I have moved to the otherside of the linguistic rainbow, hence, my absence from a few platforms where I used to contribute. Thin clouds are hovering under the rainbow but I can see them clearing. The light here – on this side – is soothing, the tones are muted, it is calm, not hurried. The colours are the same but the view from here is different, it is closer home, nearer the childhood, to the beginning, the earliest blabber (or is it babble!) of the first few sounds I mimicked. The first chatter I registered and the sounds that stayed; the words I picked up and the lips I aped are gushing in. Someone familiar is walking closer to where I stand. It is difficult to focus, it is not clear, there is fog – it must be Ma. She is trying hard to regain health after a downhill journey of the past nine months. Nine months! Is she birthing? At Ninety-one? Who? I am jealous. I have been listening to her with both my ears. Listening, storing, sorting, collating and writing. Mostly using the words she uses; broken, incomplete sentences where times, spaces, incidents, objects and people all churn and create a world with newer perceptions and realities unknown to any.
We have been talking. Yes, a lot. We talk in Hindi. From her fading memory words take time to form and flow. The recall, depending on how far she wants to go, is time taking and difficult. She thinks and many-a-times dismisses me not wanting to exert much. The fragile cervical spine doesn’t let the neck stay still, for long. No longer interested in reading or watching television, Ma spends most of the time lying down with eyes shut. We talk of her time in Lahore and Jhang; of her school; of Partition; of her college in Rohtak and Patna; of her teaching jobs; her marriage, motherhood; time with her husband; her life – the hits and the misses of life. Most of the time she smiles while answering/ talking and brushes off those queries that she doesn’t want to take.We think, converse and write in Hindi. I am glad that I can explore the other side of the rainbow with her.
Like a child I still watch her lips to make sense of the sounds and the words. It is ‘yesterday once more’ for me – it is the same as she was, as I was, decades back. The stage is the same, it is the same play, same script and same characters though time and age has added few props between us before the curtains come down. Without her dentures her jaw, the cheekbones and the face has shrunk.The pleats on her skin are mingled folds of silk which shines when light falls on her face at a particular angle. The hue and tint of her skin is pinkish-white other than the folds which seem darker (trust me they are not) that’s where light doesn’t shine. The blue veins now show more, especially on days when her heart pumps blood faster and the machine scares us with 210/130. Her toothless smile reminds me of my Nani – who was different – thinner, paler, whiter but cuter version – but Nani won’t smile as frequently as Ma does. Ma doesnt need a conversation or a joke or a tickle to smile – she looks at her granddaughter or grandson and fills the room with her smile. Sometimes she smiles looking at the Ranjha painting which she thinks is her beloved Krishna – both cattle herders – both flute players – both possessive lovers. Krishna or Ranjha – neither she, nor I can decide; but like her even I can see the rustle of kadamb trees even in the painting. She has been the source of my writing forever, but now she is the only source, the snout of the river which feeds me mineral-rich ambrosia.
Hopefully all of you had a wonderful year 2023 – successful, joyous, and healthy. While we wish each other ‘HNY’ on January 1st, a few of us while responding to the wishes, also reflect and think of the year gone by and, in the hindsight, pray that they don’t go through the bumpy patches again.
Thirteen days down the line while a cold wave sweeps the city and a grey sky adds to the gloom, I suppose it is time to look back at the year 2023 while tucked in a warm duvet with a cup of hot coffee or a glass of rum in hand.
But then going back is not easy unless one has maintained a meticulous account, a diary of sorts. It is difficult to recall all events – so before I began writing this I put down a broad selection of month wise events after which it was easier to sum it up.
The year 2023 was tiring and tough, though equally rewarding. At times trying and testing, at the others back breaking and on a few occasions frustrating to downright unpassable. Yet, the time-hardened bones, the stubbornness not to back down, to take it all upfront – not just face it but challenge it too – sailed me through. I can now say with a grin that both the clock and the time looked back and smiled. That reward was bigger than the financial one.
Till about the second week of March 2023 things were sailing smooth at work and home. Towards the last week we went to Bhopal to mount the exhibition ‘Hum Sab Sahmat: Resisting a Nation without Citizens’ (‘We All Agree’ – a testament to resisting a nation being shaped without its citizens). That’s where we got the news that two of our friends had been hospitalised. We rushed back only to see both of them pass away in a matter of three days. Comrade Suneet Chopra was first one to leave us and dear dear friend Vivan Sundaram followed on 29 March 2023. It was a huge setback.
Back at work picking up the threads I was debating the existential crisis that the death of a dear one leaves one with. Though a little hard to push, yet the wheel of life carries on gently patting the past.
Somehow I have always found that the Financial Year has a kind of continuity with the calendar year. As one settles in the comfort zone of a benign April suddenly challenges pounce on you from a hidden corner. Till then I was pretty much enjoying whatever came my way and what I was doing, professionally or on a personal level. I was more than happy with last years’ financials and with the healthy number of projects in our hand. Come May, the first unseasonal rain and a burst of seepage from the second floor terrace of our home brought with it an unending spate of problems at home which was also doubling up as part-office. Lo and behold, a civil works contractor and a melee of labour took over our place in an army-like operation disrupting everything for the next three months.
Between the work supervision and rounds to the market I could barely attend to work. On the professional front work suffered, deadlines overshot, clients screamed, and expenses piled. How can one even pretend to be creative and churn out campaigns or designs that satisfy the soul while one is tumbling over sacks of cement and slipping over stone dust, how? Most unhappy with myself and the team I was losing my shirt on everyone around which made matters worse. Fortunately, I got a grip on myself in time and calmed down before things went out of hand. The pressure of office work was increasing so did the delays at home caused by absentee workmen.
On June 1st bad news came from Dubai. My life-time mentor and guide Zamir Ansari passed away after a massive heart attack. I was devastated. We had a long association of nearly 35 years. He was the most gentle, the kindest and a god-like being who helped anyone with everything he had. While his loss jolted me no end, at a memorial meeting for Mr Ansari something good came up. I shook hands with two people with whom a misunderstanding had cropped up a few years back. In my heart I felt much lighter having cleansed my heart and having made-up with them. There is so much good in the world to see, feel, share, and give. Life trudged.
Home renovation is an unending pain. Once you start fixing seepage, masonry creeps in together with water-proofing; plumbing replacement brings down functional bathrooms which need to be redone from the scratch. Electricals and woodwork soon follow which necessitates paint work and floor polishing, if not entire floor replacement. The whole house was in a mess. It was physically and mentally draining running up and down the three levels at the peak of summers. With the dust and noise all around us Ma fell ill and then all of us followed one after another, flu, sore throats, congestion and the viral fever kept us down. A nagging threat of corona persisted with unmasked labour sauntering around the house for ten hours each day. With tea and snacks to be served twice a day to a team of thirty odd workers, the household help and the kitchen was operating more like a free-canteen about to collapse any day.
In between the saving grace was a decent exhibition design and execution project that came our way. Normally of short duration but hectic, exhibition projects are well paying, we made a packet for a week of sleepless nights.
While all this was happening I managed to hurt my knee and limped my way through latching on to stair railings and walls. Over weeks it came to a point that I couldn’t attend to work or even go for my morning walks. The orthopaedic said that I had a bone abrasion and had torn knee-joint ligaments. A busy work season had begun. With September came the festival rush of north India. Visits to the doctor and the physiotherapist were added to the hectic work schedule. Work pressure continued without respite (good it did).
We hadn’t had a break for over seven months. Not even a decent and calm Sunday. Catching a drink in peace seemed luxury. No friends, no party, no outings. Life was dull and boring only dealing with masons, plumbers, carpenters, painters, welders, electricians and floor polishers. Finally, and somehow having pushed everyone out, we managed to get the house back in shape and sing with us sometime in October. It was such a relief.
While we were enjoying our wine and cheese and the music played in the background a hearty duet joined the chorus. My brother and his wife, from pardes, joined us in the freshly redone space. Warmth filled the place. From then onwards it was a party each morning, noon, and night. Evenings were only for drinks which drowned us. World Cup Cricket was here – the fever gripped us too. Succumbing to the loot by the black marketeers we headed to the Private Gallery view of matches in Chennai and Ahmedabad. The on-ground cricket entertainment is a different game. It is heady when you know that the rest of the universe is watching the game 17 seconds after you.
Bad news somehow smells of the relative peace and joy one is enjoying. This time it came from Palestine. Innocent Gazans have had to suffer unending brutalities at the hands of Israeli forces for over three months now.
Clients were kind during the next two months. No one was dying or flying. No one asked for a brochure at the last minute. No press conference wanted a PR push, no Annual Reports were delayed. All in all work sailed smoothly. There were more holiday breaks and parties than work during this time. Festivals, together with a spate of birthdays, meant celebrations. Fun and frolic carried on with heritage walks, concerts, visits to monuments and museums, excesses of street food topped with heady overdose of drinks.
Finally, as all good things end, so do parties and celebrations. Work pressure increased together with the knee pain. Brother and bhabhi went back home. Life was coming back to the drudgery of a routine when the happy bells rang.
A new, prestigious, and fairly large exhibition project came our way. This one was to happen in Shahjahanabad – inside the great monument built by Emperor Shah Jahan. I fell in love with the Red Fort all over again as we had the special permission to drive our car straight inside the Fort through the historical Delhi Darwaza with its life-size elephant statues guarding the magnificent edifice and its age-old secrets. Despite the limp and the pain it was a joy to work inside the 17th Century fort. Even in the peace and quiet of Diwan-i-khas I could hear the nautch girls sing and dance.
The commute from Gurgaon to purani Delhi was a dampener but it also had the bait of ‘Delhi 6 ka khaana‘. The near 5,000 sq feet of our exhibition space finally turned out as a stunning art gallery overlooking the Mughal grandeur spread around us. Decked with priceless artworks from across the country the hall looked like a haseen dulhan. The design and the display was appreciated and applauded. In our hearts we were more than happy for having done a bloody-good job.
The successful completion of a project has to be celebrated, so, leaving the foggy and cold Delhi behind, off we went to the balmy and sunny coastal Kerala. The year was coming to an end and we knew that one has to reward oneself for the accompanishment/s and all the hard work. Driving along the south-western coast we rode further down south from historic Kochi to the backwaters of Alleppey to Trivandrum and to the blue-water and white-sand beaches of Kovalam enjoying fish fillets and toddy – all the way through watching Bharatanatyam and Mohiniyattam performances while admiring the pollution free sparkling blue skies. While in Kovalam as I watched the sun set behind the Arabian sea two clients called to say that their “Calendar designs” were delayed. What???? Didn’t you get an auto reply saying I am out of town? Ugghhhh!!!
I wondered, could I complain to the sun why was it setting, could I? A fishing boat crossed the pale orange sphere as it dipped in blue waters. A flock of birds were circling the boat waiting for the catch. A few stars peeped out from the dark northern sky. I poured a drink.
Designers and artists can’t complain even when their dreams are broken.
To sum up, the year 2023 indeed was tough yet it was rewarding in more ways than one. Hoping that 2024 will be kind and joyous for all of us, personally I look forward to more vacations, explorations, more journeys and more laid back weeks over work, work and work. Cheers to all of you. Stay safe and stay in love.
Some noteworthy jobs of the year 2023 were: Advantage Tennis magazine. Annual Reports for SISCOL, IFFCO and CEQUIN. Brochures for Global Health Strategies, Ashoka University, Jainson and Ojas Art. Books for NLGI, Ruzbeh Bharucha, Aditya Saikia and Dr. Kamal Rustomejee. A portfolio for Vivan Sundaram. Table calendars for SISCOL and Sahmat. Exhibition designs for IAADB and Jainson.
Ankahi. Unsaid. 
You must be logged in to post a comment.