“Bumbi Days”!…… by VIVEK MEHRA

Thank God this post did not reach the winters ..otherwise it would have been ‘Shivering Bumbissss”
Heritage conservator Balwinder Singh once quizzed me –‘What is Chaali Khoo?’-‘Forty wells!’ I answered. ‘What is Chaati khoo?’ I twinkled, smiled, knowing it had a catch, ‘You Say?’ –‘It is ‘a’ well with a ‘chaat’(roof)!’ , he laughed. ‘What is Bambe Walla Khoo?’ –‘This has to do with robust Male gender of ‘Bumbi’-I replied. As the day’s banter on Heritage buildings and stories of yore connected to Amritsar saw a free flow,
I was reminded of a beautiful post ‘Bumbi Days! , written by Vivek Mehra. …………….

“BUMBI” DAYS !……………..By VIVEK MEHRA

When ever I meet my cousins, these days, whether electronically or physically, the conversation invariably veers to our ‘Bumbi’ days, sooner or later, and more so if they are a few drinks down. The truth however is, that be it guys or dolls, all of them are hopelessly nostalgic about those days.

They post sepia tinged ‘Bumbi’ pictures on face book and get a lot of ‘wows’ from our kin, now spread all over the world. They love to take, an almost vicarious pleasure, as they recount, with a child like delight, countless stories about those days; much to the utter mystification of their kids and spouses. These relations came much after the ‘Bumbi’ days were over, so they wonder, with justification, “What the hell is this Bumbi?”

Any body who knows Punjabi language would tell you that a ‘Bumbi’ is a Punjabi name for a tube well. You would find one in every farm in rural Punjab, gushing out a thick stream of pristine, crystal clear, silvery water from its gaping mouth.

Our Bumbi was different!

Yes, it too was a tube well and yes, it too was located in a huge agricultural farm, but that is where the similarity ends.

Back in the 1970’s it was a heaven, a paradise on earth.

First, it gave its huge stream of fresh water not to the fields but into a good sized swimming pool, that was our very own! But it was even more than that. Much more.

Back then, it meant a place where more than a score cousins, uncles and aunts spent their summer holidays, together without any of the petty, selfish, jealousies that plague us today. They traveled from all over India to be there. Every year, they preferred Amritsar to any hill station or any other holiday destination.

From Nagpur , Delhi, Bombay (yes not Mumbai) Moradabad, Kanpur . As each group unboarded from their train, the buzz was always, “Man! I am going to the Bumbi tomorrow morning. And every day after, for the next month and a half!”

‘Bumbi’ was Joy with a capital J. Pure and unadulterated. It was unlimited fun without the aid of a single gizmo of today, be it a television or a mobile or an iPad or what ever. It was youth as youth should be, without a care in the world.

The school bags along with their burdens were thrust aside, forever, after the usual inquires “How did you fare?” “Well I flunked Marathi even after the exam paper was leaked to me!” “Shucks! Same here yaar, with me, for Math!” and that was the end of such boring conversations for the next six weeks or so at least.

During the early day time, Bumbi was the ultimate all males only club. Outsiders were also welcome to come and enjoy their mornings there. The family’s ladies were allowed only in the afternoons after the outsiders had left the place and the gates were closed.

Bumbi ! Bumbi ! Bumbi ! All the way

For the boys, Bumbi meant getting up early in the morning and drinking piping, hot milk, from the udders of our own cows, duly supervised by a strict aunt who ensured that every one finished his tall, steel glass. A future doctor to bew, would however, usually hoodwink her, and surreptitiously pour his share into the glass of any cousin who was not looking.

The dirty dozen or so would then stuff themselves into an Ambassador and off they
would go, yelling and jostling and happy, all of them in one car , piled on top of each other. Talk about public transport!

Bumbi meant an effeminate ‘Gawala’ (Cowhand) and his grossly overweight wife who were care takers of the place. The kids would love to tease him and whoop in delight as he chased them.

Bumbi meant applying a lot of mustard oil to your bodies and wrestling in the mud ‘Akhara.’ It also meant Channi, a rather dimwitted sardar, who worked on his immensely muscular body all day, but never a minute on his brains. The rowdy crowd loved to rag him as he showed them his ‘body.’

Bumbi meant a “Dilruba Dilli Wali’ a male cousin, so fair of skin, that a mere touch would leave angry red marks on it. It also meant being treated to a cabaret dance by another cousin, full adorned in flowing skirts. I dare say he got more cat calls and wolf whistles then any ‘Munni’ or ‘Sheela.’

Bumbi meant bathing all day in that lovely pool of cool water, shaded by huge trees. It meant planning to dunk the girls in it when they were allowed to join us and hear them shriek in fear. It meant laughter unlimited. It also meant an infinite number of mangoes and pakoras and rich Amritsari food in pure desi ghee, when the aunts too joined us. I am sure no one had heard of diabetes, BP and obesity back then.

It meant raiding the cupboard of our grand dad and finishing off all his eatables in one go, only to find it fully replenished the next days and never ever being ticked off for it. It meant being given hundred rupee notes to spend at the local cinemas and eateries almost everyday. It meant being told at a cinema booking window, that they could not sell two dozen tickets to a single buyer as he would ‘black’ them. It meant that the ticket vendor was shown all the two dozen lined up in their best finery, eagerly awaiting the show to start.

It meant crying at the railway platforms as each group went back, promising to come back next year. It meant awaiting all year for the summer holidays to bring them back. Do you still wonder, what the hell is “Bumbi ?”

History of Indian Academy of Fine Arts-Amritsar/Galleries losing interest / BY Vandana Shukla

BY Vandana Shukla /SAANJH

ESTABLISHED in 1928 by Master Gurdit Singh and his friends, Indian Academy of Fine Arts , Amritsar, acquired its present status by dedicated pursuit of S G Thakur Singh, who went all the way to Bengal to master wash technique and later became a scene painter in the nascent Bombay film industry. He retuned to Amritsar with name and fame and dedicated his life to promotion of art. It was due to the efforts of Thakur and few other like- minded artists that the government gave 4000 square feet land for the gallery in 1958, for which foundation stone was laid by Dr Rajendra Prasad, the first president of India. Kartar Singh Duggal gave Rs 17.5 lac to the gallery for the air conditioning of the gallery and the auditorium.

Since 1928, every year IAFA has been holding national art shows, barring 1947, when show could not be held due to partition. The prestigious gallery has got into an ugly controversy due to alleged unlawful constitutional amendments by a few self- proclaimed office bearers, who are neither artist not have any love for art. These office bearers, allege the artist community, are realtors and brick kiln owners, who are trying to amend the constitution to own the space which is a prime property. The artist community from the entire country is flabbergasted, as the cultural space, created with the help of the government for the purpose of art alone is being used by the office bearers of political affiliation for commercial activities. The artist community is up in arms against this blatant show of disregard by a few for artists and art in a state which is as such in dire need of more such facilities.

The missing galleries of art
Punjab has given many great artists to the world of art, but, opportunities for the growth of art remain abysmally poor in the state. Of the two existing art galleries in the state, one is mired in controversies.

BY Vandana Shukla

PUNJAB has given one of the most celebrated artists to the world of visual art- from Amrita Sher-Gil, Manjit Bawa, Arpana Caur, Paramjit Singh, to T&T ( Thukral and Tagra) and Vibha Galhotra. The artistic journey of these artists has made an impact in shaping new trends in the art world, which resulted in receiving global appreciation for their works. Unfortunately, in their own state, they hardly ever had a chance to showcase their talent, receiving laurels is a far- fetched proposition. Reason, the state does not have galleries and other infrastructure that can cater to dynamic needs of art world, which is evolving and growing beyond the bounds of available resources. As a result, artists migrate from the state to other places to grow.

“The state continues to provide great artistic talent to the country and the world but it fails to grow appreciation for art for lack of infrastructure,” says Rahi Mahinder Singh, secretary, Punjab Lalit Kala Akademi.

The continued migration of artists comes as a greater surprise, since, one of the first ever galleries that opened in the country, was, Indian Academy of Fine Arts at Amritsar. The state body of art, Punjab Arts Council, does not have a budget allocation worth mention. NZCC ( North Zone Cultural Centre) , another body that is supposed to cater to needs of art, flip flops, depending upon the efforts of the head of the organisation, especially when it comes to promotion of visual art. At Kalagram, Mani Majra, the ambitious project of NZCC, a corridor was converted into an art gallery, which was in fact, an apology of a gallery, where upcoming artists could exhibit their works. Even this facility was closed, further reducing availability of space for exhibitions. Virsa Vihars was another effort initiated by the state government for the purpose, but, there too exhibitions are held only with collaborations. At Jalandhar, Apeejay College of Art has turned Virsa Vihar, Jalandhar, into Satya Paul Virsa Vihar Art Gallery. At Bhatinda, Kapurthala, and Patiala, Virsa Vihars are still waiting to take off. After closure of NZCC gallery at Sheesh Mahal, Patiala, one more option to showcase works for budding artists is closed, in the almost non- existent private gallery scenario in Punjab. Punjabi University, Patiala, which runs a successful master’s programme in Fine Arts, had a gallery and museum attached to the department to promote talent of its students. Due to some bureaucratic decision, the gallery and museum were separated three years back. Now, the gallery in- charge has to take permission from the vice chancellor, instead of a panel of artists- as is the norm, if an artist wants to hold a show.

Artists need exhibitions, without a critique, their art cannot grow. If one excludes Chandigarh, which has a sizeable number of good galleries, barring just two galleries worth mention, there is no other place in Punjab where adequate facilities are provided at a good location to showcase works in a professional manner. Many senior artists, who hail from different towns of Punjab, and have shown works across the country, lament the lack of facilities, which, newly emerging towns like Gurgaon have aplenty in places like EPI Centre and Art Mart. The state is untouched by the way markets and styles have undergone transformation in the absence of professionally managed art activity. There is hardly any interaction with evolved viewers for the artist. It is a catch- 22 situation, artists do not grow for the same reasons that fail to provide discerning viewers of art.

Admitting apathy of the government bodies, Rahi Mohinder Singh adds that it is primarily work of the Akademis to organise seminars, shows, talks etc to support growth of art in the state. Unfortunately, Punjab Arts Council depends on office bearers to extract money from the government, which, till date has no fixed budget allocation for arts.

Another problem is attached to practising artists who have decided not to grow beyond realism and copy work in the name of art. People open galleries in Ludhiana and Jalandhar with fanfare, galleries last till the space is rented out to a more lucrative offer. The kind of commitment art requires has somehow failed to grow, as a result those who wish to pursue art, migrate to Delhi or Mumbai. In the past Ludhiana has seen opening and closing of Tag gallery, Artmosphere and few others. If you compare the scenario with Jahangeer Art Gallery, Mumbai, where waiting list runs into years, galleries don’t even hold shows on a regular basis, which explains apathy to art in the state.

Usually artists migrate from small towns in Punjab to Chandigarh, where their journey begins, then, they move on to bigger cities to grow. Art cannot grow without a journey, true, but like MNCs art must not grow in metros alone. And, this can happen with facilities made available, as has happened in smaller towns like Jaipur, Pune and Bhopal.

AMRITSAR – Anna Hazare’s turning point/ By Lt Gen Baljit Singh (Retd)

Seem Eons past, a seasoned journalist of AMRITSAR told me that Amritsar has an uncanny distinction!—‘You will notice that Any significant event in the world somewhere has an incredulous connection with Amritsar”. Strange as it may sound his words are evolving to be prophetic and I am slowly starting to believe this gentleman.
I came across this write up –“Soldiering for village uplift”, a first hand account of Naik Anna Hazare by Lieut-Gen Baljit Singh (retd) published as ‘middle’ in The Tribune, recently.

Soldiering for village uplift
by Lieut-Gen Baljit Singh (retd)

HIS demeanor and emphatic, measured speech have not changed a whit since I first and last met him in 1989. The men I once commanded were from the Pune-Sattara-Ratnagiri region and in moments of informal interaction they would often talk of Anna “Sahib” who had led his village from dire poverty to assured prosperity.

Traditionally, soldiers reserve the “Sahib” appellation for their officers and JCOs only; so who was Anna? Well, he was one of the several thousand vehicle drivers of the Indian army. During the 1965 Indo-Pak war he had a close call with death. His was one of the 15-odd lorries ferrying ammunition in the Amritsar sector when this convoy was strafed by PAF Saber-jets.

All the lorries exploded, except Naik Anna Hazare’s. When he regained composure, he had a divine vision; “Bhagwan boley too ja, apney gaon ki seva kar”. And over the next two decades, village Raleagan Siddhi became the beneficiary of “faith moving mountains”.

Short of outright deifying him, his ideas and guidance were accepted by Raleagan citizens as “Dharma”. The women of the village emerged unconditionally empowered and enjoyed vis-à-vis their menfolk the Orwellian status: “All animals are equal but some are more equal than the others!” No more pregnancies after the second child and freedom to acquire skills both in aid of the community and their households.

Land holdings were miniscule but the collective agricultural output increased phenomenally because rain-fed cultivation was replaced by assured, well-water irrigation. Consumption of alcohol was ruthlessly rooted out and with the combined, energized labour force, open wells were dug and a water-usage roster was drawn for each family based on their acreage under tillage.

Every house became a brick and concrete structure with piped drinking water and cooking gas from two community sized, bio-gas plants, at fixed times. Community toilets were clustered around the bio-gas plants, the human faces supplementing its “gobar” feed-stock. Kitchen waste was dumped into community compost-pits.

Anna Sahib was able to convince the Houses of Tata and Kirloskar of the viability of his mission and obtain interest-free loans as also irrigation lift-pumps and diesel generators at concessional rates. Loan instalments were honoured post the Kharif and Rabbi harvests; the last being in 1986 !

Onions and pulses were the main cash crops. In 1986, the produce earned close to a whopping 2.5 lakh rupees. A Cooperative Gramin Bank was created and staffed exclusively by the Raleagan women. Each family had fixed deposits of five to thirty thousand rupees by 1989.

I cannot recall how the school was funded but free and compulsory education was provided to each child up to matriculation. At least two able-bodied youth enrolled in the Army each year.

I shared this experience with the late General B C Joshi and suggested that the Army ran an orientation course, for soldiers about to retire under Anna Hazare’s aegis. The General visited Raleagan and launched the initiative with the hope that many more soldiers would replicate the Raleagan template in their villages.

Let’s Riot with Colors….. BY ILMANA FASIH

This beautiful thought was penned by Ilmana Fasih ..I came across it on a FB page ‘Indo-Pak Peace Media’ …A write up with childlike innocence plays on ‘colors for construction’ …the scene therein of a fairytale where weapons of mass destruction are assigned a task unknown to them–of bringing smiles, happiness and glee in the lives of mortals who sing and dance to banish away the devils of destruction …Saanjh..
“Let’s Riot with Colors…”

BY ILMANA FASIH

I seriously think
We should develop
A bomb of crayons
As our next weapon-
Of mass ‘construction’.
A color bomb,
A beauty bomb.
Launched from –
– A happiness jet
-Or a unity tank.
As a peace missile.
And every time,
a crisis developed,
we would drop one.
It would explode
High in the air
– Explode softly
– and send hundreds
or thousands,
even millions,
of little parachutes
of colors, colors, colors
Floating down to earth
with splashes of colors
rioting into the air.
And we wouldn’t go cheap,
– not little boxes of eight.
Boxes of sixty-four,
maybe hundreds
with the sharpener built-in.
With silver and gold and copper,
magenta and peach and lime,
amber and umber and all the rest.
And cover the world with
colors and imagination.
And people would smile,
laugh, giggle and go hysterical.
Get funny look on their faces
twinkle in their tearful eyes.
Hope embedded in their dimples,
Peace sparkling from their teeth
And all one could have
Is hope and happiness.
As far as eyes could see.
With musical instruments
of peace and unity
playing in the background,
the music borne of them,
rocking in ecstasy and
dancing with the colors,
Until the dawn of ‘sanity’
Awakens this asinine,
‘sleeping’ mankind.
( Inspired by HOLI–the festival of colors, and with some colors stolen from it, & from a quote by Robert Fulghum, with some words taken from it).

“if i were a flower..” By Sukhmani Sadana

Sukhmani Sadana, is one I fell in love with as soon as she was born … and yet I had to discover this side of hers to actually feel a new kinda bonding , a feeling of ends of a circle touching again.
Today Amritsar born Sukhmani can be seen on television as a debut actress with a Yash Raj show ‘Khoote Sikkey’ serial on fri-sat sony 11pm, a scriptwriter with Ogilvy & Mather having written screenplay for two prime time MTV shows.. ..Modelled for some products too . Indisputably, She is a Beauty and surely God has made her in his carefree leisure ! More beauty lies in her poem that is fresh and creates a surreal picture of story of Birds, Bees N Flowers, wither she entwines herself and her life in queer twists and turns. Sample this beautifully woven emotion ………’I am stung. I bleed my colours and drop my petals’.

“if i were a flower..”

By Sukhmani Sadana

A bee humming around me,
Makes me smile with its company.
It fills the void each flower is born with,
Spaces and purrs, its smitten by me.

A tap and a step back, a whiff and reverse,
It’s puzzled, yet baffled by me.
I stand uptight, in conflict to the wind,
The wind that’s like a blustery airstream today.
Does it mean to suggest a sign?
Well! I persistent with my pal- my bee,
Taking pleasure in this fixture.
We grow in this bustle each day,
With our liking only swelling,
Till one day, 2 bees from another tree,
Come buzzing along my way.

My shades, aroma or frailty,
I know not what magnetizes them?
But surely the sweetness is something i don’t mind.
They glance at me with esteem and love,
But a look of repulsion for the another.
I know not who- to let settle on me, for their daily nectar feed.

As seasons change and i begin to flourish,
The blossom is enchanting.
I let the current swing me by,
Like a flame struggling a rebellious blowing.
From a garden of a another street,
Comes yet another bee,
This time distressing..all the other 3.

I take their interest and give my nectar in return,
We feed our lives in a self seeking manner,
With as much integrity as it can be.
But this bitterness between them,
Will have to be endured by me.

I sense this pride of possession,
Turning slowly into hostility,
And then on a warm afternoon, while this buzzing is making my roots feeble,
I predict my soil loosening on me.
This day settles on surprising me,
Where one of them, beyond sympathetic borders,
Not eager no more to take this crowd,
Over a flower he thought was his belonging.
So he chooses to make this patch of ground,
Miss a once breathing bloom.

I am stung. I bleed my colours and drop my petals.
As life for me just began to search its end.
Before i drop and wither, i gaze at my loving bees
And wonder which one would miss me the least??

Who is JUGNI ? By Indu Vashist Amritsar connection

Who is JUGNI ? By Indu Vashist
No Punjabi wedding is complete without the mandatory ”JUGNI”—What are the origins of Jugni -Folklore-Does it have an Amritsar connection …YES !

MARCH 2011

The character of ‘’JUGNI’’ has been featuring in Punjabi popular and folk music for well over a century. The most recent references of this rebellious, fiery female character have appeared in diverse productions like Pakistan’s Coke Studio , Punjab’s sensicore rocker Rabbi Shergill, and of course Bollywood in films like Tanu Weds Manu and Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye!

In the various versions of this song, JUGNI is a spunky, rebellious character, who does not fit into the traditional feminine norms:
She wears western clothes,
Flirts with men in the streets,
Wants to drive (either a Bullet motorcycle or a Fiat car, depending on the era),
Is poor but aims for upward class mobility,
Speaks English,
Wants to travel all over (depending on the era she travels all over Punjab, Britain or Canada).

The singer, usually a man, sings of loving JUGNI, but feeling insecure by JUGNI’s defiant character (above): Mainu Kale chad Ke Jandi, Fir Vaajan Mar Bulandi (First she leaves me then calls after me).
The singer often laments that the pain of loving this rebellious character will kill him (below): Eh ladh di ae na darrdi phad ke daang mure khad di aa.
(She fights, doesn’t have fear, she always carries a stick as a weapon with her).

JUGNI Tap Tap Tap Tap Khoon Bahaundi (JUGNI, drip, drip, drip, drip, spills blood)
The first version of this song can be traced back to 1906, written and performed by Bishna and Manda.
Manda, as he was commonly known was born as Mohammad in Hasanpur, Thana Vairowal in AMRITSAR District, Punjab. Bishna was a Jatt from a village in Majha area, close to AMRITSAR Both men were illiterate poets who would roam from village to village composing songs and free-styling when given money. In 1906, they are said to have been around the age of 50.
In 1906, the 50th anniversary of Queen Victoria’s reign, a Jubilee flame was taken across the British Empire to celebrate her rule. The flame, carried in a large gold container, was taken to the every district headquarters. As the flame arrived, the district government was supposed to greet it with pomp and ceremony.
When the flame reached Punjab, there was nascent freedom struggle anger against the Empire brewing. Bishna and Manda followed the flame from district to district, performing their own poetry and folk music parallel to the pomp of the colonial government.
Their versions contained references to JUGNI, the rebellious woman. Bishna and Manda had misheard the word ‘Jubilee’ for JUGNI and started writing verses that channeled the anger of the region against the British as symbolized by the Jubilee flame.
As they traveled behind the flame, their popularity grew; people from all around came to attend their performances. JUGNI became a metaphor for the growing unrest against the British.
Many other poets took on the ‘JUGNI’ metaphor and started composing their own songs with similar grammatical structures.
Following other Punjabi folk songs’ customs of mentioning specific villages, the specific village of JUGNI was meant to highlight either a specific site of struggle or just to contextualize the song. The basic structure of the song can be heard here in a pre-independence recording:
The early JUGNI songs had lyrics like:
JUGNI jaa varhi Majithe (JUGNI is from Majitha, i.e., the district of Bishna and Manda)
koi Rann na Chakki peethe (No pimp should have to go to the grinder – common hard labor in colonial prisons)
Putt Gabhru mulak vich mare (Our country’s young men are dying)
rovan Akhiyan, par Bulh si seete (Our eyes are crying, trying to forget)
Piir mereya oye, JUGNI ayi aa (Oh god, JUGNI is coming)
ehnan kehrhi jot jagaee aa (What kind of light is this?)
According to oral histories, as word of Bishna and Manda’s performances got around, large crowds gathered to see the performances, the police started to break up the shows.
The British started to get worried about the revolutionary undertones of JUGNI songs and the way that people began to talk of the British. The police finally arrested Bishna and Manda in Gujaranwala.
They are said to have been tortured and murdered by the police for inciting people against the Empire.
JUGNI as a concept still exists within popular Punjabi music today.
Rabbi Shergill’s recent version of the song follows the traditional grammar of the song. The character of JUGNI is rooted in defiance and rebellion, today that takes on not only Rabbi Shergill’s literal interpretation of the legacy of this folk form, but brings back a fiery woman character back into the popular lexicon.
tags: Bollywood, folk songs, Indian freedom struggle, JUGNI, Punjab

Who will call the PM ‘Mohna’ again?….. By Rashmi Talwar

PM Dr Manmohan Singh Classmate from Gah Village Pakistan at Khalsa College Amritsar

http://www.tribuneindia.com/2010/20100930/edit.htm#5

Who will call the PM ‘Mohna’ again?
by Rashmi Talwar
I look at the golden shower cassia tree in my garden and I am reminded of two such cassias growing in far-off Gah village in Pakistan, that I had presented to the late Raja Mohammed Ali, a childhood classmate of Prime Minister Manmohan Singh.
“Meinu mere Mohne nal milva do! Meinu Hindustan da visa mil gaya hai!” was one call I received in May of 2008 from Rajaji alias Babaji. I was aghast! ‘Mohna’ was the nickname he used for the Prime Minister. In March that year I had met Babaji the second time in Katasraj (Pakistan) and carried copies of an article by me in The Tribune about him and his friend ‘Mohna’. I gave a copy to a senior officer of the Indian High Commission at the Katasraj shrine, urging him to issue Babaji a visa.
After four rejections, three months later, Babaji was ready to come to India and elated in anticipation of a meeting with his illustrious classmate – albeit without any appointment!
I looked for ways to fix that seemingly ‘elusive’ appointment, on the Net. I wrote on the PM’s website, even found an IAS officer, seemingly by divine intervention, who helped script a letter and fax to the Prime Minister, but to no avail.
Meantime, a thrilled Babaji, unaware of the ‘trials and tribulations’, called everyday and we agreed on ‘priceless gifts’ for the Prime Minister comprising ‘soil and water’ of the PM’s school and ancestral home in Gah besides ‘tilley wali chakwali juttis’ and a 150-year old ‘resham ka lachcha’ made by Babaji’s grandparents.
A week left, and still no reply! Finally, media had to become my ‘sole-mate’. There were renewed media contacts in Lahore, Amritsar and Delhi. A foreign news agency in Lahore filmed the story about preparations to meet the Prime Minister, and ended it with a question –‘Whether the Pak friend would meet the Indian PM?’ It was featured on BBC just prior to Babaji’s arrival in India. Still no reply!
On Babaji’s arrival a local school gave him a thumping welcome with bhangra by kids at the Wagah Indo-Pak border. The press grabbed bytes of the dancing children, gifts of soil, water and juttis!
The same night an official of the PMO called! More relieved than elated, I requested for accommodation and conveyance in Delhi for them, besides security during travel to Delhi, the following day.
Babaji reached Delhi and was whisked off to a five-star guest house and given a chauffeur-driven car. Two days before the meeting, Babaji urged me to accompany him but my refrain was “this is the time for only friends, not me”.
It turned out to be a most poignant moment between India and Pakistan. Later, a tearful Babaji left India carrying the cassia saplings, a booklet with publications of his visit, a large photo with the Prime Minister and him wearing the chakwali juttis, gifts by the PM of a pair of watches, suits, shawl, dry fruit and Assam tea and even a doctor’s prescription, as live proofs for his village-mates.
Even though Babaji is no more, the entire village safeguards these prized possessions and has even framed the Indian doctor’s prescription — as a historical memory of Gah’s priceless connection with India.

FIRST PUBLISHED IN “THE TRIBUNE” ON SEPTEMBER 30, 2010

Publications in India of PM Friend in Pak

Times of India & Indian Express Publications in India of PM Friend in Pak

FIRST PUBLISHED IN THE TRIBUNE

TIT BITS … …HIGHLIGHTS OF THE QUEENS BATON ARRIVAL IN INDIA VIA WAGAH-INDO PAK BORDER

BY Rashmi Talwar

1. One CM ‘s spouse with the other CM’s spouse …It seemed an odd moment for the senior Badal (Parkash Singh Badal) to share a stage with Maharani Parneet Kaur the wife of former CM Capt Amarinder Singh . They had carefully avoided standing with each other all through the event but finally had to face each other side by side on the stage when the Queens’s Baton was passed from Badal to Parneet ….Lolz ..seemed like the Sn Badal was handing over the reins of the Government to the wife of his rival …!!!
2. A chain, made of handkerchiefs with peace messages formed by Pakistani children, accompanied Queen’s Baton Relay, which was joined by a similar chain from Indian children.
3. CM Parkash Singh Badal shared about his formative years in Lahore and claimed to know every nook corner and ‘gali’ ‘ especially the famous lassi of Lahore. He cited some personal instances of his college days, when he was pursuing graduation in arts at Foreman Christian College Lahore and talked about removing the Indo Pak Gates and walls between the two countries through sports.
4. Tu Maane ya na Maane … Dildara …Asan tenu Rab Maneya by Puran and Pyare Lal Wadali (Wadali Brothers ) brought an emotional bonding .
5. The Commonwealth Queen’s Baton carrying the message of “Peace through Sports” had landed a day earlier in Lahore at the ‘Allama Iqbal International Airport’ carried by A crew of QBR, including Ajay Chautala, Member of Indian Olympic Association (IOA), Raj Qadian, Avny Lavasa, Louis Rosa and Asokan.
6. Sheila dixit said she felt honored to be the chief minister of Delhi at the time when India would host its first Commonwealth Games

“Ab jaan lutt jaye…. Yeh jahan chutt jave …saang pyar rahe, ……Mein rahun na rahun… Sajda ! Sajda ! tera Sajda !……” amidst this peppy emotional number from ‘My Name is Khan’ sung by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan- Live ! It was a scene of pure bonhomie between neighbors India and Pakistan, that drew not only the youngsters to dance impromptu but also the Indian Olympic Association Chief Suresh Kalmandi was seen swinging merrily in the mood, created by Pak artists at the Wagah Indo Pak Border on June 25, (Amritsar).

About half an hour before the Fusion Number by the music troupes of ‘Rahat Fateh Ali Khan’ (Pakistan) and ‘Wadali brothers’ (India) broke into a ‘Duma Dum Mast Kalandar…”–a common folk song of Punjab on either sides of the border, Kalmadi was handed over the ‘Queens Baton’ for the Commonwealth games by Punjab (Pakistan) Governor Sulman Taseer at exactly 9.30AM India Time (Pak is half an hour behind) ,who came alongside the Indian delegation crossing over the zero line into India with a team of 20 members.

The baton has specially been designed on an 18 karat gold leaf and the relay is the largest of all the previous editions, covering a distance of 1,70,000 km during its visit to 71 participating nations across the world. It started from Delhi to Buckingham Palace (England) and was formally launched by Queen Elizabeth to travel to all 71 Commonwealth Nations.

And the countdown of 100 days begins…for the baton that arrived today to reach back to Delhi–the venue of the XIX Commonwealth Games from October 3-14, after setting foot in 28 states and seven union territories of India. The Baton was passed on to the Indian sports greats Vijender Singh Olympics Bronze medalist Boxer and four-time world champion woman boxer M C Mary Kom.

Leading sports personalities and other dignitaries including Delhi Chief Minister Sheila Dikshit , Maharani Parneet Kaur MP and wife of former Chief minister Capt Amarinder Singh, Punjab Chief Minister Prakash Singh Badal, MLAs and MPs were in attendance at the border outpost as the Baton was handed over to India.

Passing away of Shammi Kapoor reminds me of my lost love Rajshree/ By Ravinder Kaul

Shammi Kapoor and Rajshree

Shammi Kapoor is no more. His passing away has been mourned by all film buffs, particularly those belonging to the ‘yahoo’ generation. His demise reminds me of the time when we used to paddle to various locations in Kashmir to watch his film shootings. Special programmes to recall the contribution of Shammi Kapoor to Indian cinema are being beamed by all news channels. And it is in a song in one of these programmes that I, after a very long time, once again, came face to face with Rajshree, my first crush, the dream girl of my younger days. Rajshree was virtually like a modern day ‘desi’ Barbie Doll. Watching her on screen as a 10-year old, I used to get enveloped in her. For me, she was the perfect woman, my first heartthrob. Ever since I saw her in the film ‘Geet Gaya Patharon Ne’ in the now defunct Firdous cinema hall in Srinagar sometime in the sixties, I adored her, and loved her.

While watching her film ‘Jaanwar’ I would always imagine that it was me, and not Shammi Kapoor, who wooed the ‘woman in red’ in the song ‘Laal chhadi maidaan khadi ‘. In the film “Around the World”, it was not an aging Raj Kapoor, but me, who followed her on a world tour on a measly eight dollars. The paltry economic condition suited me in those adolescent years. Eons later, when I walked the streets of Geneva, Paris, Rome and London, that Raj Kapoor had traversed alongwith his ladylove, I always had a feeling that Rajshree would somehow surface out of nowhere and demurely stand in front of me. Woebegone, all such delectable daydreams would melt like a snowflake as soon as they touched ground. Yet, visiting these locations was virtually like a pilgrimage for me. The places had at some point of time been sanctified by the steps of Rajshree, my beloved.

Shammi Kapoor in Kashmir Ki Kali

While I was still preparing to grow into a man and be worthy of her attention, the news of her marriage floated. My heart broke. She had married a foreigner. I somehow consoled my bleeding, broken heart with the thought that there was no man in India who deserved her and solely for that reason, she had married a foreigner. For me, she was a ‘desi princess’ who had found solace in the embrace of a ‘gora prince’. After marriage, she simply disappeared and not a word was heard about her. I too stored her memory in the deep recesses of my mind and moved on with life.

But my heart finally and resolutely broke today. After watching the film-clipping of hers with Shammi Kapoor, I googled her name and tried to find out the details about her whereabouts. And what I found has, once again, thrown me into deep despair. Sadly, she had not married a ‘gora prince’, as I had imagined. She had actually married a struggling young tailor. As Shakespeare would have said “O! What a fall was there, my countrymen”? I am so angry with her today. A tailor? I have nothing against tailors per se, but I cannot visualize a tailor as the prince charming of the darling of my dreams. My heart bled anew after watching the website of her husband Greg Chapman. He spells her name as ‘Raj’a’shree’ and calls her ‘my Raju’. After more than forty years of being married to her, he cannot spell her name right, and ‘Raju’, for god’s sake!

When in Los Angeles next, I intend to go and meet Rajshree, albeit taking full care to guise my feelings and put my dreams to rest. Maybe I’ll take my revenge by ordering her husband to stitch a suit for me.
***

Ravinder Kaul is famed Global Critic for Art, Literature, Dance, Music, Poetry and Theater

‘Magic’ or ‘Idiot’ box ? DOORDARSHAN v/s PTV

By Rashmi Talwar

Chaudhary Hashmat Khan in PTV soap telecast from Lahore
The”50th anniversary of DD” in 2009 really amazed me! Was DD (Delhi Doordarshan) born before our generation in the 60s emerged? I recall the first encounter in late 60s when neighboring tiny-tot friends grandly held court about TV meaning –’Tele-Vijon’ –a ‘magic box’ that popped up movies, cartoons, songs and what-not.
Word spread like an animated wild fire about the fairies. Every Lil-one wanted sunflowers waiting for the feathered beauties to deliver the ‘enchanting box.
But Things moved fast and before we knew it our father got the 1st TV in the entire neighbourhood in 1969. A ‘pie’ company one, almost like a mini almirah with a fattest bottom that refused to sit on the ordinary and had to be provided with a luxury spread. An aerial installed and everyone stared starry-eyed as pictures and sounds emerged. Although coined much later the jingle of Onida TV commercial “Neighbor’s envy Owner’s Pride” aptly fitted the state of affairs.
Before JD (Jalandhar Doordarshan)entered our homes and lives, it was the neighboring PTV that dominated the silver screen in the border areas of Amritsar, Punjab and high reaches of Himachal Pradesh. We often used to envy the Lahori Pakistanis and their American fare on TV, delectable cartoons ‘Popeye the sailor’ and glued-to-seats soap operas “Time Tunnel”, “Bewitched”, “Star Trek” , “Lost in space”, “Six million dollar man” , “Bionic woman” , “Lucy show” , “CHIPS (California highway petrol)”,”Planet of the Apes” ,”Different Strokes”. The visually mutilated lip-locks in foreign soaps (conservative PTV!) actually helped in watching TV with parents and elders. That (soberity !) amazingly still holds true for some border farmers who stall any attempt by their young, to subscribe to cable or dish TV and religiously watch PTV and JD till date.
The recall, virtually put me in a childhood reverie when games like marbles, guli danda, hide and seek, seven plates, staapu or football would see a disappearing act, by the dot of time for a serial. By then almost everyone had a TV Set after the 1971 Indo-Pak war.
During the ’71 war, PTV was used in ample measure to spew venom at India. Soon after the war, the Indian government woke up to the harrowing reality of influence of negative publicity and a swift damage control exercise came in the form of JD channels that entered our homes in the border areas, with the first movie “Pakeeza” then “Mugle-E-Azam” and rocked the boat for PTV.
But then merely “two” energy pills hardly weaned away the audience from PTV which in contrast presented aesthetically beautiful weave of its own soaps “Ankahi”, “Tanhaiyaan”, “Uncle Urfi” immensely popular “Waaris” story of dominating Pakistani tribal War-lords; or the laughter riot of “Sona Chandi”, “fifty fifty” and even the shining Toyota to be won in quiz programme “Nilam Ghar” by Tariq Aziz besides the ghazals of Noor Jahan, Abida Parveen, Gulam Ali, Mehandi Hasan, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Mussarat Naseer’s wedding songs “mathey te chamkan val..”,Mallika Phukraj and her beautiful talented daughter Tara Sayeed.
No longer were we the poor country cousins of our Delhi counterparts because we enjoyed a choice of 2 Channels while they sufficed with only DD. Slowly JD picked up with “Chitrahaars” and “movies” followed by the first serial “Buniyaad” and subsequently “Hum Log”. Although we enjoyed them but frankly they were no match for the classy and slick productions of PTV.
But then 78 weeks of “Ramayan” in 1986 followed by “Mahabharat” in 1988 were unprecedented addictions that finally won the war for DD against PTV. PTV pittered out after private Indian channels followed CNN and BBC into Indian homes, rechristening the ‘magic’ box as the “idiot box”.

LAHORE DI KIRAN BEDI NEELMA NAHEED DURRANI

BY RASHMI TALWAR

LAHORE DI KIRAN BEDI NEELMA NAHEED DURRANI

FIRST PUBLISHED IN SATURDAY SPECIAL MAGAZINE OF PUNJABI TRIBUNE issue of October 31, 2009

LAHORE DI KIRAN BEDI NEELMA NAHEED DURRANI

ENG- ROMAN TRANSLATION OF ABOVE ARTICLE

Punjabi Tribune
Amritsar 31.10.2009

Lahore (Pakistan) di pehli aurat SSP Neelma Naheed Durrani nu utho di Kiran Bedi kiha jave ta atikathni nahi hovegi. Aajkal Uh Sanjukt rashtar mission (UN)de daure te Sudan gahi hoe hain.
Durrani vaste Pakistan varge desh vich police jahe kitey (profession) nu apnona, uss dian chunotian nu kabool ke ek safal police adhikari banna, jithe uss85
de vadhi parapti hai ate punjabian lye maan wali gal hai, uthe bharat daurian duran Bharat-Pakistan te vishesh karke dove desha de Punjabian vichanle nige ate sadbhavna wale samband sirjne uhna de sakhshiat da ek vilakhan pehlu ve hai.

Uhde andarli shairaa da hi shayad eh ek hor pehlu hai ke sakhat police afsar hundian ve uh manukhi sabandaa de nave aayam hi nahi sirjadi, sagoo sabandaa de sukhmata nu ve maandi hai.
Uh Amritsar apne purkian da ghar labhaan aye tan us nal mulakat hoi.

Usne kiha ke jadon mein Wagah sardhad paar kiti tah mainu lagia ke lambe chir to athe auan da mera supna aaj pura ho gaya hai. Mere Abba te mera dada aaj Lahore de momenpura de shamshanghat vich kabran vich pai khush ho rahe honge ki uhna di dhee sada apna shehar vekhan gai hai. Us kiha ke mera Abba agahan Ajaz Hussain Durrani 1947 de vand vele Lahore aa vase san. Aaj mein apne purkan da shehar vekhan aye ha taan eh pal mere maan nu tripati den wale hann te usne apne bjurgaan de shehar de mitti nu mathey nal chhuhaya atte Allah da shukar kita.
Uh 11 pustkaa de lekhak hai, Jina vich char pustka Urdu kavita ate do Punjabi kavita dian haan. Us da shairana andaz kewal Pakistani punjabian nu hi nahi bhaunda sago bharati Punjabi ve uss de kavia de murid haan ate usde shairi di khusbu nu maande haan. Uh bhut farakdil hai. Jadoon uh Amritsar dee Sharifpura abadi vich apna pushteni ghar labhan gai ta Udthey stith ik chah de dukan te Satpal Soni nal hi shairi de mehfil jama layi.
Shairana andaz vich gal kardian uss kiha ki shairi dian mehfalan vich jadoon mein shamil hundi haan taan us vele thode ghabraht mehsus kardi haan par jadoon shairi sunadi han tan is taran mehsus hunda hai ki mein andron bahut majboot haan. Mera vishvash nahi dolda.
Us kavita deian satran chuhian:

”tera mulak menu apne mulak jiha keon lagde ne,
` tere lok menu apne jihe keon lagde ne.
Tere mulk de mitti vich mere mulak dee
mitti di khushbu keon aundi hai.
Tu menu apne hi keon lagdi ai,
Ke hain jo sahnu jorda hai
Ki hain jo sanu torda hai
Larai nal nuksan ek da nahi, dovan da hunda hai.”

Mein uhna nu puchhia ke police ate shairi da ke mel hai keonki dovan de subha vakho vakhre haan, tah uh muskurandian akhan lagi ”police mera apna chunian kita hai te shahri mera jamandru ”Nuks”. Us kiha ki police officer banna mere laye saukha kam nahi se. Jadon 27 vare pehlan mein is kite vich ayi tah har paseon mera virodh hoiya. Sabh kehde san ke mein adihapak bana ja koe hor sokha jiha kita apnavan, par mein apne faisle ‘teh drir saan. Aaj Uhee sare mere te maan karde han.

Mein uhna nu ek sawal kita, je uh police afasar na bandi tah hor kise kite nu uss pehal deni si, tah uss turanat keha ”mein patarkar banna si”.

Neelma ek kavitri te police afasar he nahi sagon us andar ek paritba da khazana hai. Uhne farsi, patarkari te Punjabi vich post graduation degree kiti hoi hai. Uh Column- nivis ve hai. Uh Pakistan Television vich news caster the Announcer veh rahi. FM-101 radio Lahore te radio jockey ve rahi.
Uhdian pustakan usde zindagi di jaddoo jedhaad da nichor han.

“Jab nehar kinare sham dale, tuhara shehar kesa hai, vapasi da safar, chanan kithe hoya dukh sabaiya jg, “Chand Chandni Chandigarh”, “Chadde Suraj de Dharti” (Japan de yatra bare), “Raste mein gulab raken hein”, pustaka vich uhne apnian andarlian bhavnava nu bariki te khubsurati nal lafzaa vich paroia hai.
Uh apni pustak Chand Chandni Chandigarh” vich Chandigarh de yatra bare apne parbav pargat kardian likdi hai, “Menu eh vekh ke harani hoi ke bharat vich ladkian bina kese dar toh dine-raat scooteran teh bajian phirdian haan. Ajeha tah mein apne adunik ban chuke Lahore vich ve nahi vekhian. Lahore vich tah din vich vi ajeha karan de koi ladki jurat hi nahi kar sakdi.
Sudan ravana hon toh pehla uhda suneha aya si. Menu, mere parvar nu, mere desh nu eh maan milya hai ki mein pehli Pakistani aurat Uch police adikari haan, jisnu UNO mission teh bhejia ja reha hai. Kiran Bedi ve bharat de eko ik aurat se, jis nu eh maan milya si . Mein ve Kiran Bedi hon vargi mehsus kar rahi haan.
Mein puchia, bharat aun da progamme kadon banega, us jawab dita ”keho jiha dukh bharia sawal kita? Jadon toh halat kharab hoye han, dil khijia-khijia rehnda hai . Pata nahi kehreh zalim han, jihrah iss khete de lokan nu Pyar-Mahobaat nal mildian vekh nahi sukaonde .”
Us akhia bharat mera ghar hai. Menu Amritsar ve Lahore varga lagda hai. Mein tohade toh , Amritsar toh, vichharia mehsus kar rahi haan. Hor dosta de khaat ve mehsus kar rahi ha.
Fer ek din e-mail te udha suneha aya ”Sade mausam ek han, hawa, badal, barash ekho jehi hundi hai. Phir ve eh doorian kio han.
”kasha asi ve Europe vang miljul ke rahiye, gawandi mulkaan nal jadoon dil kare, ek duje nu mil liya kariye, na dehshatgardi, na jang. Bus pyar, mahobbat , aman, sakoon teh dosti hove.” Shanti de uss dut ne akhia.
Par mein chupp haan, uss dian ehna bhavnavan da ki jawab devan

Rashmi Talwar