On the eve of Indian
elections
In 2015, after my third cup of
delicious ginger tea at Sanjiv Bhatt’s house, he had convinced me that I should
write, that if no one else he will read and yes will ignore the grammar. So
here is one such truth. Tragic but it will make you think of the system, the
evils of our society and if this is how we want us to be and if so, for what.
Kaun Banega Crorepati:
I didn’t get to watch Kaun Banega
Carorepati, also known as KBC that started in 2000 I believe until very late
after few seasons had passed. But when I started watching it, at every episode
there was only one person on my mind, “Chachi” (Aunty). At every episode I
imagined I was entering the KBC stage holding Chachi’s hand, helping her to the
tall chair facing Mr. Amitabh Bachchan preparing her so she can tell her story.
Story of her love, courage, life and what she lost.
I honestly don’t know her name
to-date. I just know her as Chachi, she was Anwar Mamu ki biwi, (Anwar Uncle’s
wife). My childhood friend Salma though called her “Mumani” as she was related
to her. She was just a neighbor to us, I have always known them to be in that
house. Their three-story bungalow was right next to ours in Gulberg Society,
simply separated by a small alley and a Neem Tree that is still standing tall
and green after 18 years today since 2002.
Her story defies all rules of
“you get what you deserve”.
I have always known her to be in
that house. It’s not like I could write she married and came to live here. She
was already living in that house with Anwar Mamu and her in-laws, a big family.
She had a room and kitchen in her possession on the ground floor of the house.
She kept it very neat and clean, including the front and back yard. I went to
the house now and then to give or bring something on Ammi’s orders.
A lot went through my mind when
once in 2017 Raveena Tandon tweeted on how those who wear Saree in India are
true Indians. Chachi could have received special consideration had the Hindutva
mob that surrounded her house on that day known she had never worn anything but
a saree all her life. Never a Punjabi or a nighty that most house wives
commonly wore. A true national in one sense. But that didn’t help.
I didn’t know much about her but
from Ammi I knew she was the only child, her parents loved her dearly, she was
all they had. I had seen her parents now and then. They also lived in
Ahemedabad and were very humble people. They didn’t visit her much, maybe once
or twice in a year and she didn’t visit them much either. I had heard that they
had put in their entire retirement money in completing this house for her. She
lived a simple life. Anwar Mamu was a tailor and had lost one leg on the train
tracks a long time ago. She was also mother of three kids, two boys and a girl.
The reason I was called “Jafri Saheb ki Nargis” (my house name is Nargis,
Nishrin is official school name) was because we had two other Nargis in Gulberg
Society, her daughter and also Mohammed Kaka’s daughter who was also Nargis,
whom we called “Nargis Ben”. Chachi loved Nargis dearly, but Akhtar, her
youngest was her star. Her older Son Aslam was a trouble maker, for her and for
others in the Society. But Akku, as she and we all called him was her darling.
I often played with him. I grew up playing marbles, “gilli danda” (not sure
what it is called in English) with the society boys. Sometimes we made a fire
and sat around outside throwing paper and twigs in the fire until I was called
inside. At a young age Akku had started spending time at his father’s shop and
was learning the trade of tailoring. He was soft spoken and hard working. After
I left home and when I visited in summers with my little boys, I often sat on
the swing outside in the backyard and starred at their backyard. Ammi would
fill me in by saying how finally Chachi has found peace in her life. That is
because Chachi’s married life was a painful one. But she always looked
contained. She kept herself busy with her house work. She did go to a movie or
two with my Aunt Suraiya and her sister-in-law Najma once in a blue moon.
Otherwise she never went out not even to Dargah’s. I don’t remember her doing
any religious rituals such as Niyaz or mujlis. But even in this simplest of
life in this corner of the world of the 80’s with no TV or YouTube she had a
secret, something or someone she dearly loved besides her son Akhtar. And I was
one of the few that knew this secret.
She took pride in taking care of
her house and family. Her kitchen had few utensils, all shiny steel vessels and
a kerosene stove. Her room had one bed made of iron frame, always covered with
a neat bed sheet. Under this bed was a green metal trunk or like we called it
“patre ki peti”. This I believe was her only possession and no one was allowed
to touch it. Not sure if it had a lock. But for whatever reason she had opened
the trunk in front of me several times. I would sit comfortably with my legs
folded neatly on the floor spreading my frock and covering my knees with it as
she would open the trunk. And their he was, Mr. Amitabh Bachan. Small and large
photos stuck on the inside of the trunk, almost every inch of it was covered
with his photos. I also had contributed to her collection now and then when I
found some pictures in some magazines as I knew she collected them, though in
those days we had few filmy magazines. Large photos of Mr. Bachan were kept at
the bottom and several of them neatly straitened under her neatly folded
sarees. She had to spread a newspaper first on the floor, remove all her
Saree’s to get to them. But we always had time. Some very large posters were
rolled and kept. Ah the times and situations. I never questioned why she never
displayed her love and passion on the empty walls of her room. As if I knew
without anyone had said or explained to me that in her situation it was not
possible. I just knew that this was a secret. I don’t think I ever told this to
Ammi or anyone. She called Mr. Bachan “lambu” out of love, just in front of few
chosen people, one of them was me. Can you imagine the times, the situations,
the surroundings and the people?
So here I question as to which
God Almighty had an issue with her and her life. What sins she had done that
she was so dearly punished for.
On March 1st, 2002 when I called,
I was told Anwar Mamu was beheaded. Nani was also found burned and dead in her
room. Akhtar and his wife were found in pieces in my backyard, they tried to
hide in the bathroom in the back of our house but were pulled by the Mob and
cut to pieces by the swords. And Chachi? Chachi’s body was not found. This is
reality I am writing, this is no fiction, no story. This was in Ahemedabad,
Gujarat the model city and state of India. Several days later they found
Chachi, alive. She was but some 50 kgs., not sure how she survived the burns.
The Mob thought she was dead as she lay with her burned back in the back yard
of her house among other dead bodies.
On February 28th, 2019, on 18th
death Anniversary of her husband and beloved son Akku, I finally met her at
Gulberg Society. She was as slim as she was always, wearing a neat saree. Our
eyes met, we didn’t say anything, she smiled and hugged me tight as if we could
hear each other, as if she was asking me “how are you, you must miss Abba so
much” and as if I was asking “how did you learn to live without Akku”.
She sat next to me holding my
hand and slowly we walked towards our houses, still smelling of our loved ones
among the ruins. We entered her room from the front verandah. She glanced
through the room and said, “There I had my trunk under the bed, you remember”
without looking at me. “I do remember" I said, "and I also remember
what was in the trunk”, she immediately looked at me, “sab “lambu” ki photo bhi
jal gayi” (All Mr. Bachans photo’s burned too).
My countries,
my people, my friends, close your eyes and think for a moment:
What have we become?
What have we done?
How did we play God?
Who are we?
And Why?
Again, for what?
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