Rest in peace Bahadur

Bahadur was 11 years old when he ran away from his home in Nepal and came to Bombay. To be a movie star. Of course, soon he needed a job and a place to stay, and turned out that my granny gave him both of those.

From that day on, Bahadur lived to become a member of the family.
Last night, he died of a heart attack. Age: 60 something.

He brought my mother up from the time she was a new born baby.
He refused to go back to his family in Nepal or even visit them when my granny offered him money to travel.
He was the best cook I have ever known.
Everyone in the whole locality knew Bahadur, and Bahadur had the memory of a hawk. He remembered faces and would recognize my mother's classmates even if he hadn't seen them for 30 years or so - to everyone's astonishment, including the classmate.

Ever since I've known him, (that would be all 23 years of my life), Bahadur has been always lively, always indulging us kids and each time we visited, treating us like princesses.

When I got into college, and started spending more time around my Granny's home, I'd go there often for lunch and be treated to a feast. I lived there for a whole month, and reveled in his pampering. I've taken friends home to show off his cooking.

He was very interested in movies and loved Bollywood. And was so quick at grasping what he saw on TV. I've been often amazed at his insights and comments about film makers and their style and their flaws. I wonder, if only he'd got a chance to have a better life...

The last few years as granny got older and weaker, Bahadur looked after her - feeding her, and bathing her, and looking after her constantly. And neglecting his health. Diabetes. Weak heart. Bad eating habits. No amount of pleading of ours would get him to look after his health. Carefree and cheerful, God, I'm going to miss him. Miss knowing he's there, and knowing that I'd get the warmest welcome when I drop in for a quick hello.

Always giving. Always smiling. Never hassling. Peaceful.

We will never forget Bahadur.

Bohemian Karma

I just spoke to my baby sister. And oh boy, how the tables have turned. There was a time when I was doing the things - things that would make her eyes grow wide with disbelief and admiration when I said do you know what I did today.

But yes, the tables turn, and the tides turn, and the ugly ducklings all turn into swan and fly away, and all that. My phone call to baby sister was answered with an excited - "You've called at the perfect moment!" and after a few commands I hear -- a chorus of voices, a piano and a guitar, singing, playing in the most gorgeous harmony, Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody.

I'm enchanted. And furiously wishing I was there in that little room, watching my sister play the piano and giggle with a group of 19-year olds at midnight, on a lovely campus of a design school. Then baby sister comes back to the phone and is eagerly waiting for my verdict. I have to put up my act of constructive critic, and I tell her everything that is fabulous, but the one phrase where the solo vocalist is going faster than the rest of the singers.

She's happy to have the feedback and will set it right. And then she thanks me for giving her the piano notations in the first place. And thanks me for forcing the song down her throat three years ago when I'd play it every single day until the day she loved it and sang it with me. And she tells me that I'm a superhero to her classmates and they all think I'm absolutely spiffing cool.

If only she knew.

If only only she knew how the tables have turned.

PS: Definitely have to do something about described fatal table-turned situation. Have to live up to spiffing reputation.

PPS: Freddy Mercury has the most incredible voice ever.

PPPS: My maternal uncle looks very much like Freddy Mercury. Except for the buck teeth.

PPPPS: I very nearly have buck teeth. But just about don't. Much thanks, oh genes.

P5S: My sister was born with two teeth. Who would think I love her so much?

Voyeurist

I think everyone is curious about the lives of strangers. Everyone eavesdrops. Everyone spies. Some, possibly to an obsessive degree, and some, for a laugh.

I've recently moved to a new apartment, and am still settling (or unsettling) in. I've put my computer right in front of my window, so I can gaze outside while pages load, or just gaze outside anyway. There's not much I can gaze at except the building some 12 feet away and the Window. The window directly opposite mine.

I've been curious about this window ever since I moved in. Who lives there, and what do they do? Can they hear the music I'm constantly playing, or the guitar when I play it?

Have they seen me?

This morning though, I saw a face. Early riser. Yoga practiser. Pious, and peaceful looking. An elderly man. Stretching his arms now. And, catching a glimpse of me peeking at him. Getting uncomfortable. Turning the light off now. Gone.

Swamy's gone

My best friend at Hyderabad, my comfort, and joy, and laughter has gone away. To Pune to do this PhD in Philoshophy. Some crazy philosopher he's going to be, but am happy for him. Sad for me, but happy for him.


Here is what we did to him on his last evening here. Swamy the Sphinx.

Miss you, NS.

Destiny? Fate? And interwoven tragedies.

I'm back after my week-long holiday. Hyderabad - Pune -Panchgani -Mumbai - Pune - Hyderabad. So much has happened in the past 10 days:

I lost my camera. It really is gone, and I still can't believe it.
Mel got married. It was the most amazing wedding I've attended.
I learned various lessons, etc.

Well, to spill everything out, I lost my camera after Mel's wedding. It was a fantastic wedding, first a gurudwara wedding, a Roce ceremony, a church wedding, and a very nice reception at the Juhu Hotel (Razz Rhino, where we've had loads of gigs - it is quite a special venue, and quite symbolic, and the sea was glorious.)

Anyway, so after the reception, we were all to go to the room the newly-weds had reserved for them at the Taj Land's End. I decided I wanted to go with Gary on the bike, and handed my bag, stuffed with everything - camera, phone, clothes, accessories, etc. to a friend who was coming to Taj by ric. I told him my camera was there and that he should not forget it.

Well, he did. Put it in the back of the ric and forgot to take it out. I was so shattered when I got there and asked for my bag and saw the shock on his expression. We did everything we could think of. Went looking for the rickshaw guy, went to the police, tried calling my phone. Most likely, the chap didn't know that the bag was there at the back of his rickshaw.

It was very difficult. It really killed me. I've been a lucky girl so far, and have had no tragic losses in my life. And this camera was my first most precious possession. So new... I can still feel it in my hands and hear the perfect mechanism click.

After it had sunk it, and I was crying slowly, all I could think of was, I'll get it back if the guy who finds it is nice. It all depends on him. He had my phone, and Mel's wallet, with his visiting card. He could get in touch with us if he wanted. He still can...

I felt as if I'd lost a person.. a best friend. Everyone assured me it was OK.. after all, no one was hurt, and it was only a material thing. I'd also lost my house keys, and oh God, lots of small but important things. I had to break into my house the next day. I really felt alone, rotten, horrid.

But then I had my friends comfort me. They all felt my pain, and I could see that they were hurting for me, and that was a priceless feeling... I felt comforted just to see their pain for me. And Mel had just gotten married, it was the happiest time of his life, and I wanted to share that.

The next morning was the worst ever. I had to call and inform people, and really hope that our search would prove fruitful. A friend did a sweep on radio. Nigel tried getting the Hutch people to trace the location of my phone. But they don't have technology to support it.. or maybe they wouldn't be bothered doing it for every misplaced phone.

My parents called me to Pune on the last day of my holiday. It was comforting just to see the whole family and their compassion. Everyone says I should get another one.

Of course I will. I have to start all over again, and the most painful part is the wait. I was so used to my baby. And the other annoying part is going to be the complexity of making the purchase. I have to find someone coming down from the USA who can buy it and bring it down for me. Quite a shame.

I've learnt a few lessons.
The value of people.
The value of money.
The need to look after your things. Very carefully.

The most amazing thing that came out of this was that, for the first time I saw that when my pain and sorrow was shared among my friends and family, how quickly it vanished. I feel as if the weight that I had for the past three days is now gone. And its only because of the people in my life.

Everyone says that everything happens for the best, and for a reason. It's hard to believe in many cases. But I hope there's some truth to it. I'm lucky, it could have been much worse.. and I'll get a new camera soon. A better version. (The dollar price is dropping.)

Mel is getting married

Met him little more than a year ago. Had heard much about him. Was eager to see him. We hit it off the first time we met. Melroy D'Mello. Mellund, as he's sometimes called, amongst other names.

Little background - ex-Xavierite. Didn't finish college. Worked at Channel [V]. Was guitarist for Split, in the old days. Then, one day, Mel got a job in Bangalore.

Worked in Bangalore for 2 years. Got smashed every single night. Played for a (very) nice band there, called Old Jungle Saying. Had a blast. Then decided he needed to come back to Bombay.

2 years after he left, Melroy was back.

I met him at the hospital. Nigel, the drummer had met with a very severe accident, broken arm and ruptured spleen, and we were all at the hospital. I was very upset. That was the first time I saw Mel.

He is very tall. Gangling. Has a purposeful stride. Confused look. Very smooth talking. Incredibly, spontaneously funny.

We soon left the hospital. And went for a drink. Toasted to Nigel.

And then nearly every evening, we'd meet at the hospital, and go for drinks. Shady bars, boy talk, Split talk. Garreth, Mel, Vishy (sometimes) and me.

Mel had ridden down to Bombay from Bangalore on his Thunderbird. Via Goa. And on his way from Goa to Bombay, he met a little abandoned puppy. Mel stuffed the little puppy, carefully, mind you, into his helmet and brought him home. He didn't think his mum would be too pleased to see the little abandoned puppy. And in a tactic of great foresight, he took the puppy home and asked mom to name him. She was distracted enough, long enough for the puppy to become a part of the household. Yea, she was the one who looked at him long and hard and said, "We will call him Brownie." Sigh.

And so, we'd go for drinks, bike rides, and then go home to get eaten up by Brownie. I've met many puppies in my long career as a vagabond. But, none have bitten me with as much vigor and persistence as young Brownie.

The first time I met Mel's parents, was at 6 in the morning. When Uncle woke up and came into the living room. Where I was asleep on the sofa. I woke up soon after and smiled politely, hoping Mel would wake up soon. He got up at noon. I'd left by then.

Mel didn't have a job for few months after he got back. I had just finished college and had a long holiday. Gary had taken 2 months off. We'd meet often, go drinking, attend gigs, and have band practice. I was declared band manager and I supervised all practices. I was the most devoted fan.

Gigs started coming. Big gigs. Big stages. New songs. Everything was awesome and so much fun.

Gary and Mel introduced me to punk. And then started a punk band, Forcefield. They're fab. We'd have superb discussions over beer and rum, about cops, rebellion, politics, music, drugs, Goa and our plans to save the world. Was nice.

But then, I had to leave Bombay and come to Hyderabad. For my first ever job at Google. I hated to go, and Mel said I sucked. He said I would be sucked into the corporate world, and become a corporate slave. I promised I only wanted to work for a year and I'd be back. I'm going back soon.

Well, anyway, I tried my hardest to go back to Bombay for every Split gig. But then, the gigs became so frequent, that I had to miss many. But I'd still go every month, and there'd always be a gig for me to catch.

Mel got me to ride a rickshaw once. When I was very drunk, and it was way, way past midnight. Mel, also, lost his brand new guitar once. When we were all very drunk. We found it the next day. We'd left it outside a bar, on the pavement.
Mel spent one night in a local police station. I don't remember what for, but it was a funny story. A few days later, he was stopped again by cops for being out late.

Cops: Where are you going?
Mel: I dunno.
Cops not pleased; Cops: Are you drunk?
Mel: Yes, and I'm also high on marijuana.
Cops little alarmed; Cops: Do you have a job?
Mel: No.
Cops: What do you do?
Mel: Nothing. (Stares rudely)
Cops: We could take you to the police station.
Mel: Ah, its OK, I was there a few days ago. Is there anything you want, or can I go home?

Mel goes home.

Split's now a big band. They've recently been selected for Channel [V] Launchpad with 15 other bands. Best band goes to Hard Rock Cafe, New York. There's so much more to say about Mel.
Especially recently, I've noticed that he is something of a legend in our small Bombay rock scene (spreading upto Delhi and down to Bangalore). When he's on stage, every one's looking to see what he's doing next. And what he's saying. It's weird, and very powerful. And its only building up.

Somewhere along the way, Mel met Simrat. Petite, very pretty Punjabi girl. Fashion designer. Mostly silent, peaceful. But also, strong enough to handle Mel.

They're getting married next week. I can hardly believe its happening so soon, but am very happy and excited. It was the sweetest wedding invite I've ever got. Via email. In a few 'Melly' words. Now, I've got to go. Still can't figure a wedding present.

Swamy says...

Build your own castle.
Good idea! I will.

Of A Baby Sister

Hehehehe... every time I think of my younger sister, I feel happy and giggly. I'm generally rather well-behaved, at least out of home. But, with my baby pookie, ( all indistinguishable names henceforth in this post will refer to Azmin), I behave like a 3 year old. I just can't help it.

I was 3 when she was born. Mom says my eyes filled with incredible wonder when I saw her first and Mom was a bit anxious about how I would react to the 'new one'. I then looked at her toes and fingers, and said, 'But they are so small!' and after that, till date, I went on the be the best big sister in the world. (This claim maybe subject to severe opposition from the little pigeon-head herself).

But anyhow, our growing up together was full of delight. My favourite part is this phase I remember distinctly, when I got her to take an oath to obey every word I said. The little tub was devoted to me. She refused to listen to any one but me, and even Mom would have to pass on instructions through me. However, that glorious reign didn't last forever. Her bad luck, I insist, else she would have been a much more fun person today. The goose doesn't quite agree to that either.

Oh, but we had a lot of fun. I remember taking her piggy back, and being a camel, a snake, a roller coaster, etc. This game was called Fantasy Land. I would lie on the bed, and ask her in a mechanical tone, what ride she wanted. And the I would ask her to press my nose and request a ride. Hearing her giggle and squeal was my great joy, enough for me to subject my body to all kinds of weird behavior.

Of course we fought. I have loads of memories of her tantrums and my impatience. I also remember biting her a couple of times, and pulling hair, and all. I also remember bursting into tears once when my doodledee got spanked by Mom. I begged Mom not to hit her.

In school, I looked after her a bit, but she was doing well by herself. Back home, in the building, she was scared of the boys. And cycles. Hahah (btw, Azmin still can't ride a cycle). Anyhow, slowly, she grew up.

Well, the bottlefly soon began to dislike a lot of things about me. My slackness, laziness, and rebellious behaviour. She disliked it so much, that she tried very hard to be the exact opposite.

I wouldn't study for exams until the last minute. She would be Miss-Completed-Homework. I never ever did homework, what a horror it was.
She was very tidy and kept things in their place. I prefer the jumble-tumble.
She's always on time and always prepared for everything. (I think a pre-mature Grandma-hood also).
Oh, but I love her and I'm amused and proud of myself of driving her to such frustration that she got determined to be the exact opposite. She's a very focused girl.


I can't believe she's 18 now. And living by herself in Pune, doing a fantastic course I would die to do. And meeting some very interesting people. A couple of years ago, she disapproved of everything I did, though I wouldn't hide a thing from her, my rock-n-roll lifestyle didn't have her admiration. I used to call her my Granny then, coz she'd nag and tell me what to do and what not.

Now, the past few months, she's loosened up. She's living a cool life. Cooler than mine anyway. She's very talented, and I am glad about how she's learning things. I've tried so hard to get her to read, see, listen to, and do all kinds of interesting things! She'll now admit that my influence has been good. I hope. My little bumblebee is a darling love and I'm super glad to have her. I know one person I can giggle with always.

In memory of Farhad

How do you explain the death of a 20-year old boy, who died of a heart attack while he was out for his morning jog? How do you console your younger sister when she's just lost the boy she was falling in love with?

I couldn't have dealt with it. It's hopelessly tragic.

There isn't much you can say.

Daddy's Girl

That's me. I'm my daddy's girl.

He's the best in the world. I look like him, I think. He looks like Yanni, I think.

Of course, I've not been the best daddy's girl. In fact, at times, over time, I've annoyed him so much, that he'd close his eyes and breathe deeply to calm his head every time I was around. We've rather different ideas.

He's been supportive, maybe not encouraging, but that's because of my alarming ideas and ambitions. But, when I look back from where I'm now, it's been a worthwhile journey. I've broken his rules and begged him to accept mine. And now we respect each other's.

He lent me a lot of money, recently, to buy my fancy new camera. I have to pay him back, and I will, 'if it's the last thing I do.' He's glad am working for Google. He wants me to do an MBA. I want to be broke and make pictures. We'll find a truce in time.

Now, I miss him. I know he misses his girls too. I see his face brighten up whenever we visit home. He laughs at my jokes in accepted amusement, at least he's not alarmed anymore. He's taught me a lot, but I also think he's changed and grown as he brought us up.

I just hope I never let him down.