Dil ne dil se kuch kaha?

“Dil ne yeh kaha hai dil se”, sang the little girl. Should she not be playing around, like my little niece of 6 years does, I thought. Why was she here, singing and begging in a Mumbai local, which should be one of the worst places to beg? Her raw voice and pitch matched the ‘Sa Pa Sa’ of the little harmonium she was managing to somehow carry on her frail shoulders. Her singing soothed my frayed nerves, and of many others, I am sure, who prove Darwin true every single day in those few seconds that separate the animals from the men. Yes, I am referring to the process of getting into an overcrowded and overburdened Mumbai suburban train. Her high-pitched singing triggered a multitude of thoughts. Time and memory went to another train and another singer – I refrain from calling him a beggar. This was the Sabarmati Express, yes the same one that was torched at Godhra, and the time, 3-4 months after all those gruesome days. “Dekh tamasha lakdi ka” he sang, a very philosophical take on how wood is associated in every phase of one’s life – as a cradle, as a toy, as a palanquin for the doli, and finally on one’s last journey to the pyre. Google (the Internet search engine) tells me that the poem is attributable to Kabir. The song and the singer reminded me of the great S.D.Burman’s philosophical songs in movies like Aradhana and Amar Prem. Had I been a Music Director, I would have definitely picturised a song on this singer, who was singing such an apt song on this very train – kind of, giving an unbiased opinion on life.

The sound of the cobblers at the next station jerked me out of my reverie. And the girl’s voice was coming closer. I knew I would soon me faced with the moral dilemma of whether to give a coin or two to the girl. Would it mean I was appreciating her singing, or was I encouraging her to continue with what most likely would be a wretched existence? Should she not be discouraged from begging, and that too at such a tender age? I was getting uncomfortable and dreaded the moment, when her lovely little dirty fingertips would pull the lapels of my shirt and tug at the strings of my heart asking for that precious coin. But, that dreaded moment never came. She just bypassed me and carried on, singing and begging. I was left wondering …. Kya dil ne dil se kuch kaha? And soon joined another tributary joining the multitude of people at Churchgate station ……

Turmoil in the hearts

‘Turmoil in Manipur’ screamed the headline in the newspaper. The last few days have seen a spate of editorial columns on the ‘larger issue of neglect of the North East’. It is surprising how innocuous little things can trigger hard memories and in a similar manner, how painful news items can trigger short and soft happenings in one’s life. In case of problems in the North East, the latter seemed to be the case.

It was a rainy winter evening in Canada and my friend and I had to keep an appointment of visiting an old Assamese lady who had invited me for dinner.

On entering the house, I realized with some consternation that the frail looking lady was staying alone in the house. After exchange of initial pleasantries, she talked about the culture of the West that has resulted in her progeny staying away from her, the hardships one has to endure because of a disease like arthritis all alone, especially in the harsh winter months. However, while saying all this, the old lady never complained, nor did her confidence waver. We sat down to dinner on the neatly laid table. Facing me was a black and white photograph of a person standing with Pt Jawaharlal Nehru. Taken totally by surprise, I asked the lady, the identity of the person.

She began narrating her story. Her husband was a decorated scientist in India – that explained the photograph who later migrated to Canada. Taking liberty in spite of the usually self-imposed limitation that a first time interaction brings, I ventured to ask “But then, why did your husband decide to migrate?” This question elicited a long lost look for an answer. And then the lady took us to the year 1962 and the Indian debacle in the Chinese war. Her voice started wavering, choking with emotion when she came to narrating how Pt. Nehru in his address to the nation supposedly mentioned about tracts of barren land – a reference, allegedly to the North East. With this, tears started rolling down her wrinkled face. She said that her husband felt cheated. And our dinner ended abruptly.

More than four decades hence, we seem to have learnt little of the turmoil in the hearts of many which spills over on to the streets, from time to time!