When Shahrukh Khan sells vegetables and fruits (on bb) it does not feel good. He was supposed to take ‘Dil Wale Dulhaniya’ home and live happily ever after, he was supposed to spread his arms at a twenty degree slant and assure all swooning girls and aunties, ‘ Kiska hai ye tumko intezar mein hoon na’. But no, our swadeshi Tom Cruz had to sell bhajis like my thela wala, and it was not even ‘ papi pet ka sawal’, for him at least. Dear hero, sell if you must, sell those lovely sheets and upholstery with your wife, looking ‘oh so in love’ ; give us the incentive to buy those curtains with our next Diwali bonus. Sell the time keepers watches, for we know that time keeps changing ! Sell the fairness cream if you so want, after all beauty is just melanin deep, and we understand your needs. But please don’t sell vegetables, no matter which side of fifty you are in , don’t try to look domesticated, we are not buying it.

Humanity is a virtue not many can pride to have. But having your own brand of ‘ Being Human’ is another story altogether. Salman khan the bhai of the industry is a man with a large heart or so we are told. Thus when ‘Didi tera dewar diwana’ hero bares his chest at the drop of a hat people don’t count his packs they just see a big heart ! Our heroes take all the trouble to decide which brand of vest is best for us,or which innerwear gives ultimate comfort, in return all we have to do is smile and give a ‘Thums Up’ to our Big Boss. The ‘Dabang’ persona of a hero ends with the word, cut. But in a fan’s mind they remain The dabang man. A character called ‘Bajrangi bhai Jan’ becomes the humane answer to all our cross border tensions. I hope people remember that “being human” is more than wearing a shirt, it is a way of life for some.

Mr. Bachchan senior on the other hand can sell almost everything. That baritone voice gives a sense of assurance, command and comfort, all molded into one. The voice makes you want to believe, job of marketing is half done when trust is ensured. The chavanprash will make you stronger, the cream will heal your skin, the hair oil will cool your nerves, it will all work. We do not buy a product, we buy magic, a solution, a cure. But Mr. Bachchan endorses more than supermarket products. His larger than life persona becomes the common man’s voice when he speaks to us about social issues, from one drop of pulse polio to ‘swatch Bharat.’ His richness reflects even in his mundane regularity. He dazzles us when he buys jewelry for his wife with the elegant ease of royalty. On Sunday Times full page advertisement, Bachchan family portrait smile at us, totally taken in by the grandeur we almost smile back in courtesy. And then when our own need to buy the purest of pure metal arises we ( the malleable aam admi ) go to the same store as shown by our stars ! The chain we buy chains us further with star power .

The Priyankas, Shilpas, Kajols, Aishwaryas, of every neighborhood will trustingly buy the shampoos, creams, and lotions endorsed by Priyanka, Shilpa, Kajol ,Aishwarya and the other leading ladies of Hindi cinema. They are in every sense of the term dream sellers. But when dream girl ( aka Hemamalini) herself sells the ‘sabse shudh ‘ drop of water, draped in a aqua marine blue sari, you wonder what Basanti would sell in those days of ‘ chal dhanno ‘. The star power is big in a country where movies are the biggest entertainment grosser. When the stars sell, it is hard not to submit.

This summer with the temperatures soaring , dear stars, don’t even bother to sell us those bottled aerated drinks , we will drink them anyway. Meanwhile the ‘nariyal pani wala ‘ can stand with his basket full of thirst quenchers at the nukkar, haggling over the price of thirst.

Yes, thirst does sell , we thirst for almost everything, it only needs to be marketed well to make us believe that we are thirsty. Bring in the stars, fill up the pages of magazines and newspapers, prime time and on line shopping with advertisements, and make your product seen ,heard and believed, and voilà, magic happens.

All other professionals, sportspersons, soldiers, leaders ( leading what not very sure ), doctors, lawyers, educationists, can evoke many sentiments in us, but idol worship still rests with the film fraternity and a section of cricketers. As frivolous it may sound, it is the truth with the masses. There is a reason for this trust and admiration for film stars alone. They essay many a roles on reel, and the gullible mind after a point forgets the distinguishing factors. The actor becomes the character they play on screen. The characters bring the credibility to our minds, we start thinking ” Raj, Rahul, Vijay, Vidya, Simran ” can do the insurmountable. The trust is built on screen, the vulnerability of imagination is stretched and played upon to its hilt. The common man in desperate need of change starts believing that the change is possible, only if he apes his hero. Real change does not happen, but the follower follows, the fashion, the brands ; imitate to the point of affordability !

The filmy glitterati are the stars, the brand ambassadors, they have the star power. Their smiling faces stand out in a million, their life inspire millions (surprisingly it does, the celluloid and beyond ), and when rest of the millions, billions, gladly, smilingly, embrace the star power and feel ‘thanda thanda cool cool’ even in this plus thirty degree centigrade, who are we to object. At the end of the day we too are just one in a million ! So let the ending chorus for all of us be “Main tera hai re jabar, hai re jabar Fan ho Gaya”. Fans are mostly reliable , runs all through the year.. without question, but what if it falls or fails one day ! The responsibility to secure the fan is huge, the responsibility to enjoy the cool breeze is even bigger.

Come to me my words,

For once again I fly,

Up here the sky meets the sky.

Come to me my words.

Birds of feather fly down below,

In the light of a faint blue rainbow.

Come to me my words.

I am over the glades and hills,

I am in the sky and sky above me still.

Come to me my words.

Do not fail me today,

For this moment is not here to stay.

Come to me my words.

My mortal flight has taken wings,

Perhaps an end of new beginnings.

Come to me my words.

This journey is my destiny,

My mind may die of its own mutiny.

Come to me my words.

Before they snatch all I know,

To knit the thoughts in a neat flow.

Come to me my words,

I am ready to touch the land,

My grip is loosening on my magic wand.

Come to me my words.

For one last embrace,

To bid adieu with grace,

Come to me my words.

Remembering you.
We write because we think .We read because we think. Thought is the most personal possession we have, nobody can steal it .My father was a man of thoughts. I called him Baba .A doctor by profession ,but his romantic and thoughtful mind ruled his personal life. Be it teaching me about the constellation sitting under the open sky on our terrace ,or reciting poetry with my sister, or reading out stories from a novel to my Ma. This was a way he shared his love with us. I wondered then why can’t they (my parents) read their own books individually. Years later I realized that this was their way of sharing time and romance. He inculcated in me the love for books and reading. Today whenever I sit to write I realize that without ever trying to teach, my baba strangely taught me how to think ! When I think passionately, deeply, earnestly I want to put down those thoughts on paper. My baba used to translate his thoughts into letters, beautifully composed letters.Those were not the days of mobile or internet. Having a land line telephone connection at home was a luxury few neighbors had. Letter writing had not become an art form till then. It was a regular mode of communication used by all. My Baba wrote letters for communication and much more. Whenever he had the time he would make his letters long and beautiful. He preferred letters to telephones. Baba would say telephone talk is like taking a shower, quick and practical, whereas letter writing is like going for a long swim, enjoying being in the water. A little strange but his very own parallel drawn so many years ago stayed back with me. Wonder what would be his reaction to today’s time and smart phone world ! The romance of creating words with ink on an empty page holds its own charm through the ages. So he wrote letters. In his letters he wrote to us (my sister and me) about everyday life, his day with Ma, their long walks, the sky, the heat, the rain, the weather, his patients, our dog, menu of the day, evening guests, sharing with his children the home they stayed away from. Ma had to find space in the same inland letter card to pen down her lines . It was also her responsibility to write the name and address, for Baba was a forgetful man and would often mix up names and addresses. My parents were in a hurry to go ; perhaps that is why Baba taught me all he could in those few years we had together. He taught me to think. I write because I think. I have passed on this legacy to my children, they too are people of words ! Even in today’s day of phone and internet, my children write beautiful letters. My daughter buys hand made paper to write long long letters . She is wiser than me , she has learnt to preserve her letters in a box. I have lost mine.Today I want to write a beautiful letter to Baba and Ma .Tell them all that I have been storing in my heart for years.Tell them about their letter writing grandchildren. Tell them that all four of them have grown up to be wonderful people. Tell them about their daughter who records her recitations and wins hearts. Tell them that I write because they taught me to read and think. Tell them all this and more for one last time. But I do not have their postal pin code. The famous gazal by Jagjit Singh comes to mind, “Chitti na koi sandesh, na jaane wo Kaun sa des ,jahaan tum chale gaye….”!

A question was raised on a social network site about who watches what and how much on television . I found the answers very guarded. A few replied in total zero figure of idiot box time. While some said they watched television, but mostly of English series or English movies. The contents of Indian television production is not always very entertaining. The daily soaps where domestic drama unfolds with conniving, plotting protagonists, loud makeup and questionable acting skills, is best avoided by most. I can not blame any person for choosing not to get entertained by such jarring comic-tragedy drama. The writers of Greek tragedies and Sanskrit drama can be put to shame in front of these television story writers. They have been spinning the same yarn for years, the viewers are not completely tired yet. But I also understand that for my Amma Tai or Kanta bai, this is happy time,and who is judging after all !  Few honest answers impressed me. They simply said that they enjoy tv viewing from Big Boss to mythology as it fills up their evening hours. Now to admit that one watches Big Boss is a brave act in itself. I have been seeing social messages saying that people have saved hours and hours of good time by not watching the show. I sincerely hope they have done something productive with those valuable hours saved, or else why make a statement out of it. 

Mythology on the other hand can be both entertaining and engrossing. The grandeur of the sets and the actors elaborate costumes itself is enough at times to hold the viewers transfixed. I have learnt quite a few insights about the epics only through the television shows of mythology. The research team generally does a good job. I know the basic story line of the two great epics, Mahabharata and Ramayana, but cannot boast to have read them in their original , unabridged version. B.R. Chopra’s ,Mahabharata had gained great popularity on Indian television in the late1980’s. People would put all their Sunday morning activity on hold to watch this epic story on television. I have seen a few people sitting hands folded,moist eyed ,as Lord Krishna delivered his ‘vaani ‘ on life and battle, drawing a parallel between the two. Times have changed we would think ,but even today mythological series holds its pedestal amongst viewers. “Siya ke Ram ” is the latest ongoing serial on television, telling the tale of Ramayana in a new light, new time and newer actors.But there is one serious problem here. Mr Ram and Mrs. Ram ( Sita ) are two very good looking actors ( strictly in my own opinion ) .The part these serials play on our religious psyche cannot be questioned or argued upon. The mental images of Gods and Goddesses in our mind has been strongly etched over a period of time through various paintings . One such example is Raja Ravi Varma’s paintings of goddesses Saraswati and Laxmi .They are so beautiful and popular that even the idol sculptors give their work of art , faces identical to his paintings. But when a good looking, gym toned muscled, gently smiling young man ,decked up in the finest jewels ,comes on our big LED screen as Lord Rama, our mind gets all confused. After that whenever we try to think of Lord Ram , the image of this gentleman floats in our mind. Believe me it does not help at all in prayers ; even for this idol worshipping, truly ritualistic me. Of all I know, this person in question would be at that exact time sipping coffee at Starbucks , albeit sans make up. Even my imagination is not bold enough to think about our on screen Ram in some pub with his lady love sipping chilled beer. If he has to be seen with any lady , she has to be the country’s beloved Sita maiya. Even after the camera has stopped rolling, the show must go on , for it is not easy playing God and Goddess, on or off lime light ! But Mr. Ram ( I mean the actor, sorry I don’t know your name ), please don’t play as a contestant in BigBoss 10. If you do, we will start hiccuping each time we pray to The Lord and say Amen. 

The TRP ratings will soon shift focus to other reality shows. Reality shows garner good popularity amongst the young and old alike. Soon on television Men and women will dance like a pro, contestants will endanger their life with snakes and ladders, some will start cooking the gourmet platter. And we the viewers will feel like the ultimate Boss. Wether we vote to make our government or not, as a country of tv viewers we like to vote for reality shows. We have the power , the remote power .Moreover the men and women begging for the votes are so prettily dressed up, blinking at us with those big eyes just like our Barbies and Kens . Our heart melts, we vote , totally trusting, the naive , sweet, us, the viewers ! Every time the favorite contestant is voted out we shriek fowl. We feel cheated, we call the program rigged, we hate the production house, and next evening, sharp at nine we are in front of our television sets. Wonder who has the last laugh ? 

Did I mention that I am one of those…’Oh no, I don’t waste my time on television ‘. That big flat screen on my bedroom wall is only for viewing news and sports by my husband. So how do I know so much about the programming detail ? It is elementary my dear Watson ! Oops ! But then who doesn’t watch Sherlock and House. So what they are ‘foreign’…please see the ‘Sunny’ side of life too. We are the game changers. See you at nine tomorrow . Till then if we want the answers, we must keep asking the questions.

Living With Adam…..

Adam drops the wet- heavy towel on the bed with the finality of job done ! With that the last traces of morning slumber vanishes from Eve’s sleep laden eyes. She could have shrieked in protest but it would have fallen on deaf ears. Adam had moved on to the wardrobe to select his shirt for the day. Eve drags her self to the kitchen to make breakfast for Adam. Her mental count down starts ,waiting for Adam’s crisis voice to bellow down to the kitchen. In clock work precision Adam calls out. Eve smiles,she had counted ten counts extra today ! Adam would be routinely missing at least one of the following items, his wallet, his grey socks ( the black will not do), his file ,his reading glasses, the pen drive or in the least the car keys. Eve loves this morning treasure hunt game, for her the smile on Adams face and the peck on the cheek is the real treasure. The wet towel is forgotten, the missing socks is forgotten when the key to bliss can be so simple.

 The master bed room may have been named so,keeping all the Adams in mind, but all his choices come to rest beyond this point. Adam knows that the queens bed is where he will rest at the end of a days toil. Eve tucks in the sheet,props up the pillows and looks at Adam with a dare glare. Adam does not understand Eve’s obsession with ‘no crease ‘ on bed sheet and Eve cannot accept Adam’s laid back habit of making the bed his work table and dining table. Thus the battle continues in the master bedroom over the queens bed ; all things in life is not a bed of roses ! 
The remote chance of an evening watching television in peace with Adam vanishes when the argument starts on remote control. Adam loves the television remote.His leisure is from playing arm chair football, tennis, to solving world political crisis with remote in hand ! He can watch the same politician answer the same questions on various tv channels over and over again. Eve prefers watching reality shows, talk shows or simple rom com. But nothing is simple, romantic or comic in the battle of the remote. Eve waits till the debating host on tele turns hoarse from shouting and her Adam dozes off in the middle of the debate, triumphantly she grabs the remote to switch Chanel. High definition remote power is all hers, albeit only after prime time.
Adams’ discomfort when Eve is behind the wheels cannot be hidden behind that stoic wooden face he wears each time Eve drives the car. His inherent desire to control makes him unsure of Eve’s ability. Adam strongly feels that his speed, maneuvering style are as good as a race car driver and his prized four wheeler is no less than a Ferrari . Eve knows the roads better, she glides the car better over road bumps,she parks the car perfectly in reverse gear. But Eve sits beside Adam as he drives along busy city roads, overtaking buses, changing lanes, using her feet on imaginary clutch and break. Sometimes in life it is easier to use the break in the mind to keep the drive smooth and enjoyable . Nothing moves on single wheel. Transcending the difference from a drive to a journey gives Eve the meaning to her life.
Eve gives Adam the look which weakens his will against all his will. It is shopping day for Eve and Adam has to come along in this retail therapy session .For Eve to get tempted by the world of fashion and glitter is in her nature. Temptation has always been her folly ! Why else would Satan choose her with temptations above Adam. Yet the question remains was it right for Adam to follow Eve blindly in biting the apple ? Once bitten, he has to savor the bite. Eve feels lost in the shopping paradise of merchandise, endless rows of indulgence keeps pulling her and Adam gets pulled along, half grudging, half smiling . 
Some like it hot and some like it cold. Thus when the steaming cup of coffee arrives Adam complaints that it has gone cold. Eve has to wait a while before she takes the first sip. They sit in amicable silence with two coffee mugs, one too cold, the other too hot. But the warmth of emotions they share surpasses all impediments . Living with Adam shall never be easy. The crumpled sheet, the lost socks, the bumpy roads, shall change to ill fitting dentures, the medicine doses, the walking stick, but living with Adam will always remain the most bitter sweet journey of Eves life. The Adams and Eves will change with time ,but living with each other, discovering more of each other will always be the first love of their life, their garden of Eden will always remain their destination extraordinaire ! 
                                                                                           

Probasher Kashful .PROBASHIR Kashful  The day I married an Army man and left my city Kolkata to travel the vast length and breadth of this country I attached a tag with my name, Probashi. As a true probashi I speak languages other than my mother tongue, I celebrate Onam to Ganesh Chaturthi with equal fervor , I can dance on Baisakhi and sing a Christmas carol in chorus. But what my heart aches for, my eyes become misty, is when I have to live away from my city Kolkata during Durga pujo. Therefore I use a cliche ,you can take a Bengali out of Bengal but you cannot take Bengal out of a Bengali. Durga pujo and Bengali are as synonymous as roshogolla is to Kolkata .  The October blue sky with snow white cirrus cloud floating around aimlessly , luxuriously, spells pujo time. The Kashful swaying happily in the back drop of green fields, spells pujo time. The sweet fragrance of shiuli spells pujo time. Where ever in the country I have been, my thirsty eyes have always waited for these special symbolic announcement of the joyous period approaching. Why we rejoice with this opulent sense of well being in the anticipation of those five big days is not very specific. Perhaps our psyche is filled with a sense of renewal, a fresh lease of life, a hope for a new beginning. All celebrations , social or religious have this common thread of bond which gives the human race energy, power, goodwill and brotherhood to face life. Living life after all is quite an uphill task ! Therefore we embrace these few days of festivity with open arms.  During this time of the year Nau Ratra is celebrated in the northern states of India. The Devi is worshipped for nine days ;people fast or in the least turn vegetarian for this duration. The deity Hindus worship are the same but their form differs. Bengal’s Durga is dashabhuja riding a lion killing the Asura( representation of evil). The North Indians worship the Ambe Ma , charbhuja and riding a tiger. But the religious sentiments to appease the Goddess, the nari shakti would be essentially the same. But there is a big difference in all this, it is the ‘Pet Puja ‘ ; which we Bengali people indulge in shamelessly all through the five days of celebration. To wash away sins, or to detoxify the body, no way can you convince a Bengali to give up on gastronomical indulgence .    Every Bengali fasts till  he/ she has offered Anjali to the Goddess. We love dressing up in  new ,crisp, cotton sarees, pajama and Kurtas. Our children wear a freshly laundered starched look, in colourful new clothes. We seriously feel all our sins getting washed away as we stand flower in hand chanting …”Ya Devi sharbabhuteshu Shakti Rupeno Sangsthita….”. The puja pandals on those mornings vibrate with humble submission and offerings of the mere mortal on the feet of the omnipotent power of Ma Durga.  I have missed being part of such beautiful pujo days for many years. Though the Kashful swayed and tickled all my emotions with everything beautiful, everything pious, but I missed seeing a Protima many a years. Then again in big cities like Mumbai I have seen the glamour of Durga Pujo festivities. The Pujo pandals are more famous by the names of film world celebrities . Crowds throng to see glamour and goddess together ! During sandhya arti  the dhaki playing their drum and celebrities dancing to the beat is a spectacle which enthralls all pandal visitors. Certain things remain common, the awe striking, competitive, light dazzling pandals. The beauty of which many a times surpasses human imagination. Queued up visitors waiting to enter this wonder land often forget the purpose of their visit, the Deity ! Yet, braving the crowd, touching the bottom line of patience and physical stamina , people do come out of their homes in hundreds and thousands. After all they have come to see the Goddess of Shakti. People bustling around the pandals, eating, laughing rejoicing have the ultimate counterpoint just a few feet away, Ma Durga ,standing in total silence. The silence that shall reach our core long after all the noise outside and within have died down.  Coming back home this year to my city Kolkata ,the probashi me is swaying in joy. The longings of all these years safely treasured for this special occasion is surfacing. I can already hear the Mahalaya chants in my mind, “Jago Durga, Jago Dashoprohareno Dharini, Tumi Jago….”.  Another day, another flight may take me away from home ; but not before I have filled my heart to its brim with the joyous song of, “Bajlo tomar aalor benu, maatlo re bhuban …”.