The day started well with Mihir's SMS confirming that the "Madhushaala' was to open at 8:30!
Micky and I love meeting Mihir, Rhea and Sangeeta. Micky spent his time busy making a card for Sangeeta and I switched on Madhushaala.
Memories went back to my childhood, I could hear conversations critiquing Madhushaalaa at home. Dad, mum and his other writer, poet, theatre friends discussed the poem, compared Bachchan ji's writing style to Sumitranandan Pant's poetry, to the younger poets.... memories....
I was born in a rich family environment - rich not in money or physical resources - but rich in creativity, leadership, art and passion and perhaps eccentricity!
My paternal grandfather was the first MP from Almora of free India. Our house in Almora had the privilege of hosting Gandhi ji, Nehru, Firoze and Indira Gandhi, Shaukat and Liyakat Ali, Miraben, Kamla Ben, Batukeshwar Dutt, and many other freedom fighters.
My grandfather Devi Dutt Pant, called Debiya affectionately, was the surprise element- the rebel and the rogue of the family! I remember tales of him told by my grandmother, aunts, my dad and my uncles.
It is said that Debiya in his childhood, once climbed a tree and tore a book page by page and scattered the pages away. Tearing a book was serious enough crime to be summoned by his father. When asked why he did that, Debiya said that he had no further use for the book as he had transferred everything to his head. His father was curious and asked his son to tell him about the book. It is said that Debiya narrated page after page after page.... he had it all memorised!
Debiya, borne into the high class Brahmin family, played Hudka, the Pahari percussion instrument, so well that the town festival for Nanda Devi used to open with his playing the Hudka. He found the idea of castes and religion segregation intolerable and often broke all the Brahmin rules possible. He ate with anyone and everyone, hugged and danced with people from all castes, creed and religion and refused to follow the norms of a Brahmin family!
Soon the young, handsome, witty and charming youngster joined law and became a practising lawyer. Those were the times of the Indian Freedom Struggle. Gandhi ji came to Almora and Debiya not only committed himself but also his younger brother Sumitranandan Pant, who by that time had ventured into writing poetry.
The story goes that Gandhi ji asked for commitment from the youngsters and granddad raised his hand and looked at his younger brother, who seemed a tad reluctant; so granddad raised his own hand and his brother's hand as well. Sumitranandan ji was too gentle and relented to the passion of my feisty granddad. Sumitranandan ji vowed not to get married then, because Gandhi ji had asked for full commitment to the struggle.
My granddad was married to my grandmother Ghanti (prior to this commitment). My grandmum was born and brought up in a traditional family. I can't imagine the paradigm shift/concessions she would have had to make for her husband. She raised four of her children stoically as she balanced my grandfather's communist idealism and his passion for the freedom struggle. The idealism extended and manifested itself in all areas of the household. My father was named Lenin and my uncle Gorkey! She must've got her way with her daughters who were named Hema and Soma, else I might've had a Natalya or a Anastasia for my aunt!
My aunt narrated the heart ache (even at the age of sixty), when her 'Gataparcha' doll was flung into flames when the Swadesi andolan started. Everything not made in India was to be burnt and much was sacrificed by the family.
Grandad entered mainstream politics. He was put in jail many a times and my grandmother was left on her own to raise her children. Her brother came to her support. Granddad was later sent for Kaalaa Paani and there his health deteriorated. The jailors mixed sand in the flour and pebbles in the daal. Food and water was limited. Once an English jailor kicked him mercilessly for revolting against the food and conditions. The other inmates were horrified. One cursed the jailor, "Today, you have hit a Brahmin; your leg will rot." A few days later the diabetic jailor suffered from gangrene and his leg had to be amputated! Fate? Coincidence? Or the curse? God knows...but my grandfather was never kicked in Kaalaa Pani again, however he had become very weak.
India became free. Grandad was nominated the 1st MP from free Almora. The family was uprooted from Almora to come to Delhi to move into the MP Bungalow.
Fate had else in store. Just when the family was in the temporary accommodation in Delhi, grandfather met with an accident. The weakness of the Kaalaa Paani had not left him and he succumbed to his injuries. The family was still in the temporary accommodation. My grandmother chose to not move to the Government house as she didn't want to taint grandfather's sacrifice by taking Government support and advantage in lieu. So the family shifted from a big, beautiful, pahari house into a small two bedroom house in a primarily refugee-populated area. Our neighbours were Sardars or Punjabis from erstwhile Indian region which had then become Pakistan.
Happiness is......... reliving memories with pride and fondness.
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