Aemon & Ira: The Beginning

(This was written nearly six years back, in the heyday of my writing, job and life in general. I always envisioned it to have a beginning, middle and end but abandoned it soon after owing to some sour experiences that transformed my life in umpteen number of ways. But I believe I cannot leave this halfway, and thus have put it up now, and hope that the middle and end too come up soon)

After nearly seven years, the three of them had gotten together. Raul lit up the last cigarette in the packet and sat next to the window overlooking the coconut grove. Vinay was already down to the bare minimum, tucked into the thin linen blanket. Aemon was frantically clicking file after file on his laptop. He had to get both seasons on a DVD before morning. He didn't want to take a risk, so he'd bought extra blank DVDs, just to be sure.

It was their best friend's wedding. All had come down from different corners of the planet. But for Aemon, this trip meant something more. Sometime you look forward to something so much and want it to be so perfect, you tend to overdo it - that's what Aemon was doing at that moment.

He finally got the last of the DVD burned. The two seasons of the shows were ready. The chocolates were ready. All bundled up into a neat little packet.

Almost perfect, he thought.

But that's when another pressing matter stumped him - all he had was a 100cc scooter as transportation. It was all about being comfortable. And there were chances it could rain.

Then, as a godsend, Vinay spoke, his voice almost barely audible in the highly snooze induced atmosphere, "Hey Aemon, can you take the car from my home tomorrow morning? We can keep it to ourselves after picking and dropping my parents back and forth from the wedding."

Aemon's eyes lit up. He wanted to kiss Vinay. But he didn't want to reveal his over enthusiasm. In a calm and composed tone, Ameon said, "Yeah. Sure."

And then as an after thought, he added, "Can I have the car to myself for an hour in the afternoon?"

Vinay gave a quizzical look, but murmured, "Yeah, you can," before dozing off.

***

The morning after was hurried. Everyone was trying to get somewhere or the other. The wedding had a star-aligned timing or muhurtam. Everyone needed to be at the temple before that precise moment.

For Aemon and Vinay, it was chauffeuring duty.

Just when they they though dropping off Vinay's parents off at the temple would free them, news came in that some of the groom's friends were stranded at the hotel. After what seemed like an eternity, and umpteen trips back and forth the kalyana mandapam, the two arrived, before the stars aligned and the seven revolutions began.

Aemon kept looking at his watch and then on to the stage, where the bride and groom preformed ritual after ritual.

It's just 12, Aemon started calculating. There should be plenty of time for me to get out. The lunch should be done by 1. I could drop off Vinay's parents and anybody else by 1.30. And then finally the car's mine.

A smug look ensued on Aemon's face.

The flow of people towards the neatly laid out row of benches and desks, where they were serving lunch followed as soon as the marriage had been solemnised. The banana leaves spread, people rushed to have their sadya.

Aemon looked at his watch again. Nearly 1. He quickly had his lunch. It's going according to clockwork. Vinay's parents waited for him outside. He rushed to get them in the car and drop them back home. That is when he received a message:

"Bad traffic. Been stuck for the past half an hour not moving an inch."

That's good, more time to see off people and no need to rush.

But he replied, "Damn it! Wrong day to take the bus!". A call and a minute later, assurances were given as to when they could possibly meet.

The chauffeuring business continued. Back and forth the temple and other destinations.

The hall started to recede of people. The bride and groom were beginning to leave for home. Pictures were being clicked all around. Aemon looked at his watch. Again. The dial was closing in on 2. The last of the cars left the temple compound. Aemon got Vinay and a couple of others and headed to the groom's place.

Before leaving Aemon dialled his phone. Still and hour away, he sighed out loud after hanging up.

***

The festivities continued back at the groom's. Familiar camera bulbs flashed all around. Family and friends started pouring in, waiting to see the newlyweds. Aemon had parked the car in the adjacent home. He came over to his friend's place and got into the greeting, head nods and socialising.

But soon after, he got a message. Almost here. That took nearly three and a half hours for a two-hour trip.

Aemon quickly excused himself, told the groom and Vinay that he would be back soon, and rushed with car to the town central bus station. The traffic was choc-a-bloc. He frantically started dialling the number. After a few minutes the call went through, and they decided to meet opposite the bus station.

Aemon scanned his eyes all around in the hustle and bustle. Finally he laid eyes on her - there she was in a white overall over a tee and jean, with a brown sling bag across. With a dimple across her cheeks and tall legs, she was tired, yet looked spritely and pretty. Aemon went just - wow! He quickly opened the door and she got in. Here she is, thought Aemon. After all those months of faceless chats and conversations, here she is sitting right next to you.

She got comfortable, sitting in her usual position - one leg tucked inside, sitting sideways. The usual conversations began - why was it late? Oh it was horrible. I'm never coming by bus ever again. 

Where should i take her? though Aemon. What do i do? I am freaking out. That's when he remembered the packet he had got for her in the glove compartment.

"Hey Ira, there's something for you in the glove compartment," he told her. Ira gave a bemused look and asked him, "You always do this, don't you? Get people stuff?" Aemon just smiled.

The smile on Ira's face was even wider when he found her favourite chocolates and two seasons of the show she was dying to watch. She thanked Aemon and immediately opened a bar of chocolate and started munching on it.

More than Ira, Aemon was pleased to see her smile. She offered him a bit off the chocolate. He accepted. Inside, he smiled more. Ok, I think i really like her.

Aemon took the longest route possible to the beach, which had the sun setting on the horizon. After parking the car at one end of the beach, opposite the century old hotel, both of them started walking. They walked with no particular topic or agenda in mind. Just a carefree conversation from anything from family and friends to likes and dislikes. They went from the interlocked beach walk onto the sands and then towards the park adjacent to the lighthouse. They hadn't had enough. They talked some more and went back the same route they came through.

***

The thatched roof of the old cafe lent the perfect setting to conclude this first meet. Aemon liked spending time with her. Ira too. But minutes apart, both of them got calls from their friends, asking them of their whereabouts. Both had to go back. Ira to her friend's wedding, Aemon to his friend's reception. They didn't even realise when the two hours had passed.

They got back into the car, and Aemon felt sad that the day was coming to an end. Ira had to head elsewhere after the wedding. Aemon offered to drop her. But she said she would find somebody to do it for her. Aemon left it at that.

They finally reached Ira's first destination. She gave Aemon a hug and thanked him for the good time. She got out of the car, but quickly popped her head back in to tell Aemon, smiling and yet almost shyly, "I'll give you a call, if there is nobody to drop me off at night". Aemon was chuffed, he gave a smile back and said, "Definitely".

While on his way back, Aemon realised - what an idiot am I? Why didn't I tell her I'd pick her up no matter what? He messaged her immediately - "Even if you have somebody to drop you off, chuck it! I am picking you up."

She said yes. Aemon smiled. Once again.

***

For the second time that day, Aemon went - wow - after picking up Ira again.

The night was quite. The journey was long. The playlist had their favourites. Conversations happened.

But, again, it seemed to end too soon as the car finally came to a stop.

But it was just the beginning. Aemon knew it. Ira knew it. Their smiles said it all.

***

A Letter To My Daughter

Dear Anam

You were born on a rainy morning on the 31st of July 2018. The first time I held you in my arms, you wailed (we have video evidence of it), and a very red you looked at your grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. It was 'the' moment that took my breath away.

But long before that defining moment, your Umma carried you inside her for nine months in the desert heat of Abu Dhabi and Dubai, the rain and humidity of Kannur and Calicut and the pleasantness of Bengaluru. During those days, we sang to you (especially your Papa in his trademark discordant voice), had secret story telling sessions (ones that even Umma could not eavesdrop on) and laughed often. Your doctor in Abu Dhabi - an ex-military personnel - was sad that you were going to India to make your grand arrival, but a red carpet had already been laid out for you back home.

As is with any expat to-be-Dad/new-Dad, it was hard staying away from you the last three months before you made your entry and the following three months waiting for you to join me in Abu Dhabi. But those days are long behind. Today, I have you in my arms the very second I come back from work. We wake up in the morning and do a bit of sunbathing for some much needed vitamin D. You do occasionally scare your Umma with an earth-shattering cry in the middle of the night, but no matter what, you brighten up our lives every single day.

The purpose of me writing this open letter to you is not to go on a rant about how the world is today or how it will turn out to be. But, it is rather to tell you that this world is good. The people are good. And there is goodness all around us. There can be detractors that might make you feel otherwise, but even for the briefest moment do not be disparaged. You go out there, conquer what you set your eyes on and be the woman you want to be. While at it, be good and do good.

I do not know what trajectory our lives will take over the coming years, but let me tell you this - we will always have your back. You are beautiful, fierce and a whole lot of amazing! Be happy and always spread happiness, because the life we have is a very short one, and it needn't be wasted otherwise. We love you with all our hearts and no matter what, you will always have us by your side.

Love,

Your Papa

Tea: A Day in the Life of my Bellippa

Bellippa with his grandkids circa 2006

The earliest memory of my maternal Bellippa (Granddad) goes all the way back to the 1990s. Our family used to come down to Calicut from Muscat for our annual vacation. Uncles, aunts, cousins – all of us huddled up at our ancestral home just off the main road in East Nadakkavu. Those were the days when nuclear families and homes were almost unheard of. I loved the fact that almost 20-30 of us stayed under one roof at any given time.

My Bellippa would be up at the crack of the morning azan, starting up his Kinetic Honda on his way to Fajr prayers at the old West Nadakkavu mosque. If the middle schooler me was up, I would ride pillion or would stand in the space between the handle and the seat of the scooter. We would finish prayers, and he would go to the nearest tea/milk parlour and get a couple of packets of milk. He would return home and make tea, which would be poured into a flask and then boil the milk in another container and keep aside. The tea and milk would be placed on the dining table at the front, along with glasses for anybody who would like to begin their day with a fresh cup of tea. Incidentally, the tea dust used to be brought from my Bellippa's shop in Valiyangadi.

He would then proceed with household chores – from clearing weeds out of the garden, watering the plants, adding manure to the coconut trees, clearing open sewers at the back, getting dried coconut leaves or wood for the kitchen fire, peeling coconuts, among others. Sometimes, us kids would reluctantly join him, more so often to get to play in the dirt than to help him. I used to be a particularly naughty one who would try to sneak in the dirt all over the place, only to have my Bellippa hose me down when watering the plants. The three or four-year-old me had a field day when he used to be out in the courtyard.

After his daily chores, my Bellippa would get cleaned up and wear the whitest mundu and light coloured shirt over the white vest before clipping on his Seiko watch. He would then have his breakfast, before starting up his Kinetic Honda for the second time in the day, to head to work. Work to him was his tea dust business in the single store opposite the Town Police Station - Mahe Tea Mart - that he had begun after migrating from Mahe to Calicut in the 1960s.

Teenage me, who had moved back to Calicut, accompanied him quite many times on his trip to Mahe Tea Mart. The market would be just waking up, and the clickity clang of the shutter would reverberate around us as we opened for business. It was from here that I first learned the ABC of trade – buy and sell. I would help him pack tea for those who came looking for it. People came from the mountains of Wayanad to the islands of Lakshwadeep and even next-door neighbours or Calicut natives, to buy their favourite Monica, Suryanelli, or myriad other brands of tea dust. Sometimes, when he had to attend to some urgent matter, he would leave the cash register with me, and I would sit fixated on arranging all the notes in perfect order in the single drawer table. Once in a while, a customer would come in, and I would have to hand them the right amount of change, while the helper packed the tea for them.

He would make it a point to come later, and by evening, the chaiwala from the nearby Rangoli hotel would come. He would get us tea and ask us if we wanted any snacks. The Rangoli chaiwala would open his aluminum tin and show us the specialty snack of the day, and Bellippa would buy it for us. We would sit there, eating and drinking, while he got to tallying the accounts for the day.

At dusk, he would switch on the lights inside the shop but never stayed for long. Before the call of the Maghrib prayer, he would shut shop and make his way to the nearest mosque. While making his way back he would get fruits or his favorite murk (rice crispies) or bakery items for himself and his grandkids.

At night, my Bellippa would be back busy doing chores at home or sitting in the veranda with a cup of suleimani, up until he had to go to bed. The three-year-old me would be sitting quietly on the sofa adjacent to his room in anticipation of something, and he would give me a lovable laugh on his way to bed and ask me – “What happened, boy? Didn’t get your Boost?”. I wouldn't budge until I got my whole bottle of chocolate milk energy drink.

At times, my Bellippa would call some of his grandkids and ask them to give him a head massage or press his legs for him. He loved being playful with his grandkids, and a lot many of us would giggle away (and later get annoyed) when we were tickled by him lovingly.

Years passed, and Bellippa's mode of transport changed from the Kinetic Honda to a couple of Suzuki’s. Later on, the Suzuki too ceased and he made peace with being driven around by his kids and grandkids. While the kid me met him at least once a year, courtesy of annual vacations, the adult me had a harder time being next to him, with work barely allowing a handful of days for me to be in town.

Earlier this month, I met my Bellippa again. At first glance, he thought I was my dad, but I think he recognized me when I mentioned my name. A few days later, he asked me to sit by his side and hold his hand. That is all he asked. And I did, one last time, sans the scooter rides, playing in the dirt, helping out at the shop, the tickles that made us giggle and tea.

Rest in peace Bellippa.

Vishu at The Devidas's

From Wikipedia: Vishu (Malayalam: വിഷു, "Bisu" in Tulu Language),"Bisu sankramana" in Arebhashe dialect is the astronomical new year Hindu festival celebrated in the Indian state of Kerala, Tulunadu region and Kodagu in Karnataka and their diaspora communities. But it is not the new year for Keralites as the Malayalam New Year falls on Chingam 1st in the month of August. The festival follows the solar cycle of the lunisolar as the first day of the month called Medam. It therefore always falls in the middle of April in the Gregorian calendar on or about 14 April every year.

My memory of Vishu is marked in that night when I last celebrated it. It was 10 years back. Our friend from Nuristan in Afghanistan - Nawab, Aju, and I joined Vaisakh and Vaishnav at their home in Athanikkal the previous night.

After dinner, we got ourselves to light some firecrackers, and usher in the astronomical new year. While on a general note, Vishu is notable for its solemnity and the general lack of pomp, our videos from that night prove that it was anything but that. We still crack up watching those videos, as glee generally took us all over as we lit sparklers, chakras, fountains - some lighting up the courtyard, while others deafened our ears.

The festival is also marked by the uniqueness of having to witness something auspicious the first thing in the morning on Vishu day, known as vishukanni. After our merriment for the night, we got into bed quite late, only to be woken up in the wee hours of the morning, as we were ushered in with our eyes covered to witness the vishukkani. As the hands uncovered from our eyes, we slowly opened and adjusted to the view in front of us - a beautiful arrangement of the deity Krishna, the golden Indian laburnum clusters, assortment of vegetables and fruits, vishukkaineetam, traditional clothes, and some silver, gold or brass items - all illuminated by the light emanating from the nilavilakku (traditional lamp). Three Muslim kids, along with the Devidas's, witnessing vishukanni - a beautiful moment embodying the spirit of God's Own Country.

A while later, we heard cacophony of firecrackers from all over the neighbourhood. We left for our homes to freshen up only to return in the afternoon for the very special vishu sadya, the traditional vegetarian feast that is served on special occasions. We sat together with the family, almost elbow to elbow, as we consumed the delicious feast, which culminated with the serving of the payasam dessert. A sweet end to a cherished memory. 

Home away from home, here in the Middle East, Vishu lives. UAE supermarkets and hypermarkets are replete with Vishu branding and record quantities of konna (Indian laburnum) flowers, fruits and vegetables making it to the shelves a week prior to the festival. Restaurants are ready with packed sadya packets, which sell like hotcakes on Vishu day. Families take the day off from work to witness vishukanni along with their loved ones, offer prayers, present vishukaineetam and enjoy their sadyas.

Vishu is where love is, and love is where Vishu is. For me, it is Vishu at the Devidas's.

The protagonists with their vishu sadya

10 Things That Make Me Happy

So today, a close friend of mine challenged me to take up a 30-day writing challenge, and I gladly accepted because a) I have become too lazy to flutter my creative wings and b) What better way to begin 2018 than through something so positive as this. So thank you Ti, for this impromptu intervention. This was long pending.

So our topic for today is 10 things that make me happy. While the topic might seem cliched, it really does force you to think about how positive our life actually is. Given the topic for today, I found that it is almost always easier to note down the sad than the happy. But nonetheless, if you really delve deep into yourself, you will find that it is those minutiae things that bring you utmost happiness. 

So here is my not-so-definitive list of things that make me happy:

1. Family and friends. I decided to go with the first and foremost of the done and dusted statement to get it out of the way. But really though, it is the amount of love that your close ones provide that gets you through the day. No matter how frustrating your day is, at the end of the day a phone call to your closest friend, a chat with your better half, a venting time with your dad/mom will make it all go away. Family and friends, you rock!

2. This. The joy of writing is what makes me happy. While at the current job, I have a lot of restrictions where my creative juices flow, it is the unabashed writing that I love. I want to do more of this to make me a more cheerful person.

3. Babies. One look at them and my heart goes all melty. So much innocence all bundled into one tiny self is so soothing for the heart and amazing to experience. With so much happening around you, and people plotting from all corners, babies do what they love doing - being adorable and making you realize maybe this world isn't that bad after all.

4. Food. There could never be a better love story than me and my affair with food. From South Indian delicacies to Mediterranean freshness to American junk food, I love each and every lil thing about food. Moreso, this love is even visible on my YouTube playlist, as it keeps recommending Food Ranger or Bizarre Foods or Mark Wiens or the umpteen number of food channels from all over the world.

5. Books. There is something about being in a room filled with books - the smell, the knowledge that there is a whole other world residing within it, the very magic with which each of it has been written - I could go on and on. While the better half keeps a tab on what I buy (secretly read as hoard), I do sneak in a book or two every now and then adding to my burgeoning collection at my home in Abu Dhabi. When we had bought our bookshelf/cupboard three years back, we barely had one shelf of books. Now every single one of them is filled to the brim and some can't even make it to the front. I've been mulling getting another stand alone shelf just for the books, but the mrs. has already tightened the purse strings.

6. Love. Cliche no. 2 on this list. I am not much of a PDA sort of guy, but I love it when people are in love. There is so much positivity around them, that it emanates onto others, spreading even more joy.

7. Cricket. Say what you may, but cricket does bring a lot of joy to me. While a large chunk of my generation have shifted to in-vogue sports, I am still a cricket lover at heart. I still remember getting tensed during the 1996 World Cup semi-final, between India and Sri Lanka, when the hosts were falling like a pack of cards, I went up to our home's hallway and started hitting the ball onto the door with my Four Square bat, hoping it would somehow translate to India scoring runs. And then there was the time when we moved back to India. Summer vacations meant I disappeared in the morning, pinch hitting balls onto unsuspecting windows of NRI homes, only to come back late in the evenings to hear an earful from mom. After school, playing cricket sort of disappeared, but following it was religious, especially after I got into sport journalism. It is only now that I have gotten back to playing the Gentleman's Game, and those Friday morning cricket matches and the friendly rivalry with Kallakali Shaheen reminds me why i fell in love with the sport in the first place.

8.  Music. Music can bring a smile to forlorn person, put a spring in your step and can do wonders to whatever mood you want to set. My tryst with music came quite late in life. During our childhood, my brother was more musically inclined, playing the keyboard and trying a hand at everything music, I was more interested in drawing and animation. It was only after moving to college, that music chanced upon me, and I was hooked. Classics still get me, and I am actually listening to Kisi Ki Muskurahaton Pe Ho Nisar from Anari as I write this piece. Can't get better than this.

9. Home. Home for me is a lot of places. From streets of Wadi Kabir to the lanes of Calicut and the gullies of Delhi and now the expanses of Abu Dhabi. Each city has molded me in various ways, and I am happy to be a part of the experiences, the memories that each have given me. I do not think a you feel fulfilled unless you are at peace with where you dwell.

10. A Challenge. I think it is the challenge to conquer the next Everest that has taken me through each step of my life, and it makes me engaged, which in turn makes me happy. While earlier i used to tense myself up pretty bad with every challenge that came my way, I have realized that if you sit with a cool head and understand that everything will be sorted out the end, then you will have a smooth run. Even with this exercise, which was given to me in the morning, I knew I could complete it only because I wanted it and took my own sweet time to complete.

The ‘Dates’

There is a particular scene in the hit 2012- Malayalam movie, Ustad Hotel, by Anjali Menon, where the protagonist – played by the very likeable Dulquer Salman is taken directly from the Airport to the home of a potential future Mrs. – an equally likeable Nitya Menon for penn kaanal – the equivalent of a first date in the arranged marriage setup. In the meeting, both are made to sit in the inner verandah of the huge tharavad, while family and relatives peep in from all corners to eavesdrop on their “first date”.

Why have I gone into detail about this just one scene from one of my favourite Malayalam movies? Well, that was almost how I met Wafa for the first time. Just that I didn’t come directly from the airport for the first date. But the rest of the scene is almost accurate. We were made to sit in one of the many rooms in the sprawling Edavalath tharavad, while a head popped up every now and then through the windows and open doors on the side to eavesdrop. By evening, the two families had agreed as both me and Wafa had given the nod.

The ‘second date’ was even more eventful. Wanting to meet Wafa before heading back to Dubai, I asked if we could catch up at some place. And that 'second date' location, seemed to be the perfect spot for the entire family to spy on. Along with my band of misfits, I left Calicut for the Mahe Boat House, which was a mini marina/park/one of the many prides of Mahe-iites. Meanwhile, Wafa with her band of family and friends, made it to the location in two cars (or was it three?). Once at the location, my friends were spooked out by the amount of people (around 20-ish? Or am I exaggerating?) who accompanied Wafa, and ditched me to go and pick another friend of ours from the railway station.

So there we were – myself and Wafa – on a rainy evening, swatting mosquitoes in the not so romantic location, while family and friends peered from different vantage points. You would have expected disguises and subtlety while spying, but this wasn’t your next-door spies. After spending time together for barely half an hour, we decided to head back, but not before Wafa’s entire family hounded about what we had spoken, gentle threats about if you don't take care of her, how she is the lil’ sweetheart of everyone and so on and so forth. Thank God for my band of misfits, who quickly whisked me away.

We had plenty of ‘dates’ to catch up with each other on after that, mainly via the technological marvels of the Jan Koums, Brian Actions and Mark Zuckerbergs.

Then on this day, the 9th of October, three years back, we got married in front of the same friends and family, and some more. It was just not about marrying each other, we had taken the mantle of each other’s family as well. And I would say that we have been grateful to have them along with us through this journey, no matter how spy-terrific they are.

While this is usually the part where I go harping about blessings, support, future and the ups and downs, I shall refrain from doing so. Going away from the mainstream this year.

Happy anniversary love! (…and we are back!)

"Sab barabar hai" (Everything is alright)

(This isn't just another piece of fiction. It's been barely four months since I moved into the corporate world, leaving behind my shortly-lived world of journalism. I don't know if it is nostalgia or the sheer wanting of getting back on the field, but I felt like I had to share this story that I had written in early 2012.)

2012 marked ten years since India witnessed one of the worst riots it had ever seen, in the state of Gujarat. Communal tensions hadn't changed much since then and we were on the lookout for how sports was helping ease tensions and unite people.

It was during the lookout for such a story that my photographer friend Priyanka Kaur Oberoi, who was then on an assignment in Ahmedabad, heard from local sources about a maidan which had transformed from a playground for people from all race, caste and religion to a hotbed for violence during the riots. The ground used to be used for playing mostly cricket pre-2002, but the day the riots began, it had apparently been turned into a no man's land. Allegedly, there used to be floodlights on both sides of the maidan, and two communities took refuge on either side, attacking anyone who made it across. This is the story of the search for that maidan. 

Pappu bhai has been driving the autorickshaw for more than 20 years in Ahmedabad, the largest city and former capital of the state of Gujarat. After arriving in Ahmedabad, he was the third auto driver to take Priyanka and me around the city. But unlike others who preferred to concentrate on getting us where we needed to be at, he was chatty and forthcoming.

We were accompanied by Rasheeda, a social worker, who was showing us around areas in the city where different sports were played. We went from Jamalpur to Behrampur and then to Danilimda. Many of the grounds had been taken up by the government and had been given out on rent. OUr guide didn't stay for long, as she rushed off to do some errands after dropping off us at Salem Housing Society in Danilimda, giving us the freedom of exploring the city in search of the infamous ground.

At the Salem Housing Society, we met Kantibhai, a security guard who was taking care of a piece of land owned by a prominent Gujarati businessman. Few kids were playing on the land that was meant for property development. We head to the kids, who as usual are fascinated by the DSLR camera in Priyanka's hands, and have by now stopped playing. But after coaxing them to play on, for us to click some pictures, they play doubly as hard.

Cricket bats lie next to a makeshift wicket made of stones and bricks at Salem Housing Society (Photo by Priyanka Kaur Oberoi) 

After a few shots, the kids come over to us, enquiring who we are and where we were from. We obliged and when we did the same back asking one boy what his name was, he nervously said – “Faizan”. He immediately received a nudge from his friend who whispered loudly into his ear  – “Don’t tell them your real name”. Faizan immediately corrects himself and tells us his name is Shahrukh Khan. We do not prod them more but spent a few more minutes with the kids. The boys tell us that they are at ground playing cricket whenever they get the chance and also divulges about their favourite cricketers - majority rooted for Sachin Tendulkar, while a few mentioned Yuvraj Singh and MS Dhoni too.

We head to Kantibhai to talk about the dhamaal, the word they use to mention about the riots that ensued in 2002 (dhamaal roughly translates to ruckus in Hindi). He asks us if we can see any curfew right now, and keeps on mentioning ‘sab baraabar hai’ (everything’s alright now), going on in detail about how bad things were and how more peaceful it is right now.

Kids enjoy a game of cricket at a land meant for property development at Salem Housing Society
(Photo by Priyanka Kaur Oberoi) 

“It is the parents who had a problem with their kids playing with somebody not from their community. But that has now changed, because there are larger pockets of each community, and they play among themselves. But when a storm comes it is the entire area that is affected. We have wanted peace and it is gundas who bring about any sort of disharmony in our society,” said Kantibhai.

A kid bowls to his friend at the ground (Photo by Priyanka Kaur Oberoi)

All this while Pappu bhai was waiting for us on the road with his autorickshaw. We head back to the auto, and he enquires about our next destination. We ask him to take us back to our hotel.

While on the way back, he tells us, “If you really want to see a ground that played a huge part in the dhamaal, then you should head out to Millat Nagar. That was one of the worst affected areas. They have a ground there by the name of Sone Ka Kheth. They used to play a number of games there – cricket, football, volleyball, you name it. But once the dhamaal began, it became no man’s land for the two communities that used to live together with such harmony.”

We ask him what became of the ground. He tells us that people still play in that area, but most of the ground has now been taken up by a new police station, that wasn’t there when the riots happened. We felt like we were getting somewhere courtesy of Pappu bhai and enquire more. He tells us most of the grounds and lands are now being used to construct houses and societies. We thanked Pappu bhai for the information, when he dropped us off at the hotel. We knew where to head next.

***

Early next morning we headed to Millat Nagar on the virtue of the previous day’s information from Pappu bhai. A dusty road welcomed us into the Millat Nagar area, laden with people, some with road side eateries, tea shops, some selling meat (quite a rarity in a mainly vegetarian state), alongside goats and cows roaming quite freely.

We found the maidan, and as Pappu bhai had mentioned, there was a huge police station on one side of the ground. On the other extreme stood a petrol pump, with a few high rises dotted around the same vicinity. We headed to one of the nearby buildings, for a birds eye view of the area.

The alleged infamous ground at Millat Nagar in 2012. Notice the kids playing gilli-danda (tip-cat) at the bottom.
(Photo by Nishath Nizar)

From the vantage point of the sixth floor, we could easily see the whole of Millat Nagar. The remainder of the ground was filled with mounds of dirt and sand that has now made it unplayable. Even then, we could find a bunch of kids playing gilli-danda (tip-cat). A road ran through the side of the ground. On the right side of the road was the Chandoli lake area with makeshift houses and dotted with mosques all around. And right on the other side was the ground, and to the north of it were pucca houses and flats. Separating these two distinct strata was a huge wall with barbed wires.

We mingle among the locals trying to find out what we heard about the ground was true, but all were quite wary and kept asking us who we were and what we were upto, rather than answering any of our question. The closest we came to was when a tea vendor told us that people used to play on the ground earlier, but now they cannot, without divulging as to why not.

Since it was the week of Milad-un-Nabi, the birth of Prophet Muhammed, the streets of Millat Nagar on the side of the Chandola lake was replete with colourful flags, lights and an aura of celebration. We decided to head into the slums to the side of the Chandola lake, where we could see a muezzin playing cricket with some kids.

Walking through the thin lanes, we encountered people making brooms, goats tethered to the front of homes, local artisans doing embroidery and all the hustle bustle of closed ghetto. We found our way through a path laden with human and animal excreta alike (with a kid actually doing his business in an open toilet) to get to the now dry Chandola lake in Leela ka Khetra.

A muezzin plays along with kids at the dried-up Chandola Lake in Millat Nagar
(Photo by Priyanka Kaur Oberoi)

The muezzin, called Mullaji by the kids tells us, “I have just come here for time pass. It’s fun to play with the kids once in a while. But if you really want to see a crowd, then you should come on a Sunday, when this entire lake barring the water body, is filled with numerous teams coming from all around the area. We do not let the distinction of being Hindu or Muslim come up here. This is the only place close by, where we can play, and that too only when the lake dries up. Once it is monsoon, this entire lake is filled up”.

There is no mention of the dhamaal, only of brotherhood and love. I volunteered to throw a few balls, which all got hit to the far end of the boundaries, by little kids. With that battering we left the place to head to Jamalpur, where Rasheeda was waiting for us.

***

You might have heard of the Sarkhej Roza and the Kirti Mandir in Gujarat, but not many of you must have heard of Kooch ki Masjid, one of the oldest mosques in Ahmedabad. That is where we headed to next or rather to the colony next to the Kooch ki Masjid.

Inside the Kooch ki Masjid colony. The streets were adorned with bright lights and there was prayers and music being played on the big loudspeakers on the occasion of the Prophet's birthday (Picture taken on phone, thus the poor quality)
(Photo by Nishath Nizar)

Rasheeda, our contact who had taken us around the city the past few days, had invited us to meet some friends that she had called over. A large gate welcomed us to the colony, with the words Hindu-Muslim komi ekta (Hindu-Muslim communal harmony) written in bold alongside symbols of each faith (an Om and a star and moon) drawn inside a circle.

“It was a personal tragedy for me in 2002. I lived across the street with my Hindu neighbours. But slowly, but steadily the segregation happened, and we now live in communal ghettos” says Rasheeda as she took us to her home.

The room, all of just 15 foot wide and 10 foot broad, has just the bare necessities, with two beds, a corner converted to kitchen space and a fridge. We are soon joined by her husband, Abdul Manaf, and two of her three children, Javed and Junaid.

“We are waiting for a bhai, who had organised a volleyball competition between the Muslims of this area and the slum dwellers near the Phool Bazaar area, near the banks of the river Sabarmati,” she tells us as she offers us cold drinks.

She had earlier been working with Aman Samuday and was now with the Jan Vikas Organisation. For the past 10 years she has been working closely with people who have been displaced, giving them place to stay, enquiring about their compensation from the government, their current psyche and much more.

In the midst of our conversation, Munaf confirms to us about the ground that we visited earlier. “It is true about Sone ka Khetr becoming a hotbed during the violence. What happened after 2002 is that the Hindus and Muslims living together near the (Chandola) talaab (lake) have moved away and live on the other side of the road. We don’t go to their area, they don’t come to our area. People want to live free now. So if there is something happening outside let it happen. If we live with people of our own community, then we have more trust among ourselves”, says Munaf.

There is also talk of how the peace that we see outside is not embedded deep within. There is still fear, there is still suspicion, but not shown more outwardly.

Meanwhile, the young man we have been waiting from comes into the room. Imtiaz Makrani, 24, runs his father’s grocery shop near the Kooch ki Masjid.

“My papa and uncle used to live in the slums near the Jagannath Mandir, and used to play with people from around that area. When we were kids, they would take us along with them. We've had a relation with them since then, and today only Hindus live in that area. But we continued playing with each other, even after the dhamaal. We decided to take this a step forward and decided to conduct a tournament, which went on for two weeks. There were five Muslim teams from our area, and five Hindu teams from different areas like Saraspur, Behrampur, Jagannath Mandir and Isanpur. In the end, the team from Jagannath Mandir won the tournament and were presented with a trophy sponsored by the local businesses,” explains Makrani.

He invites us to meet with the winning team at the volleyball court next to the Jagannath Mandir.

We walk towards the Phool Bazaar, where a crowd awaits us under floodlights. We were not able to differentiate the team from the spectators and it was some time before normalcy returned. Imtiaz introduces us to the players and vice-versa.

Solanki Urvesh Kanyalal is one of the players for the Jagannath Mandir team. He tells us that his father and his other family members used to play volleyball at the state and national level.

“Sport is that one binding factor that unites us all. Many people do say that sport doesn’t bind and that competition breeds more hatred. But tell me if that is the case; would Irfan bhai and Yusuf bhai be in the Indian team? They play for humanity, they play for India,” Kanyalal tell us.

We were also introduced to Pankajbhai Chauhan, president of the colony near the Jagannath Mandir, who has been instrumental in conducting tournaments in the area.

“There is no religion for a sportsperson. He wants to play in peace, and only more love can be spread by conducting tournaments like this, with Hindu-Muslim bhai playing side by side. And not just play, but also do everything together. Toh yeh danga fasaad ka koi maina rakhta nahin hai. Hum baichare se rahte hai, aur rahenge. (These riots do not have any meaning. We live in peace, and will continue to do so),” concluded Chauhan before they began their nightly practice routine.

Sport is not a cure-all for development problems. As a cultural phenomenon, it is a mirror of society and is just as complex and contradictory. It has been used in a number of ways by the United Nations, benefitting peace building, conflict resolution, communication and social mobilisation and so many more.

The people of Gujarat do not wish to delve on their past and carry a grudge for the rest of their life. Sports with its unique power to attract, mobilize and inspire is doing its part in bringing together communities. At the same time, the government of Gujarat need to realize that building infrastructure in the name of development, while at the same time neglecting the sporting requirements of a state, will only make legends like Vinoo Mankad turn in his grave and talents like the Pathan brothers, Pujara and Undadkat defect to other states.

From what we saw, heard and experienced in the few days that we stayed in Ahmedabad, one can not forget these lines by the Sufi saint poet Vali Gujarati:

Gujarat ke firaq se hai khaar khaar dil
Betaab hai seenay mane atish bahar dil
Marham nahin hai iske zakhm ka jahan mane
Shamshir e hijr se jo hua hai figar dil

(My heart is thorn- filled with longing for Gujarat
Restless, frantic, flame- wrapped in the spring
On earth there exists no balm for its wound
My heart split asunder by the dagger of separation)

---

Live a little, love a little

Before the glitz, glamour and bling, and much way before grabbing global headlines for having the tallest, biggest or largest ‘whatevers’ and also hosting global events surprising many, the GCC was a much simpler place. The noise was lesser, the cars much grander and the general atmosphere itself was much relaxed.

The era I am talking about was pre-new millennium, when TV shows like Full House, The Wonder Years and the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and cartoons like Captain Majid, Duck Tales, Johnny Quest and Swat Kats kept us entertained. It was a time when collecting Tazos and sticking Sun Top stickers just to get the elusive prize mentioned in the book was a challenge in itself (God knows how many Lays, Cheetos and Sun Tops must we have consumed for that) and it was also when Fridays meant coming back from Friday prayers to have mom’s ghee rice and chicken curry or biriyani,

Weekends meant grabbing the cricket bat and wickets and heading to the beach or park with your next door neighbour or the scores of friends and relatives peppered all over the city. If you were lucky, the trip would be down to your dad’s Sheikh’s farmhouse in the outskirts. That would entail a whole different level of fun, with the entire day spent in the pool, having a barbeque and countless number of games ranging from cards to board games to random running around. Hanging out was devoid of the technological dependence that we are so used to today.

Back then schools were in itself fun places to be, when competitions meant having fun with your friends. Team spirit took precedence over individual achievement. Exhibitions and local competitions didn’t need the tag of big cash prizes or names of sponsors plastered all over the prizes, stages, grounds and auditorium (and even the kids themselves). Adding to it there were no participation trophy, and nobody remained disheartened. A winner was lauded and everyone got their chance. Teachers were personal heroes, and connections more real.

Shopping in itself was a wondrous adventure, tagging along with your mom and dad, for the month’s supplies. Shopping giants didn’t litter around your city and your friendly next door supermarket had all that you needed. You’d like rolling the cart down the smaller isles, with only the essentials making it in. Gaining coupons for your purchases, your mom waited for months to exchange it for that one gram of gold or the cookware she’d been eyeing for a while.

Back in the day, public transport didn’t rip you off. Taxis were shared, buses were few, and the city was within your reach. Your parks and homes and malls weren’t kilometers apart, and your dad was your most reliable transport partner. His Toyota or Mazda or Mitsubishi did not compete with your friend’s dad’s cars nor did they with his. Cars were meant to be driven, not shown off. The general quality of cars also spoke volumes of their use, and some people never let go off with which they began with since they didn't make them like them anymore.

Awe-inducing technology back then was your CRT TV or VCR/VCP or your SEGA/Nintendo game console or satellite receiver that broadcasted a handful of channels from around the world. Moms/sisters/brothers would spend time with their best friend on phone for hours, and it wouldn’t tear a hole in the pocket of the user with a big bill at the end of the month. Semi-automatic washing machines ruled the roost, while dishwashers weren’t even in the scene. The more affluent afforded a brick-like GSM device, but other than that, personal tech was subjected to just a Walkman, brick game, Gameboy or Tamagotchi, all of which eventually lost out our interest in a couple of weeks’, months’ or years’ time.

Going back a decade or two, love letters weren’t in bits and bytes. Nobody cared who looked how at what time of the day and where. All that mattered was that the boy/girl leaning from the back of the seat would take the guts to pass the piece of note on to his/her crush. Innocence wasn’t lost and nor was bitching and cursing a way of life. Recesses were times to rush out and play, and were also when you could make your move. Romance was alive and genuineness marked the times.

Why have I gone to all this trouble just to reminisce of those days that I remember? I guess it is a grim reminder of who we were and what we’ve become.

TV shows for us are now plenty and at the tips of our fingers, while cartoons have literally died out, with quality taking a toll in both cases. Today, kids are fed on rubbish beyond compare and the only way out are the classic reruns on video sharing sites and one of the umpteen channels on television. Weekends are meant to splurge money, be it for movies, concerts or roaming in malls gaping at what to splurge on next. You might not even know the person living right across your hall, let alone your relatives in the city. Schools have become big business models. Fees dictates the quality and all kids are pampered or tortured to a level with needless knowledge and unhelpful assignments and exams. Shopping is a  disaster and we are spoilt for choice. Your friendly neighbourhood supermarkets have been taken over by corporate giants, with needless wastage accompanying our incessant buying. Public transport is as essential as anything, if you aren’t lucky enough to get your license (which you most probably wouldn't considering the sheer amount of luck that we carry with us). Malls and places are scattered all around, and to reach one another would be to quote Robert Frost - and miles to go before I sleep. Coming to technology, who isn’t face down looking at their mobile every two minutes? And it doesn’t end there – tablets, HD TV, HDR, laptops and console wars – we are cosntantly sucked into every vortex that cuts us off from the real world. Last, but not the least – love has lost all meaning. Relationships are dead and romance lifeless.

But let’s not tarry in what we have become. It isn’t too late to unbecome what we have become. Go out, meet friends and family, see the world beyond an artificial screen, shop at local markets, breathe some fresh air, cycle around your neighbourhood, play a game of hide and seek, create new things and for your own sake – live a little, love a little.

Uppu's smile

As far as I can remember she always had the corner room in the huge tharavad across the Mahe railway bridge and maybe around a 100 metres from the river. She'd be up at the crack of dawn, opening the windows, on the side of her bed, to the fresh smell of an early morning spell of rain, the cackling of a myriad birds and the cold winds blowing through the iron grills. The windows opening to the inner courtyard would be opened by her youngest daughter who slept in the same room along with her kids. She would then make it to the adjoining room, looking for her eldest daughter, and gently lift her legs across the maze of doorways and corridors to come on to the veranda. Large beams supported the extensive veranda with a raised platform on either sides. But her favourite seat was the reclining cane chair. It was her place to be early in the morning and late evenings, until the Maghrib azaan sounded. Sometimes her eldest daughter would bring her tea and biscuits (or eggs, banana fry, rusks) – as is ritual to have before breakfast once you got up in that tharavad – to the verandah. But otherwise she would nimbly make her way back across to the hall adjoining her room and have a seat at the dining table. Groggily, us cousins would also join her, when we were all together during vacations, to have the same tea and biscuits or eggs or banana fry or rusks. But she would see that we always got a treat when nobody was looking. She had chocolates or treats hidden under her bed or her one door almirah, and we would take it with eager hands and chomp on them when the adults would disappear from the room. All the while a mischievous warm smile on her face.

---

One day, she got angry. A cousin and myself hadn't prayed Isha'a. But we insisted we had. An argument ensued between us and our respective moms. That was when she came into the room with her light cotton bath towel, twisted to form a tight rope like whip. She never threatened, and whipped the towel on the table, very calmly asking us to go and pray. We stopped the ruckus immediately, no questions asked, and headed straight to the raised platform in the veranda and prayed. I don't think we ever saw that side of hers ever after that. After the prayers, she called us to her room. No menacing scowl awaited us, but just a warm smile synonymous to her and the slight gesture of the chocolate that magically made it's way into our hands.

---

The tharavad's no more. She is in a corner room again, but the window next to her bed has been replaced by a split AC above her bed. There is another bed in the same room for one of her daughter's to sleep in. The age old doors, rickety stairs, rocky earthen floors, heavy wooden ceilings and the forest in the front and back have been replaced by concrete blocks all around. But she is happy her kids are happy. The last time I had visited her, in May, she held my hand, reminiscent of the 'treat' giving days and slowly placed a 100 rupee note in my hand and asked me to buy something for myself. She smiled and talked to me like the child i was, her memories playing see-saw, while I held on to her hands and reassured her that I will definitely take care of mom and agreed on finding somebody for myself. She intermittently mistook me for my dad, and the next moment asked me when he would come to see her.

---

There was dancing, singing and a lot of merriment. She adorned a light cotton saree for the August wedding of her youngest daughter's son. She liked sitting outside, but ill-health usually saw her subjected to just the inner room. But that night was for celebration. And she found herself sitting outside in the same old cane recliner beaming at all that was happening in front of her. People went, people came, she talked, she clapped hands to the the aunts singing around the groom, she kissed foreheads and her sons, daughters, grandkids – everyone was there.

---

Today the gentle smile bids adieu. Today the treats cease. Today we pray for her soul.

Rest in peace Uppuma.

From Then to Now

Three years to this day, I walked out of Terminal 1D with a large red and a small green bag, heading to the Puducherry house in Chanakyapuri. Who would have known it would be so long, so far, so good. From the green of the army cantonment to the dust and keechad of Batla House to the French window Malluland to the nomadish life to the settling in with the Christian family – it has been quite the search for the perfect home. From corresponding via ‘I just donno whaay’ to almost getting killed on Diwali to the crazy French parties to the stolen kisses in the corridors to the innumerable recording and shootings to the setting sun’s golden paint falling on the day to the travails of a writer across the country to the intense moments in foreign Indian locales – the friends and the lovers and the frenemies and the loathed and the everyone in between – the experience has been nothing short of unforgettable.

Year four. It won’t be long. Time for Frank Sinatra to take over:

“I can't stop lovin' you

So I've made up my mind

To live in memory

Of old lonesome times

I can't stop wantin' you

It's useless to say

So I'll just live my life

In dreams of yesterday

Those happy hours

That we once knew

Though long ago

Yeah they make me feel blue

They say that time

Heals a broken heart

But time has stood still

Since we've been apart

I can't stop lovin' you

Yes so I've made up my mind

To live in memory

Of old lonesome times

I can't stop wantin' you

It's so useless to say

So I'll just live my life

Live my life in dreams

Of yesterday.”

The Triangle Angled

It wasn’t just another day at school. She came up to me and told me that she wanted to be together with my best friend. I obliged and decided to pass on the message to my friend. But I was stopped midway by another gang of girls. They told me that one of their friends also liked my best friend. Now that is one big triangle.

An emergency meeting was called upon. I sat down with two other girls and decided on what should be the next course of action. The girls gave their defence – our friend has been in love with him since forever, but has not been able to tell him,  so I think it is fair by all means, that our friend gets to ask him out. But my friend is also in love with him, although not since forever. What do I go and tell her? The two girls had this view that my friend was just looking to pass time and not be serious about a relationship. I contemplated. I decided.

My best friend had by known that two girls have been waiting to ask him out. He wanted me to just get done with the suspense and tell him already. But I was being asked to delay the inevitable by the gang of girls.

The class got over. I asked my best friend to wait at the back bench. After what seemed like an eternity, she came and sat opposite him. Both very visibly shy.  (We watched all this through the grills of the window of our classroom from a distance). My best friend was waiting for her to say something, and she did. Hurriedly. And then she came running towards her gang of girls. I go in to assess the situation. My best friend tells me – I did not understand a word of what she said. I go out, get her back in and ask her to relax and have a conversation the other will be able to understand. She did. And then there were smiles all around.

Another couple, another happy beginning.

But here I had to break the bad news to somebody. So I went to my friend, and told her – But he is in love with somebody else.

While it was not true then, it is now.
And everyone has found who they were looking for.
Almost.