When I mentioned to Papa that Joy Mukherjee was my favorite actor, he asked me why. I told him that I liked the way he looked: truthful, with a genuine smile. I was very young then. Papa explained to me that being a hero was not just about looks. Over time I understood what acting was all about. But I dread going to the theatre these days to watch one of the insane new Hindi movies. Barring very few, what are the actors of today about, if not looks and lineage? I still feel Joy Mukherjee had his charm. Listening to "Geetmala Ki Chhaon Mein", the excellent roundup of Hindi film music and anecdotes, right out of ameen Sayani's mouth- I learnt how most of Joy Mukherjee's movies were made by his in house production: Filmalaya using a set formula wherein the songs and music were decided upon first and the story crafted later on to fill the gap between the songs. No wonder we were bored with the sunday evening classics back in the Doordarshan days!
But the songs from Joy's movies were real joys indeed. In recent times I rediscovered the song "Alif-zabar-aa..." a fun song that teaches the full Urdu alphabet easily. It was from the movie "Love in Shimla" which, if my memory serves me right, the first hindi film for Sadhna. (Another related trivia: Sadhna's first appearance in Hindi movies was as one of the Chorus girls in the legendary 'Shree 420' song "Eechak dana, beechak dana..."). She was later to appear with Joy Mukherjee in another super-hit-song-studded: 'Ek Musafir Ek Haseena'. Two songs from the movie: "Aap yu hi agar, humse milte rahe..." and "Bahot shukriya, badi meharbani, meri zindagi mein huzoor aap aaye..." are amongst those closest to my heart... mostly due to Sadhna's natural dance and Joy's disarming smile.
As my humble tribute, I recorded "Lakhon hain nigah mein..." on my harmonica. As usual, it sounds too mechanical and the second stanza is a bit messed up, but hey- better than nothing, right? This song is what captures the essence of Joy Mukherjee as he meant to me.
Like the balloons that rise at the end of the song (I am sure one can find the right videos on youtube), I hope Joy would be high up, lighting the skies with his beautiful smile.
Today is Holi. A festival that reminds me of wonderful Gud ka pooa and Dahi bada- with a sprinkle of sugar, just for me- that ma would prepare and which we would a relish to eat- fresh as well as till the next morning. Holi also bring back memories of placing gulaal at the feet of elders and seeking their blessings. Of how I would keep some space in my tummy to eat at Pranay's place- the home which was my source for some of the most delicious non-vegetarian food I have ever had. But Holi also brings back memories of my frantic efforts at running away from the wet colors. I do not know what my allergy from wet colors is all about. It just makes me feel like throwing up- spasms emanating from my stomach, though I don't think I have ever actually thrown up. I guess it is psychological. Anyhow, what it essentially boiled down to was an annual ritual wherein I would stay holed up in my house lest someone came, smooth talked to me about not doing anything at all and sneaked a sachetful of the dreaded green color in my hair. Ewww.
Then there are the memories from plus two days in Ranchi when I did not arrange for anything to eat for the Holi day, for I planned to go stay at Nani's place. But all I ended up with was being fed on the previous evening and being 'suggested' that I use the time for studying - back in my room. That was my first experience of being hungry the whole day long, that too on a day when every house in my universe was releasing heavenly aroma of food: sizzling, frying, baking. Oh and I was naive to think that the police 3rd degree was the worst form of torture. I practically begged to be fed in the evening at Prashant's place. And that day, I guess, was the first time I went to Abhijeet's place - which was to become my heaven of good food in the coming years.
In comparison, the two Holi spent in Jodhpur have not been too bad. Last year I was tricked by Ummed into coming out and being colored by him and his friend, but that was all. I was able to cook, just as I did this year. Plus, this year I was able to escape the colors, though I missed the dry Abeer and Gulaal and, of course, the pooas, dahi badas and katahal ki sabzi. But this nostalgia is not what prompted me to write this post. Late in the evening I wound up listening to Sharda Sinha's "Jai jai Bhairavi, asur bhayawani...". I tried to look it up on Internet and found that like most other great Maithili devotional songs, this one too was written by Vidyapati, a poet that lived in the 14th century and with whom Lord Shiva was said to have agreed to reside as his house help. The song is really a treat to hear and I hope the link I provide will stay intact:
The lyric is in Maithili, a dialect that is not too difficult to understand for me since it is close to Magahi. Since the people from Mithila are worshippers of 'Shakti', this prayer sings praise of her fear inducing form when it is most potent. Any attempt at translation can be a mere act of audacity, but I am going to do the crime anyway. The song describes her as the better half of Pashupati (Shiva). It is this form that even the daemons fear. It is a prayer to her to grant us the boon of wisdom so we use our knowledge in good ways so that we may attain salvation. The second stanza describes her as someone who seats herself day and night on a mat made out of a dead body, and whose feet are adorned by anklets studded with gems that shine like the moon. She is the one who makes it a game out of slaying countless daemons, painting her face with their blood and spitting their remains.
The third stanza is the one that I find most beautiful wherein her dark body and red eyes are compared to a bloom of red lotus in a pond of dark, rain bearing clouds. Her lips have swollen red like a flower by the frequent chattering of her teeth in anger and her angry breath causes bubbles to form in the bloody froth emanating from their corners. Having driven home what she is capable of, the last stanza brings her out as the creator of music through her anklets while her hand beats the rhythm like swords cutting through the air. Vidyapati begs that the mother does not forget her child (Vidyapati, a mere servant at her feet).
And this led me to remember a beautiful motherly person I met in Ranchi. Ashish Jha's mother was known to be very strict. My freinds from Kairali school describe an incident when a gang of them went to his home with him, somewhat past the time he was supposed to be back, to get some notebook. Asish received a good tight slap in front of everyone, that resounded louder each time the anecdote was recounted. But I got to know her as the most genial person. She would not talk to me much but every so often, on holidays I would find Ashish walking to my quarter in his typical elephantine gait and telling me that aunty had called me for breakfast. Those were the treats that I looked as fructification of my prayers. The meal would be simple: Pooris, a couple of sabzis and curd but I really used to pray that I get invited to that tranquil home more often. I was really pained to hear that she passed away when I was in M.Sc. I remember her very much today. I know she has become a part of the divine force that sustains the cosmos.
PS: I found another translation of the prayer at http://www.stutimandal.com/new/poemgen.php?id=91 . But here the lyric seems to be modified slightly. So, I will let my attempt stay here for it is what I was able to understand on my own and I guess it has its own life.
O Bhairavī, Who causes fear in the demons, Who is the consort of the Paśupati (Pārvatī), Who is Māyā! Be victorious. O Bhairavī, Who is benevolent to cows! Give a simple boon of wisdom to me. Those who follow You, achieve You. [1]
You are seated on a Śava (corpse) every moment (day and night) and Your feet is adorned by jewels of moon-like white color. You took the army of demons in Your mouth after slaying them, and chewed away their fingers.[2]
You have a deep blue complexion like the ocean, Your eyes are red like the lotus or the fruit of Koṁkā. Your lips are shivering with rage and Your teeth is clattering with sound. Your breathe is powerful enough to raise foam on the chest of ocean.[3]
Your anklets are chiming ‘ghana-ghana’ and Your sword is drumming with the sound ‘hana-hana’. The poet Vidyāpati is Your servant. O Mother! Never leave me alone (never leave me out of Your mercies).[4]
Pretty selfish, voracious reader, food lover, wants to be a proper 'Jack of ALL trade', wants to see the world. Ultimate aim in life :'To have a smile of content and omniscience when I breathe my last'.
