खिसियाहट

आज अपने आप से कुछ खिसियाई सी हूँ।

कल सईद साहब से मुलाक़ात हुई, अरसे बाद। बहुत सी इधर उधर की बातें भी हुईं। उन्हें बीच बीच में अचानक मेरे किसी batchmate का नाम याद आता तो वे उसके बारे में पूछ लेते- क्यों वो क्या कर रहा है आजकल। इसी तरह उन्होंने जब ऐसे ही एक के बारे में पूछा तो मैंने उन्हें बता दिया जितना मुझे पता था, जो वैसे भी ज़्यादा नहीं था। वो और राघव एक ही समय पर एक ही निर्माता के साथ काम कर रहे थे जो दोनों की फ़िल्में बनाने वाला था। क्या हुआ पता नहीं, पर राघव की फ़िल्म बन गई और उसकी न बन पाई। लगा था ये बात सुनके कि फ़िल्म बनने के इतने निकट होते हुए भी न बन पाई, कुछ अफ़सोस करेंगे पर वो तो राघव का नाम सुनते ही जैसे भूल ही गए कि हम किस बारे में बात कर रहे थे। उनके चेहरे पर मुस्कराहट छा गई, और वे राघव के बारे में मुझसे पूछने लगे। वो कैसा है, क्या कर रहा है आजकल। इसके साथ साथ वो उसके बारे में भी कुछ कुछ कहते रहे। राघव वही ना जो बहुत laid back था। मैंने मुस्कुराते हुए हाँ में सर हिल दिया। What a wonderful open expansive soul he is, I love people like that कहते हुए सईद साहब ने हवा में हाथ उठा दिए मानो शब्द कम पड़ रहें हों।

यह बात सुनके बहुत दिनों बाद I remembered a feeling that I hadn't visited in a long, long time, or maybe the feeling hadn't visited me... a deep sense of loss. यह क्षण किन्तु क्षण भर का ही था, क्षण भर में लुप्त हो गया। कहीं से नहीं आया था और कहीं नहीं में ही गायब हो गया। कोई अचरज की बात नहीं। राघव और मैं बहुत पहले अलग हो गए थे, और अब तो वह नाममात्र को भी जीवन में नहीं है। प्यार भी बहुत पहले जाता रहा। अचरज की बात ये थी कि ऐसी फीलिंग आई भी, almost like a long lost muscle memory- involuntary and lifeless. बेवश और निर्जीव।

बहरहाल मुझे ये बात बहुत अनूठी लगी, मन किया किसी को बताने का। सोचा अनुषा को फ़ोन करूं पर नहीं किया। अगले दिन जब अरिंदम से फ़ोन पर बात हो रही थी तो सोचा उसे बताऊँ। पर फ़िल्म की और एडिट की बातों के बीच ये बात रह गई। या फिर मैंने छोड़ दी, जबकि उसे ये ज़रूर बताया की सईद साहब से मिल कर आई थी। परम का मेसेज आया कि वो खाने के बाद चाय पीने आएगा, तो सोचा उसे बताऊंगी। पर क्या वाकई बताऊंगी, इसकी सम्भावना कुछ कम ही थी, यह भी मैं जानती थी।

दोपहर को मानव घर आया था। बहुत इधर उधर की बातें हुई। वह अपनी एक फिल्म को लेके बहुत excited है, जिसमें वो एक्टिंग कर रहा है। पता नहीं इस उत्साह की वजह से ऐसा है, या फिर मानव ही ऐसा है, पर उससे बात करते वक़्त ऐसा लग रहा था जैसे अपने आप से बात कर रही हूँ। जैसे मेरे शब्द उस तक पहुँचने से पहले ही फिसल जा रहें हैं। या फिर शब्द तो पहुँच रहें हैं- आखिर वो मेरी बातों का जवाब दे रहा था- मगर उनका अर्थ नहीं समझ रहा था, या समझना नहीं चाहता था, या समझने में असमर्थ था। ये बात मैंने उससे भी कही। उसने कुछ जवाब भी दिया था जो अब मुझे याद नहीं। खैर उसको तो बताना ही था मुलाक़ात के बारे में, वो भी मिला था सईद साहब से दो दिन पहले, और उसकी उसी फ़िल्म के बारे में उनसे चर्चा भी हुई थी। बात करते करते पता नहीं मुझे क्या सूझी, मैंने राघव वाली बात उस को बता दी। बात शुरू करते ही मैं पछताई। ऐसा लगा जैसे एक कोमल सी चीज़ जिसे मैंने इतना संभाल के रखा था, कैसे कठोर के हाथ दे दी। पूरी भी न बता सकी, बीच में ही रुक गई। पता नहीं उसे समझ में आया की नहीं कि बात अधूरी छूट गई है… कुछ राघव के और कुछ उसकी फ़िल्म के बारे में बात करते हुए हम आगे बढ गए।

एक अनुभव जो व्यक्तिगत था, एक क्षण जो महत्त्वपूर्ण था, विशेष था, अब न रहा।

मैंने अपने आप को थोड़ा कोसा, और फ़िर ये पोस्ट लिखने बैठ गई।

मैं सहम जाती हूँ

मैं सहम जाती हूँ। अपने आप को बहुत छोटा पाती हूँ।

पिछले कुछ दिनों में कई बार ऐसा हुआ। पहली बार जब मैं दिल्ली में थी, और मानव का फ़ोन आया। बातें करते करते अचानक ही वो मेरे काम के बारे में बात करने लगा (हमने साथ में एक फिल्म शूट की है, यानि कि उसने लिखी और डायरेक्ट की और मैंने शूट की)। शायद बात उसके दिमाग में ताज़ा थी तो उसे जैसे ही याद आई उसने फट से बोल डाली। उसने मुझसे कहा कि एक सिनेमेटोग्राफर के लिए एक्टर की नब्ज़ को पकड़ना बहुत ज़रूरी होता है। That one should react to what the actor is doing, and try and catch the beat of the actor. पर ये बात तो मुझे पता है! मेरे लिए ये अचरज ही नहीं शर्मिंदगी की बात थी की उसे ऐसा बोलने की ज़रुरत भी महसूस हुई। जिस चीज़ को मैं अपनी strength समझती थी, वो उसी बात को लेके अप्रसन्नता जता रहा था। जो मुझे लगा फिल्म की सबसे बड़ी strength होगी, क्या वो नहीं है? मैं बहुत सी documentaries शूट करती रही हूँ जिसमें ये एक महत्त्वपूर्ण गुण माना जाता है कि आप उस क्षण की और अपने पात्र की तरफ न सिर्फ़  सचेत रहें पर उसकी नब्ज़ को पकड़ पायें। और documentaries में तो दूसरा टेक भी नहीं मिलता! अपनी इस काबलियत पर मैं हमेशा काम करती रही हूँ। एक तरफ शायद थोड़ी घमंडी भी हूँ इस गुण को लेकर, और दूसरी तरफ हमेशा डरी रहती हूँ की कहीं घमंड इतना ना बढ़ जाए की गुण हाथ से जाता रहे। पर इस फिल्म में, जो मेरे अब तक के career की सबसे महत्त्वपूर्ण फिल्म होगी, जिसे मैंने भरपूर प्यार और श्रद्धा के साथ शूट किया, क्या मैं असफल रही? Did I let down Manav as director and all those wonderful actors? And as a consequence, did I fail the film? इस बात से मुझे बहुत दुःख हुआ। मैं सहम गयी।

शायद मानव को भी इस बात का एहसास हुआ क्योंकि कुछ ही देर बाद उसका फिर से फ़ोन आया और वो बोला कि the film is looking stunningly beautiful लेकिन एक दोस्त और शुभचिंतक होने के नाते उसे लगा की वो मुझे ये feedback भी ज़रूर दे। इस बात की मैं आभारी हूँ और मानव से इतनी अपेक्षा तो रखती हूँ कि वो मुझे सच्ची और खरी ही फीडबैक दे।

मैं वापस मुंबई आई। पता नहीं क्यों वापस आते वक़्त मन कुछ विचलित था। मन में ये सवाल था कि जीने का मकसद क्या है। क्यों जी रही हूँ, किसके लिए। गलत मत समझिये, ऐसा नहीं है कि मेरे जीवन में प्यार की कोई कमी है। मेरा एक सुन्दर परिवार है, जिसके सभी लोग मुझसे बहुत प्यार करते हैं। बहुत से अच्छे दोस्त हैं। रोमांचक प्यार की बात की जाए तो उस मामले में भी मैं बहुत भाग्यवान रही हूँ। अभी जीवन में कोई न सही पर that is by choice. लेकिन फिर भी ऐसा लगता है की क्यों जिया जाए। शादी करके, बच्चे पैदा करके हम अपने आप को बहला तो लेते हैं की हमारे पास जीने का मकसद है, पर क्या वाकई में वो है, या हम जीवन के खालीपन को रिश्तों से भरने में जुटे हैं?

मुंबई वापस आके आधा दिन तो सफ़ाई में गया। शाम को जब मेल चेक की तो देखा फैज़ा की एक मेल आई हुई थी। गोलीबार में फिर से लोगों के घर तोड़े गए थे, और कुछ 43 परिवारों ने मैदान में रात गुज़ारी थी। बात दिल को छू गयी पर समझ में नहीं आया क्या करूं। अगले दिन एक दोस्त का मेसेज आया कि वो पास ही है, मिलने आ जाए? वो आया, उसी दिन इत्तेफ़ाक से शायोनी भी मानव के घर आई हुई थी सो शाम साथ गुज़री। बहुत बातें हुई, drinks के साथ। रात देर से सोई थी फिर भी सुबह जल्दी आँख खुल गयी। दिन की शुरुआत फिर से गोलीबार की खबर और तस्वीरों से हुई। जिस रात मैं शराब पीते हुए बेकार की बातें कर रही थी, उस रात गोलीबार के लोग सड़क पर थे। पर ये तो रोज़ ही होता है, कितने ही लोग रोज़ ही सड़क पर होते हैं, इसमें क्या नया है? क्यों मैं अपने आप को नकली सी लगती हूँ?

बहुत मुश्किल होती है। किस बात से बंधू, किससे दूर रहूँ? किससे प्रभावित होऊं, किससे नहीं। कभी लगता है कि ये भी एक तरह का घमंड ही है की हमें 'कुछ करना चाहिए', कि हमारे कुछ करने से कोई फ़र्क पड़ सकता है। अपने ही सवालों से कभी तो थक जाती हूँ, और कभी ऐसा लगता है कि जवाब कितना सरल है। हमारे वश में तो कुछ है ही नहीं, ये तो दुनिया का संतुलन है। The only thing to do, the only thing one can do, is to follow one's heart. जो काम अच्छा लगे, जिस काम से ख़ुशी मिले, बस वो करता चल। अगर आप सच्चे दिल से काम कर रहें हैं, तो chances are that you are adding value to the world. फिर ये ज़रूरी नहीं है कि आप खादी के कपडे और कोह्लापुरी चप्पल पहन कर स्लम में काम करें। शायद मैं बहुत स्वाभाविक सी बात कह रही हूँ। लेकिन ये बात मुझे रह रह के अपने आप को ही बतानी पड़ती है। शायद मेरी मध्य वर्गीयता भी मुझ पर कभी कभी भारी पड़ती है। और इस बात से भी मैं बहुत खुश हूँ। ऐसा लगता है कि जीवन में अगर कोई तकलीफ न हो, या तकलीफ की तरफ़ संवेदनशीलता न हो, तो जीवन कितना नीरस होगा।

इस बात में भी घमंड की हलकी सी बू तो है!

आज फ़िर मानव से मुलाक़ात हुई। वो टैगोर पर नाटक की तैयारी में जुटा है। कितना जोश है उसकी बातों में और कितना विश्वास भी। पिछले कुछ महीनों मैं उससे काफ़ी प्रभावित रही। उसके काम के बारे में पहले भी लिख चुकी हूँ। हालांकि उसका काम मुझे पसंद है, पर कुछ बातों से, और एक नाटक से शिकायत भी है। पर इस बात की दाद देती हूँ कि वो जो करता है, पूरी शिद्दत, पूरे तन मन से। वो एक तेज़ बहती नदी की तरह है, उसके साथ काम करना मतलब उसके साथ बहना है। मतलब एक तरीके का समर्पण। अगर आप बहने को तैयार नहीं हैं तो या तो आप उसके साथ काम नहीं कर पाएंगे, या अपने काम में आनंद नहीं ले पाएंगे, या वो ही आप को निकाल बाहर करेगा। बहरहाल, मुझे उसकी energy और enthusiasm हमेशा से बहुत पसंद है। आज भी उसकी बातें सुनी तो एहसास हुआ कि वो कितना काम कर चुका है, और कितना ही और करने में जुटा है। मैं फ़िर सहम गयी। अपनी ज़िन्दगी कुछ फीकी सी लगने लगी। इसलिए नहीं की मुझे अपनी क्षमता पर विश्वास नहीं हैं, या मैं तुलना में लगी हूँ- वो तो बेवकूफी होगी। शायद इसीलिए कि अपनी क्षमता का एहसास है...

पर उसमें भी तो कोई नयी बात नहीं है। मैं अकेली तो नहीं हूँ ऐसी जो अपनी क्षमता के अनुसार काम न पाएगी न कर पाएगी...

Inspired by Manav, I wrote this post (almost) in Hindi. It took two pegs of rum, three cigarettes, thrice as long and some help from the English-Hindi shabdkosh :)

What's in a name?... No really...

I ran into Piyush Mishra at NSD on Sunday. We had returned from shoot just that morning, and I had gone straight home with no intention of stepping out again, but a few hours and a series of phone calls later, found myself at Café Turtle at Khan Market with the same film crew, or what was left of it in Delhi. Manav was keen to go to NSD and the rest of us followed- I intended to take the Metro from Mandi House, and the others wanted to hang out at the Theatre Festival.

So anyway, I ran into Piyush Mishra. I walked up to him with hands folded in a namaskar, like I always do. He was his flamboyant self, saying Manav mila, usne bola Pooja Sharma ne film shoot ki hai. Main bola kaun Pooja Sharma! I laughed and said, haan aapko to naam se kabhi yaad nahin rahega. ‘Arre tumhara naam hi aisa hai, duniya mein karoron Sharma hain. Mera naam bhi Priyakant Sharma tha, maine badal dala.’ I know this, I told him. I have read the Caravan interview, though I didn’t remember his exact name, and certainly not that he was a Sharma.

This conversation reminded me of another conversation I had had with my father many years back, while on an after dinner walk. I was in high school then, and was due to appear for my 10^th Board exams that year. It was my last opportunity (or so I thought) to change my name. I didn’t like my name. I wasn’t sure what I wanted it to be, the alternatives were equally unimaginative, now that I think about it- Priya or Priyanka… but anything would be better than Pooja, I had then thought. So on that walk I casually asked my father, so who kept my name?- hoping to start a conversation that I would eventually veer towards the idea of changing it. It was me, he said. But Pooja was not such a common name back then, he added apologetically. In that moment my heart melted. To hell with it, I thought.

And Pooja Sharma I stayed.

Manav Kaul: More plays, mixed reactions (Part 2)

‘Ilhaam’ had not made much of an impression on me. As a result, I ended up giving the next play ‘Shakkar ke paanch daane’ a miss, an error I deeply regret now that I have read the play, but I’ll come to that later.

Right after we returned to Delhi from shooting the film that we are working on together, there was a festival of Manav’s plays at Mandi House. By this time I knew him reasonably well, or enough at least to know that he is very talented with a sharp, quick thinking, improvisational mind, and a spontaneous and infectious energy. And further, he is a team player who gives people their space. This I knew of the person, but towards his work I had had a mixed reaction, having seen only Hansa and Ilhaam.

I made it a point then, to see all three plays that were being staged, including Ilhaam, which was to be the first. Even after the second viewing, my opinion about the play stays largely unchanged. I still have the same problems with it. Perhaps I am unable to see things his way, perhaps he is content with his interpretation… in any case, in my opinion the play lacks insight, and is heavy with a bias and an interpretation that is almost Western in nature.

The second play ‘Park’ was something else altogether. It was hilariously funny, with an underlying theme so simple and so profound- it was superb. The design was simple- it’s centered around three people and three benches in a park and happens almost in real time. The beauty is in (the nature and content of) the interactions between the three people, borne out of their individual quirks. The idea of occupying and claiming space was lovely in itself, and it seemed a bit of a stretch to bring in the Israel- Palestinian conflict, Kashmir and the adivasi- Maoist struggle, especially since all of these are complex issues with fairly complicated histories. I found it surprising that Manav should slip up in this regard considering that he is half Kashmiri. I don’t know enough about Israel- Palestine, but to equate adivasis to Maoists would be offensive to anyone familiar with the region. Having said that, the references were clearly made in good faith, and the audience responded to it in the same spirit.

As the characters’ back stories are revealed, the play enters a different and unexpected zone- it becomes an insightful comment on some of the ills of our education system, and our way of bringing up children. Manav seems to be a keen observer- of people, and trends and events and such- as a good writer ought to be, and this shows in his detailing, especially of characters. There is an everyday simplicity and earthiness to his characters that is refreshing. (This response might seem peculiar, but bear in mind that it comes from someone who is mostly unfamiliar with Hindi writing as well as theatre, having read none of Hindi literature, and seen very little theatre.)

The three actors were fantastic. Some credit for this may be due to the director as well; who seems to know a thing or two about handling actors, and pays great attention to performances, a trait that was on display earlier on, on our shoot too.

The third and last play that I saw was called ‘Laal Pencil’. This was essentially a children’s play; here’s the official synopsis: a young school girl is relishing her new found stardom amongst peers and teachers ever since she suddenly, mysteriously starts writing beautiful poetry. What no one knows is that it is not her, but a magic red pencil that she found in class that's writing the poetry. The constant struggle between truth and falsehood, desires and righteousness, love and hate, and the pain of keeping a secret, lead upto the girl's final decision. Will she or won't she? Based on a Korean novel, 'laal pencil' is a poignant tale of a girl with a secret.

The plot of the play is simple enough, and does not stray far beyond what is stated in the synopsis. But it is highly stylised in its presentation, while also offering, in oblique ways, a critique of the way children are treated, both at home and in school. There were all kinds of tools employed- from costumes (the students wore only one shoe), to make up (the students were in mime style make up- with their faces painted white) to shadow play (Pinki’s parents fight behind a screen and her father, who has gone away, is never actually seen) to word play (the argument between Pinki’s parents is fantastic in it’s simplicity while getting the message across more effectively than would have been possible with normal dialogues) to more word play (the students almost never say anything intelligible- always repeating generic phrases, in a allusion to the rote learning that is prevalent in our schools) to symbolism (the pencil grows bigger as Pinki’s guilt increases, the students drag themselves across the stage to reach ‘the other shoe’) to multiple role play (at some points there are multiple actors playing the same character, Pinki) and so forth. There were several more, these are only the ones I remember offhand. Besides, I’m not a theatre person myself and my responses are such as can be expected of a lay audience.

This play certainly had a message, and even employed Mahatma Gandhi in order to get it across, or perhaps to legitimise it. This is just as well, for Truth in itself does not seem to command the respect and high regard that it should in society, and is usually propped up/ legitimised / appropriated by invoking religion and/ or the fires of hell or the next birth, as the case may be. To invoke the Mahatma then, is to clearly state your secular credentials.

I seem to vaguely remember Manav saying that ‘Laal Pencil’ is not a play for children. In a way I see his point- the message in the play is as relevant for and applicable to, an adult. Besides we as a society would do well to return to all those moral science lessons we read in school, for we don’t seem to be doing a very good job of applying any to our lives. Besides, there is much in the play that demonstrates both an understanding and a critique of our schools, teachers and parents, and to that extent I suppose it is certainly one that adults ought to see. But it is very clearly also a play that would appeal to older children, who might recognise some of their angst, depicted on stage.

Manav Kaul: First Impressions (Part 1)

A little over a month and- one film seen, one shot, three plays seen, one read, and several poems and blog posts read- it’s been a Manav Kaul overdose.

(Links: Manav's plays, poems and other writings.)

I had not heard of Manav when I went to see his film- as part of the Osian’s Film Festival in Delhi, and on a friend’s recommendation- it’s called Hansa and it’s one of the loveliest children’s films I have seen. It has a simple story, just like the people that it portrays- hill people, with their simple lives and simple joys and sorrows (and I don’t mean that in a condescending way, far from it!) It is full of heartwarming little details and characters that are quirky yet believable, with their own little idiosyncrasies. More than anything else, it’s a film that treats children as young adults, with respect for their intelligence and sensitivity, and without mollycoddling or shielding them from the realities of life. There is stuff in the film that parents may find hard to explain to their children, but it is in no way stuff that they should shy away from. It is also a film with some wonderful performances, especially by the younger actors. It is a little crude, rough- at- the- edges so to say in its craft, but I am more than willing to overlook that not just because it is Manav’s first film but also because there is so much in the film that is beautiful and does work!

(Unsurprisingly it won awards at Osian's. Read about it here.)

I returned to Bombay determined to see Manav’s plays, two of which were scheduled to be staged at Prithvi soon after my return. He is primarily a theatre person and I was excited about seeing his plays after seeing such a promising film debut. So I promptly went for ‘Ilhaam’, the first of the two plays, the first day that it was staged.

‘Ilhaam’ is a story about a family man who attains enlightenment and what happens thereafter- how he and his family cope with it. Here’s the official synopsis: ‘Bhagwan is the epitome of the mundane – a middle-aged banker, married, with two grown up college-going children. However, one day, while sitting on a decrepit park bench he stumbles upon ‘enlightenment’. Therein begins the battle between the world outside and his world inside’.

Let me state at the outset that I had a problem with ‘Ilhaam’ from the word go, with it’s very premise. The play basically seeks to engage with Bhagwan’s struggles post enlightenment, without actually concerning itself with what the process of reaching this enlightenment may have been. There are clues along the way that seem to suggest, as does the synopsis, that Bhagwan literally ‘stumbles upon’ enlightenment, an idea that is as fantastic as it seems preposterous, though in all fairness there are also clues that suggest Bhagwan always had a disposition that made him a suitable candidate, including a history of talking to birds, running away from home as a child and being untraceable for a year, and time spent in an asylum. And yet there is little to suggest that it was a conscious process, nor is the process or enlightenment itself accompanied by a better understanding of the world, a fact that seems blaringly contradictory to the idea of ‘enlightenment’, whatever it may be (since we can only conjecture.)

Manav seems to have limited his own canvas by resorting to clichés- in his journey towards enlightenment and thereafter, Bhagwan sits in a decrepit park bench for hours on end, watching children who don’t exist, at play. He talks to birds and can converse with a mute beggar. He dances without music (a graceless dance with staccato movements… because Nature is so graceless?!) All the while that he finds himself closer to Nature, he also finds himself further away from his family and friends, at one point reaching a stage where they become totally unintelligible to him. For some inexplicable reason, his ‘enlightenment’ is not accompanied by sensitivity towards his own family nor understanding for their concern. I find this conceptualisation puzzling- I can understand the difficulty in portraying a sense of detachment- and therein lies the challenge. But should this detachment have been devoid of love and compassion and a deeper understanding of the ways of the Universe? Did Bhagwan really need to be so perplexed by all that was going on around him? If the intention was to portray Bhagwan’s internal struggle, would that not have been better served had Bhagwan been a little more aware? He might still have found himself to be equally helpless, but would have been more believable as someone who did indeed attain some kind of enlightenment.

The play is peppered with philosophical questions, (and references many authors) which are not just perfectly legitimate, they are of a high intellectual caliber, something that one can expect of someone as well read as Manav. But then it seems to be precisely that- an intellectual response to a concept that can perhaps only be understood or believed in if one has faith. In my limited experience, I have come to recognise and accept the difference between intelligence and wisdom. Manav seems to be coming from a place of intelligence and attempting to tackle questions of wisdom...

Having said that, I did find his take very interesting. According to Manav, enlightenment is a reversible process, ‘curable’ by the force of will and medicine. Such is the fate of his Bhagwan, who goes through psychological treatment- willingly it would seem- for he makes a choice to return to family life over staying enlightened, which seem, according to him, to be mutually exclusive states of being. This is a choice he makes in a conversation with his ‘Chacha’ (who the Chacha turns out to be is a delightful surprise in an inspired piece of writing)- a conversation that is the high point of the play, and one which encapsulates its essence.

Ud jayega hans akela

If ever I have known nostalgia, now is it.

And if it could be embodied in a single tangible thing, it would have to be this song.

For a little less than a month a group of people came together, strangers most of them, to shoot a film. What followed was a joyride. For those 20 odd days, as we all woke up at unearthly hours and dragged ourselves out of bed and over the mountain paths to the locations- we were close, so close- we were friends, buddies, partners in crime, companions on a journey, contributors, nay collaborators in a common creative effort.

On those walks and drives to location, we often had music playing on the cab music system or someone’s cellphone. On the longer drives, Sayani and Sahil would often hum or sing little snippets of old Hindi film songs.

But the one that stuck in my head is this one that played off Manav’s cellphone on the long drive to Devaria tal, and then again on the walk up to the hut when the two of us went to shoot some time lapses and plates.

The shoot came to an end, as it had to. And people began to leave one by one. And I felt a sadness I had never felt before… 

And these lines, quoted from the song, could not be more appropriate.

Jaise paat gire taruvar ke

Milna bahut duhela

Na jaanu kidhar kirega

Lagya pawan ka rela

As the Leaf Falls from the Tree

Is Difficult to Find

Who Knows Where it Will Fall

Once it is Struck with a Gust Of Wind

I wish them well, everyone who was with us on this beautiful journey, whether or not our paths ever cross again.
:')

The building next door

I’d noticed the name before

on the building next door

though only in passing.

Do you pause anymore

when you come across a building

named after a popular icon?

Neither do I.

And this one was inside Police Officers’ Colony!

And so it came to be

that here I’ve been living

without a clue.

Until last week when I visited someone who lives in it.

At the entrance

I found a bust

bearing his name!

So I asked.

Oh yes, said she.

This plot of land belonged to him,

as did the building.

When he died,

his family distributed the apartments

among his crew.

This one belonged to his still photographer.

There it was then.

He died before the building was even finished,

and he certainly never lived in it.

But if he owned it, surely he must have come here,

walked the same earth?

That thought was enough to fill my heart

with a child like glee!

I glided home,

imagining that time in the long lost past

when Guru Dutt may have walked the same path.