geeta Dutt, she is among my favourite singers of all time. What was strikingly unique about her was that in a period where classical values were staunchly adhered to even in film music, her voice brought a rustic and folk touch, which was fresh and lively. Try listening to her songs. They will make you happy, and induce a springy feeling inside you. I do not know which was the first of her songs I heard, but one of the first which caught on my tongue was ‘Mere Piya Gaye Rangoon’. I might not have understood the meaning of the lyrics, but the song seemed funny and entertaining enough to make me enjoy singing it. Simple, with no complicated musical notes, I think songs like these are a triumph on the part of the composer, singer and the lyricists, because they so easily appeal to the audience and in some time, become a part of their culture.

Yes, Shamshad Begum’s songs are a part of our culture now. I have kept saying that she had a lively touch to her voice, but this does not mean she shied away from singing poignant melodies, one of the most memorable being ‘Chhod Babul Ka Ghar’, composed by Naushad. She was born in Amritsar in 1919, and her contributions to Punjabi music are also immense. She has sung romantic songs, wedding songs, bidaai songs, folk songs, solos, duets – there is nothing that can be said enough to effectively eulogise her music career. It can, however, be safely stated that her songs are a touchstone to judge good music. She spent her last days living with her daughter in Mumbai, and as a very delayed recognition of her talent and contributions, was awarded the Padma Bhushan in 2009 by the Government of India. Khayyam, in an interview quoted on her official website, had stated about “Her voice was one of its kind and her enunciation was wonderfully clear. She commanded a lot of respect both at the personal and professional level.”

I know many of you would not have ever heard her songs, or at least, not in her voice. It is a little different, or unconventional, from the kind of music all of us are used to hearing. But if you can find some time, here are five recommendations from me to gain an introduction to her world. These are my favourites – songs I can hear over and over again, throughout my life.

Boojh mera kya naam re from CID

Meri neendon mein tum from Naya Andaaz, a duet with Kishore Kumar

Kajra Muhabbat Wala from Kismet, a very entertaining duet with Asha Bhonsle

Yeh duniya roop ki chor from Shabnam, a cute, funny and bubbly song

Saiyaan dil mein aana re from Bahaar – I could not have left out this song at all!

A statistic states, that 70 per cent of remixed songs had originally been sung by Shamshad Begum. That says something about the kind of appeal her melodies have till date.

Another star has set on Indian music industry. May her soul rest in peace. 

(Originally written for and published on Scroll 360)