OVERBOARD - OVERSEAS

Courtesy: the-diplomat.com

When the Indian Navy conducted the International Fleet Review in Feb 2001, at Mumbai, in which navies of various countries participated, the motto of the IFR was 'Bridges of Friendship'. The seas are not seen as dividing media but as the media that unites people of various lands. I retired ten years later after spending 37 years of building these bridges across the seas.

'Join the Navy - See the World; Join the Navy - Meet the Girls' was the litany when we were in the school. Robert Browning's Cristina was fresh in our minds:

Young 'dreamer' in the Navy

What?  To fix me thus meant nothing?
  But I can't tell (there's my weakness)
What her look said!---no vile cant, sure,
  About need to strew the bleakness
 Of some lone shore with its pearl-seed.  
   That the sea feels''---no strange yearning
That such souls have, most to lavish
  Where there's chance of least returning.''

The last two lines have an enigma about them as well as promise of romance. One would think that it is exactly as given in the story books. However, we learnt it the hard way during our trip to Athens way back in 1975 immediately after being commissioned. We were ambling in the Constitution Square when a kind man came to us and asked if we were Indian. He said that he admired Indians and would like us to have drinks in the company of his fair-sex friends. The drinks were nice and the girls were nicer still. We talked about our great nations, our history and heritage, Taj Mahal, Delhi etc (amongst other things, that is) and really enjoyed ourselves. We were under-trainee Acting Subaltern Lieutenants on board. We were convinced that we were smarter, wittier, more interesting company; else, why would the girls be attracted to us as compared to our more senior colleagues from the ship Himgiri? In our megalomaniac trance we did not know that the man who had invited us had quietly vanished and so had our seniors. Later, we were asked to pay an exorbitant bill for the drinks, and we had to part with our entire foreign allowance and more. We were the suckers who had fallen for the obvious ploy. When we returned on board we were ‘ceremoniously’ received with all the seniors lining the gangway and going through the motions of a mock side-pipe.

Thirty-five year later, just before retiring from the navy as I stood at a banquet in Shanghai with a pretty interpreter next to me, I felt I had lost count of the number of ports and countries I had visited and bridges of friendship made with people.

At Shanghai, just before retiring

At the Great Wall of China

But, I am convinced that at the end of it one doesn't so much remember all the pomp and glory, great places, cities and nations. Quite simply one always remembers people one meets and share their kindness and culture. One also remembers the con-tricks, swindles and hoaxes by them. Both types later become dear because good or bad, these have the flavour of foreign visits. Here are a few more.



Tempo - the type driven by Avtar Singh

I was merely a cadet on the cruiser Delhi when we touched the port of Sabang in Indonesia. It was about 20 kms or so from the city of Balawan. This was where we imagined the fun to be. But, the problem that confronted us was how to reach there. With our meager resources we could not have hired a cab and we were not familiar with the bus routes. As we came out of the port we spotted a ‘tempo’ driven by a sardar. We thumbed a ride. As we sat with him in the front seats he got into a conversation with us about the ship. We showed off to him how the ship was fitted with the very latest in warfare and comfort. He was particularly keen to know about the conditions in the Engine Room. We told him that our Engine Room had the latest in air-conditioned luxury and had controls and sensors to match a liner. After three quarters of an hour’s journey he dropped us at Belawan with the parting shot, “Great to know about your modern ship, Sirs; you did not recognize me, I am LME (Leading Mechanical Engineroom rating) Avtar Singh from your ship. This ‘tempo’ belongs to my brother here in Belawan. How about coming to the Engine Room sometimes and doing a watch with me?” For the next few months we avoided A Singh on board as if he were a leper.


On duty in uniform but 'liberty' in civvies



On Himgiri we had gone on a foreign visit to the Black Sea Soviet (now Ukranian) port of Odessa. In foreign ports, sailors generally go out in uniform whereas the officers may go out in civvies. But, so great was the fascination of the Soviet belles with uniform that we found that the sailors managed to make friends with the prettiest of them. As if that was not enough, to add insult to injury, on the second day of our stay whaen a reception was held on board for the local dignitaries and their ladies, one of the ladies enquired of us as to why there was no officer in the reception. It was difficult to get to the bottom of this  because of language barrier. It took us sometime to unravel the mystery. Apparently, a day earlier one of the Petty Officers (the lowest rank amongst Senior Sailors) in uniform, on shore leave, when asked as to why there was a distinction between some of us going out for 'liberty' (shore leave) in uniform and others in civvvies had informed them that only they, the officers, with an anchor or two on their sleeves, were "permitted" to go out in uniform. The others had to be content with going out in civvies. And, one should have seen their fascination with uniform.

I still remember the time whe we landed up at Colombo. In order to shop there we had to first convert our Indian rupees into local currency. Just as it happened in Athens, a kind hearted gentleman came and asked us to put our money in individual envelopes that he had brought, write the names and amounts on the sealed envelopes and then he’d go and get the requisite local currency. He took the envelopes from us only to make a list and then handed these back to us. We held on to these whilst he went on his errand. 

Courtesy: gamerswithjobs.com

We were confident that this was totally safe since we had the envelopes with the money with us. As time passed and he did not return we reassured ourselves by feeling the envelopes containing our money. However, when he did not return even after one hour of wait we opened the envelopes and found that instead of our hard-earned money these contained newspaper strips. In the evening we narrated this incident, over drinks, to other officers in the wardroom and they made fun of us for not being observant and cautious. The next day the lot to whom we had told the story also lost their money in like manner.

But, of all the incidents during foreign trips, this one takes the cake. Whilst walking in one of the ports, knowing that the locals would not know our language, that is, Punjabi, one officer would accost the lovely damsels with the naughty Punjabi line: “D--- ke thane jaana?” (Are you willing or should I take you to Thana, that is, Police Station). The damsels, not understanding the question or its import would just smile at him and walk away and all of us would burst in cackles. However, when he asked this of the most beautiful of the girls, she confronted him with, “Thane jaana”. He did not know where to look. That evening we had a reception on board and she happened to be the daughter of the Indian (and Punjabi) First Secretary. Our flamboyant Punjabi officer did the Mister India trick (many years before the movie was released) and tried to become invisible during the party.

I end with the incident of my having gone to Italy as a Lieutenant on short deputation. I took a loan from my Provident Fund and decided to take my wife along. Accompanying me, on this short deputation, was another officer. On a weekend, we decided to visit the city of Florence and hired a car from Rome to do so. Florence is amongst the most beautiful cities that I have visited. My wife, being a Catholic, saw the churches and chapels, with works by Michelangelo, with engrossing interest. However, it finally became time to have lunch. Being Indians, we were very concerned about where the driver of our taxi would eat. Primo, the driver, seemed to know no other language other than Italian; we had a trying time explaining to him the places that we wanted to visit and had to literally show him the places on the map.


As a Lieutenant in Florence, Italy

 Finally, with all the sights that we were to see, there was no time left for lunch and we discussed amongst ourselves that we'd just grab some fast food on the way. Primo showed us on the map that, with our permission, he'd like to follow a different route for going back to Rome. He made us understand by gestures that his in-laws stayed in a village and it would not be too much of a detour to go via the village. The only problem was that along the way we didn't come across a single place where we could stop for lunch.

Primo's people lived in a farmhouse and the entire family was there to greet us. Within no time, they made us feel like honoured guests from India. We, having been brought up with class-distinctions in India, were pleasantly surprised to see them offering us a sumptuous lunch, champagne and wine and finally carry-away gifts.

Until many years later, I kept thinking of what made Primo do so; possibly the lunch and the gifts were worth more than the hire-charges of his cab. I would like to believe that the concern we had shown for his lunch at Florence, even though expressed in a language foreign to him, made the difference. 

Navy is a true international service; it is because most often than not it operates beyond 12 nautical miles of the coast and hence in international waters called the high seas. Our counterparts from the Army and the Air Force rarely leave the country whereas we do it on an everyday basis; in almost every sailing we leave the territorial limits of the country. Navy gave me the opportunity to touch various shores, both by sea and by air. Wherever I went, I never forgot the lesson that Primo imparted us in my grooming years.



Maori welcome in Auckland, New Zealand

I remember Captain of our Cadets Training Ship Delhi addressing the ship’s company before entering the port of Aden; my first foreign port. He said each one of us were the ambassadors of our great nation ashore and were expected to conduct ourselves likewise. I thought to myself: ‘What great luck to be called “Your Excellency” at the age of twenty-one’. In the remaining nearly four decades of being in the Navy, we took our 'ambassadorial' duties rather earnestly. And guess what? Everywhere we went, the people responded with warmth and affection. The girls? Well, that's another story.

HI SEXY - 'GATEWAY TO FUTURE' FOR INDIAN WOMEN

Another International Women's Day is here (Read my 'Is There Reason to Celebrate Women's Day in India'). My article for which I have provided the link was published in Mar 2010. This was around the time when Xinhua reported that Chinese scientists had created the world's first genetically modified cow, in Jun 2009, that can give milk rich in Omega-3 fatty acid. On the right is a picture of that cow.

But, why the moniker 'Hi Sexy', you may ask. Well, the fact is that the Chairperson of NCW (National Commission for Women) has, in a recent seminar called 'Gateway to Future', in Jaipur, has exhorted women to take it as a compliment if they are called 'sexy'. Should the genetically modified Indian woman be happy that just before IWD 2012, she is to be excited with the idea of men appreciatively calling her sexy? This should convey to her that she is 'charming and beautiful' and not an object of desire.

In a related news, Bombay High Court has also given a gift to Indian women by giving the legal sanction to retain their maiden name even after marriage. I can visualise the following situation:

There was a time when the double entendre contained in the proposition 'Aati kya Khandala?' for the 1998 Hindi movie 'Ghulam' (Slave) was a subject of heated national discussion about the vulgarity of such a proposition. Even though a boy named Aamir Khan was the slave in the movie, others were salivating about what they could do to or with a girl if she agreed to the proposition. It is only 14 years later - exactly the time taken by Lord Ram to spend time in a forest with his wife Sita and brother Laxman because a ill-tempered and ill-willed woman asked him to do so - and we already have it official that women can now be called sexy without inviting the provisions of a certain Code regarding outraging the modesy of a woman. We are making progress really.

But, I guess, it was long overdue. If a man could be called cocky for being overly self-assertive and self-confident; why can't a woman be called sexy? But, I suggest, men would be wise to restrict themselves to this one word sanctioned by Mamta Sharma, Chairperson of NCW, and not use any of the synonyms given in the thesaurus: aroused, horny, randy, ruttish, steamy, turned on(predicate), autoerotic, coquettish, flirtatious, erotic, titillating, blue, gamy, gamey, juicy, naughty, racy, risque, spicy-hot, intimate, sexual, juicy, luscious, red-hot, toothsome, voluptuous, lascivious, lewd, libidinous, lustful, lecherous, leering, lubricious, lustful, prurient, salacious, orgiastic, oversexed, highly-sexed, pornographic, adult-provocative, raunchy, sexed, sex-starved.

Conversely, if 'sexy' is to be taken as 'Charming and Beautiful', as Mamta Sharma would have us believe, imagine a boy telling his grand-mother, "Granny, even at this age you look really sexy"; and the granny sending him in outer space without the astronaut's suit and equipment.

On a serious note, yesterday, I was reading the (24th Feb 12) New York Times article by Nilanjana S Roy titled 'Homosexuality in India - A Literary History'. The last part of the article read, "In her 2010 book, 'Leaving India: My Family’s Journey From Five Villages to Five Continents' Minal Hajratwala writes: I have come to understand that queerness is a migration as momentous as any other, a journey from one world to the next … I am the only lesbian, and the only writer, in the recorded history of our clan.”

My comment on the article was: I guess, in every generation, some people would always be "different" because the majority is on the other side. For example, in Indian society, a disciplined person is looked down upon since the majority is used to living in personal and collective chaos. I might just be simplifying the bias but homosexuality is to be seen in that light; it is not the done thing as seen by the majority. The bias against it is as justified as the Christians' ealier bias against having women as helpers in the church. But, slowly, as more people supported the idea, the bastion fell. As far as 'history' is concerned, we don't have to justify our current beliefs based on the 'wisdom' of the past generations unless backwards to the future is the intention.

In the 18th century Royal Navy, since men were at sea for long durations, their women were allowed on board. They used to sleep in the hammocks; which were well suited for comfort and rest but not so well suited for Charles Darwin's 'Theory of Evolution'. The only place to practise such Theory was on the deck spaces between the ship's guns. Willy-nilly, a lot of illegitimate children were born. Such a child, if of the male sex, was callled a Son of the Gun because of his conception in the space between the ship's guns. However, two and a half centuries later, a man perks up and acts cocky when someone calls him 'Son of a Gun'.

Likewise, I am sure, after the licence given by Mamta to call women sexy, a time will come when we shall no longer read or write such articles, or call a woman so, by meaning anything other than 'charming and beautiful'.

Greetings to all my friends on the International Women's Day; especially to those who are sexy. But, then, I haven't yet come across a woman who is not charming and beautiful.

WHY THIS VALENTINE VALENTINE DI?

Yo boys I am singing song

Love song

Hate song

Why this Valentine Valentine di

Why this Valentine Valentine di
It feels "foreign"-uh

Why this Valentine Valentine di
No overboard please-uh

Why this Valentine..di

Guardian of moral-uh moral-uh

Moral-uh color-uh white-uh

White background porn-uh porn-uh

Porn-uh color-uh blue-uh

Why this Valentine Valentine di

Why this Valentine Valentine di

"Foreign" skin-uh girl-uh girl-uh

MLAs heart-uh black-uh

Phone-uh phone-uh watch-uh watch-uh

"Foreign" girl in stark-uh

Why this Valentine Valentine di
Why this Valentine Valentine di

No wishing V-Day, V-Day
"Foreign" culture spoil-uh spoil-uh
Watch-uh watch-uh porn-uh porn-uh
And-uh be good Indian boy-uh

Why this Valentine Valentine di
Why this Valentine Valentine di

GUARDIANS OF PORN AND MORALITY

Doesn't it sound a little incongruous to give the charge of Porn and Morality to the same people? It is like electing a rapist to guard women's virginity. Hence, less than a week before St Valentine's Day, these Guardians of Porn And Morality (GPAM, like SPAM), were salivating over some "foreign" porn act whilst simultaneously ensuring that their determination to protect the Indian people against such "vulgar" and "indecent display" of love on the day of a "foreign" saint is as steadfast as their oath to do everything for the good of the people.

Courtesy: Reuter

You can have a motley of opinions. My opinion is that it is probably good for us that they were watching porn. I can illustrate this by the case of a bartender who was offering free drinks to everyone in the bar. When asked as to what was the game, he replied with determination similar to that of GPAM, "I am doing to the bar what the bar owner is doing to my wife upstairs." I don't know what the debate in the assembly and what was the bill to be passed; but, such horny MLAs (Members of the Lecherous Assembly) could have actually sc***ed the people if they hadn't been watching sc***y acts on their phone. If you follow my reasoning, we should demand that watching porn should be made compulsory for Members of Lecherous Assembly and Members of Pornography (MPs). This would keep them from passing laws that sc*** the daylights out of us.

Indeed, now one knows as to why they have been asking for laptops for every member of parliament and assembly. Firstly, the words (and not single word) lap top must be doing wonders to the libido of these not-so-gentle-men. Then, the lap top certainly would provide bigger images with greater clarity of the intricate scenes. You can also understand the flaming hurry to usher in 2G and 3G so that live action can be streamed to them.

Most people, I am sure, have found nothing out of place about three Lechers watching porn in the assembly. With declining standards of our public morality, such things are only to be expected. When a septuagenarian Governor can be found naked with young girls in his official residence, why not young hornies in the assembly? I think what is being rued is not that. What is being rued is the double-standards maintained by the GPAM.

Courtesy: articles.thetimesofindia.indiatimes.com

A few years back I acted in and directed a play called '30 Days in September' for a purely Navy audience. When I read Mahesh Dattani's play, I was taken in by the intensity of the storyline and scenes created by him (he is a really accomplished playwright with a movie 'Morning Raga' starring, amongst others, Shabana Azmi and Perizad Zorabian, to his credit.  The play was about incest: my initial reaction was that services audiences more comfortable with humour, comedy, mystery and suspense may not like a play about incest (I played the bad guy Vinay). However, we received a standing ovation. The remarkable thing about the play was the ease with which the playwright brought out the double standards displayed by the bad man both as a maternal uncle and finally - in a shocking denouement - as a brother.

The author as Vinay in '30 Days in September'

Whilst researching the subject, I found that the incidence of incest in India is very high. The then Minister of Women's Affairs and Child Welfare, Renuka Chaudhary, gave out the government-researched figures and brought out that about 49 percent children in our country are victims of incest and child abuse. The most appalling fact given in the report was that even young boys are not safe.

We have a recent nauseating judgment in the case of a 10 month old having been raped by her neighbour Ramkishan Harijan and the reason that the Bombay High Court gave him lesser punishment was because of taking cognisance of the Counsel for Defense's plea that 'the rapist was poor, father of two, living alone, away from his native place and therefore probably lost control over himself'. Disgusting, to say the least.

Courtesy: examiner.com

Then we had a Minister in Goa Assembly who inferred that "women deserved to be raped because of wearing provocative clothes". India and especially the national capital is now amongst the unsafest countries for women.

So, to conclude the deception of double standards, do we let the GPAM make laws on morality and do nothing about their own? Do you think that the children wouldn't have read the news and seen the pics (you can't ban the children from reading newspapers, can you?). Do we conclude that the foreign culture of celebrating such "depraved" days as St Valentine's Day is responsible for the wide-spread degradation in our public morality? Haven't we become a nation that is always in search of some foreign thing or the other for our general rot of values; something similar to Indira Gandhi's "foreign hand"?

Like in the case of Mary Magdalene, I don't know who will and should chuck the first stone? Certainly not GPAM.

Lets have some honest soul-searching and opinions.

GOD AND I

It was dark, very dark. It must have been extra-sensory experience because though there was no light and she wasn't shining or anything close to it, I could see her. I hadn't seen her earlier, not even in my thoughts, but, I could recognise her instantly.

"God", I told her in abject bewilderment, "How can I see you in the dark?"
She looked at me with equal dumbfoundment, "I am elated that you have the gumption to realise that God isn't a He anymore. But, I am amazed that you can't realise how you can see me. You see ("what an expression", I thought) I make all rules, laws, science, philosophy, ideas and thoughts in the universe. So, I can make you see me even without the light."

Courtesy: Angel Wallpapers

I know even my wife has the same power. She too can make me see what she wants me to see even in the dark. However, what an enromous power I would have, I thought, if this woman - sorry God - were to bestow upon me the ability to see everything in the dark? I wasn't surprised when She read my thoughts and stopped me halfway in my new fantasy, "Don't even think about it; you ain't so special. Just because you call yourself sunbyanyname is no reason for me to give you extraordinary powers. First tell me, how did you figure out God is now a woman? It must be an independent thought because I didn't give it to you."

My, my, I actually had an ungodly thought. However, I let Her - God - know how I cottoned on to it (no point in having God against you), "I perceived it on facebook, twitter and blog."

"Very observant, I say" She said, "But I think I made a big mistake. If someone half-witted as you could perceive that God is a woman, soon everyone will understand it. As it is people these days don't believe in God; if they were to realise that I am a woman, all hell will break loose."

"God" I reasoned with Her, "Let them know your true face (I nearly said facebook) or profile. Your angels on facebook, twitter and blog already know. So, why not let the men know it too?"

She wasn't in a listening mood. Her mind was totally made up as most women's minds. What she said next shocked me immensely, "I am thinking of taking away from men the thinking mind."

I was flabbergasted; totally speechless. I instantly knew why She was doing it, so as to give a headstart to women in the same manner He or She had given to the men in the stone age. My first reaction was not to keep long hair lest She should reverse Time and have them (the women) go out and hunt and then drag us into the caves by our hair with their clubs resting on their shoulders. Anon I said, "We, men, are a proud lot. We would resent the loss of thinking mind."

"No, you won't" She said imperiously, "You won't even realise the loss. For ages now you have let that thingy do the thinking for you. In any case you don't use your mind much."

Mindless, I thought. Really mindless.

Next moment, poof, and she was gone.

As sunbyanyname I am used to seeing the silver lining and I spotted it in a flash. If the women were to jeer us for our mindlessness as we taunt them for some attributes of theirs, we, men won't have the mind to mind it.

P.S. This is my last thoughtful post. As She - God - decreed, soon men like me, real men that is, will have no mind to think.

Amen.

P.P.S. Come to think of it, She might change Amen to Awomen whilst keeping the meaning same.

THE BEST OF 'YAAD' SONGS

Love is a many splendoured feeling; even if you don't get anything out of Love (eg, the 1955 movie Udan Khatola's song written by Shakeel Badayuni: "Muhabbat ki raahon mein chalna sambhal ke; yahan jo bhi aaya gaya haath mal ke" (Walk cautiously on the paths of Love; anyone who walked this way, lost everything), you at least get Yaad (Memory or Rememberance). Indeed, poets of yore, thought of Yaad as a person. In this the best is Raja Mehndi Ali Khan who wrote for the 1965 movie Bekhabar (Out of Touch or Devoid of Reality) as folows:

Phir teri yaad naye geet sunane aayee
Dil ki duniya mein naye deep jalane aayee

Ye khayalon mein bhi khwabon mein bhi tadpati hai
Muskurati huyee ye keh ke chali aati hai
Main tujhe ishq ke sholon se bachane aayee
Phir teri yaad naye geet sunane aayee

Yaad-e mehboob idhar aa main tujhe pyar karoon
Tu agar jaan bhi mange to na inkar karoon
Ek diwane se kyun pyar jatane aayee?
Phir teri yaad naye geet sunane aayee

(Once again your memory has come with a new song,
She has come to light new lamps in the world of my heart.

She makes me miserable in my thoughts, in my dreams,
Smilingly, she approaches me with these words:
"I have come to protect you from cinders of love"

My beloved's Memory, come, I shall make love to you,
If you ask me for my life, I shall not flinch to say 'No'
Why have you come to express Love to a Crazy-in-Love?)

Is this my best choice? As always, the best actually is Mere Mehboob by Shakeel, my favourite lyricist (Read The Best Of Old Hindi Songs - Rafi, Shakeel, Naushad And Dilip Kumar Together) I can't, however, put it up being too sacred a song to be put up on this blog:

Yaad hai mujhako meri umr ki pehli vo ghadi
Teri aankhon se koi jaam piya tha maine
Meri rag rag mein koi barq si lehraayi thi
Jab tere marmari haathon ko chhuya tha maine

(One only has to imagine the scene:
I remember that first time of my life
I drank from the wine-glass of your eyes
In every sinew I had an electric feeling
When I held the marble of your hands)

However, here is Mohammad Rafi's rendition of Phir Teri Yaad:



Hemant Kumar Mukhopadhyay has been my favourite singer. He was born in Varanasi but shifted to Calcutta, His was a life given to music having recorded his first song for All India Radio in 1933. His first album in Bengali was released in 1937 and since then there was no looking back. All his songs transport you instantly into the world of the song. Here is my favourite Yaad song for the 1960 movie Manzil. The lyrics are by Majrooh Sultanpuri and music by SD Burman. No one knew how to act like a Sharabi (drunkard) better than Dev Anand (he acted in the movie by this name):



Rajinder Krishan was born in a Punjabi Duggal family in Jalalpur Jattan in Gujarat and then shifted to my hometown Shimla. His interest in poetry made him participate in many poetry competitions in Shimla and then, in mid 1940s, he shifted to Bombay to become a screenwriter. His first screenplay was for the 1947 movie Janta. He won a jackpot of Rupees 46 Lakhs in horse racing and became very rich. However, richer than all his riches was his poetry. He wrote this Yaad song for the 1961 movie Sanjog for which Madan Mohan gave music and Mukesh sang. The song is "Bhooli hui yaadon mujhe itna na satayo; ab chan se rehne do mere paas na aayo".

Daman mein liye baitha hoon toote hue taare,
Kab tak main jiyunga inhi khvaabon ke sahare,
Diwaana hoon ab aur naa diwaana banao
Ab chan se rehne do....




Suraiya Jamaal Sheikh was popularly known as Suraiya and sang many beautiful songs for the Hindi films in 1940s and 50s. She was born in Gujeranwala, Punjab (now in Pakistan). She sang Rajinder Krishan's song 'Yaad aa raha hai dil ko bhoola hua zamaana' for the 1949 movie Amar Kahani that starred her. Please read the superb lyrics:

Yaad aa rahaa hai dil ko
Bhoola huaa zamaanaa

Har shay pe zindagi thi har cheez par jawaani
Aaankhon mein ik kahaani honthon pe ik taraanaa
Yaad aa rahaa hai dil ko....

Unaki adaayen dil ko ab yaad aa rahi hain
Chupake se unakaa aanaa aur mujhako choom jaanaa
Yaad aa rahaa hai dil ko..

Dil ko khabar nahin thi ban jaayegaa kisi din
Do dil kaa muskuraana rone kaa ek bahaanaa
Yaad aa rahaa hai dil ko...

Unfortunately I couldn't find the song by itself. It is the last song in the three songs in the following link:
 

Talat Mehmood was born in Lucknow (UP) on 24th Feb 1924. He was the most famous singer of ghazals in the Hindi movies and had a unique style of his own. He started singing the ghazals of great Urdu poets such as Daag, Mir, Jigar at the age of 16 on All India Radio in Lucknow. In 1941 he cut his first disc with HMV. He was very handsome and also acted in thirteen movies from Rajlaxmi in 1949 to Sone Ki Chidiya in 1958 opposite Nutan. Meri yaad mein naa tum aansoo bahana is one of his best songs for the 1951 movie Madhosh starring Manhar and Meena Kumari. Raja Mehdi Ali Khan provided the lyrics and Madan Mohan Kohli the music. Raja Mehdi Ali Khan was born in Karimabad in what is now Pakistan and his first film as Lyricist was Do Bhai in 1946. Madan Mohan was a contemporary of Raja Mehdi Ali Khan having been born on 24 Jun 1924 in Baghdad, Iraq. He joined the army and was commisioned in 1943. However, his love for music claimed him and he got his first big break in the Hindi movies in 1950 movie Aankhein. There was no looking back after that. Listen to this Yaad song put together by the three of them:

Alright, now it is time to get back to Mere Mehboob; though not really the title song. I have written enough about Shakeel, Naushad and Rafi and hence I don't have to do it again. And what can you write abaout Lata Mangeshkar, the most versatile female singer in the Hindi movies industry, who has sung more than 50,000 songs in various languages and has received every conceivable award including Padma Bhushan, Padma Vibhushan, Bharat Ratna and Dadasaheb Phalke Award. Indeed, from 1980s she has opted out of receiving any Filmfare annual award so as to give encouragement to young emerging singers. The song Yaad mein teri jaag jaag ke ham raat bhar karvatein badalte hain is a beautiful number:

As the name suggests Majrooh Sultanpuri was born in Sultanpur in UP in 1919. Between 1946 and 2000 (when he died) he earned a name for himself as the finest avant-garde poet of Urdu language. Some of his songs are: Babuji dheere chalna, Achha ji main haari, Ai dil mujhe aisi jagah le chal, Dekho mausam kya bahaar hai, and Humein tumase pyaar kitna. Roshan, the music director, was born on 14 Jul 1917 in Gujeranwala, Punjab (now in Pakistan) and was the father of actor, director Rakesh Roshan and music director Rajesh Roshan, and grandfather of actor Hritik Roshan. He came to Hindi movies in 1948 and composed some delectable music until he died in Nov 1967. The song Aapne yaad dilaya to mujhe yaad aaya is a duet between Rafi and Lata and is in the 1962 movie Aarti. Enjoy:

Lets move on to the versatile and lovable Shailendra. He was born in Aug 1923 and died in Dec 1946 at a very young age. He joined Indian Railways and came to Bombay in 1947 where in a poetry recitation the great Raj Kapoor noticed him. Rest is history. He paired with Shankar Jai-Kishan and wrote some of the most beautifully romantic songs for Raj Kapoor that were invariably sung by Mukesh. Here is an unforgettable Yaad song from the 1959 movie Kanhaiyya starring Raj Kapoor and Nutan. The song is: Yaad aayi aadhi raat ko. Enjoy:





Shailendra paired with Shankar Jai-Kishan to write some very soulful numbers for Dil Ek Mandir starring Rajendra Kumar, Meena Kumari and Raj Kumar. This one is an all time favouite of mine:

Yaad na jaae, beete dinon ki
Jaake na aaye jo din, dil kyun bhulaaye, unhen
Dil kyun bhulaaye
Yaad na jaaye ...


Din jo pakheruu hote, pinjare mein main rakh detaa
Paalataa unako jatan se
Moti ke daane detaa
Seene se rahataa lagaaye
Yaad na jaaye ...

Tasveer unaki chhupaake, rakh duun jahaan ji chaahe
Man mein basi ye suurat
Lekin mite na mitaaye
Kehane ko hain vo paraaye
Yaad na jaae ...

Indeed, that's the theme of this article: Yaad doesn't ever leave you.

As we come to the end of the article, you must be wondering how many really good Yaad song I have left out. Well, I can't go on and on and it is pretty late in the night. Here is the song from the 1959 movie Satta Bazaar and you can't help keep singing it whenever you hear it. Gulshan Bawra wrote the lyrics and Kalyanji Anandji provided the music. My favourite singer Hemant da paired with Lata ji to sing one of the best Yaad songs that leaves you with a lump in your throat. The song is 'Tumhein yaad hoga kabhi hum milenge'; it is picturised on Suresh and Vijaya Choudhury:



Yaad never dies. Yaad takes us back to those times that were. As JM Barrie wrote, "God gave us memories so that we might have roses in December." The lyricists, music directors and most singers of that era are no more but the roses are still here, as fresh as ever.

FINALLY - MAN OVERBOARD

I was commanding the Fleet Tanker Aditya in the year 2001. I had a boss who was very understanding, kind and encouraging; but, I had my boss's boss who was a terror. The latter had made no secret of his desire to see me land squarely in the gooey stuff. So, he tried sending me into orbit at the slightest pretext. It would have given him immense satisfaction if I would make some blunder or the other so that he would feel vindicated that I didn't deserve to be given command of a catamaran let alone of a major warship. Therefore, throughout my tenure I had the Damocles sword hanging on my head and it made me very uncomfortable indeed. His spies were everywhere to give him the 'good news' of my failure so that he could finally rejoice and have his I-told-you-so smirk.

Aditya, the Fleet Tanker I commanded

In an earlier appointment, he had me punished for having complained about a Fire-fighting system not operational since its commissioning; he, through his minions, turned the tables on me by proving that actually the system became non-ops by my having done something to it. It was the kind of stuff that Franz Kafka became famous in depicting or Vijay Tendulkar tried to satirically bring out in the unforgettable movie 'Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro', in which the complainants suddenly found themselves behind bars as accused or convicts. But, this man was undeterred by such comparisons. After a Board of Inquiry a Show Cause Notice has to be issued within three months. His came to me more than six months later. He circumvented it by writing to me (I still have that letter), "It was issued six months back but due to a clerical lapse it didn't reach you." When it comes to respect for law, some of the senior officers in the armed forces have a simple tenet, "Hum God nahin hain; per God se kam bhi nahin hain." (I am not a God but I am no less than a God).

On another occasion he ordered an unlawful and unethical Board of Inquiry whose charge read, "To investigate lapses, if any, on the part of the officer". What was the trigger for this? Well, my successor had been guilty of wrongful destruction of classified documents. He felt that if he could somehow find something against me too, it would make his day. In short, he was gunning for me with vengeance.

The tales of his eccentricity and megalomania are legends in the Navy; he simply removed anyone - like a fly in his coffee - who made the unpardonable mistake of disagreeing with him on anything. In the inimitable Wodehouse style, he'd raze such a person to the ground and jump on his remains in hobnobbed boots. Now that we have a curious drama unfolding before our eyes about the date of birth of the Army Chief, I keep reminding myself that I have already seen the worst in skullduggery by a very senior officer. Others are just pale imitations of the original, that is, him.

The long and short of it was that, throughout my tenure as the Commanding Officer, life hung from a thin string that could snap anytime. His way to quarantine me (as if I were a leper) was to always keep me at anchorage or sailing so that I could never rest or attend to maintenance of the ship. All holidays were invariably spent at sea by my crew (ship's company in the naval parlance) and to give credit where it is due, my officers and sailors kept chins up and never complained or let me down. Once he had his minions chemically examine a slick of oil in the dockyard so that should it come out that it had originated from Aditya he could chew me.

Despite all this I enjoyed my command as any officer of the Executive Branch in the Navy would do. I was, however, always on guard throughout the innings like a die-hard batsman.

Finally, my tenure was coming to an end without incident and I had started congratulating myself. On my last sailing with the Fleet I was to take my successor for OJT (On Job Training). During this sailing, as if the urgent prayers of my boss's boss were overwhelming the gods, everything that could go wrong went wrong. I had a minor fire on board, a case of steering failure, fuelling rig failure etc. Still everything was under control.

On the night before returning to home port, I was on the Bridge of the ship until late in the evening busy with all the Fleet exercises. The Fleet Commander passed his night instructions. I read through these and gave appropriate orders to my own ship's company and then came down to have my dinner. I had just stepped into my cabin when I heard an urgent announcement, "Man Overboard, Man Overboard."

A Man Overboard is one of the biggest nightmares of a Navy man. All Officers of the Watch know the procedure by heart. I rushed to the bridge and asked the Fleet Commander's permission to act independently and manoeuvre to recover the man. As I performed the Williamson Turn (made famous by an USNR officer John Williamson in 1947), so as to retrace the ship's track, I had two thoughts in my mind: one, why did it have to happen to me at the fag end of my command? and two, how could a man fall overboard from such a large ship that is steady as a rock (172 metres and tonnage comparable to a light aircraft carrier when fully loaded)? A Williamson turn looks as follows: the first helm is towards the direction of the fallen man so as to keep the stern and hence the propellers away from the man:

This is left handed Williamson Turn for a man having fallen on Port side; it can be right handed for a man overboard on Starboard side

In the meantime we went through the other drills, eg, keeping a boat ready with a diver. I silently prayed that the man should be alive. As we retraced the track, the powerful searchlight from the signalling projector illuminated the surface of the sea in the ahead sector. And finally, we saw a head bobbing in the swell. We approached closer and started lowering the boat. It was taking time and we were afraid that the man might lose his life. The Senior Engineer of the ship (a qualified diver) asked my permission to dive straight from the ship into the water and save the man. I weighed the pros and cons and considering that a boat was already being lowered, I gave him permission.

In the meantime, the Fleet staff had been constantly asking me to provide SITREP (Situational Report). What followed was simply comical. It came out that nearly 50 nautical miles into the sea, there was a fishermen recovering his fishing net by jumping directly into the sea. Soon we saw his boat about a cable away. My ship's Lifeguard Sentry at the quarterdeck had done the right thing by throwing lifebuoy for him and then raising the 'Man Overbaord' alarm. Why couldn't the bridge see him and his boat? Well, the Indian fishermen at sea, many times, don't use any light and are difficult to spot in the dark (they are also so small a target that the radar won't pick them up too). Those who have the notion that the navy and the coast guard would be able to "seal our maritime borders against such threats as Kasab coming to our shores by a small boat", have no idea of the mammoth task.

We gave some food stuff and cigarettes to the fishermen and soon we were on our way; having denied my boss's boss the last opportunity to fix me. When I went to call on him just prior to his retirement, he told me, "Perhaps in your case my staff misguided me." I wished he had not lied at least on my last meeting with him.

Finally.......Man Overboard.

THE NUMBERS GAME

Man is a social animal; it is thus natural for him to crave for acceptance in society and excel. All our virtues are relative: there is no absolute virtue that we have (Read my post: Absolute Virtue): it is always in comparison to others. Rare are the people who can be happy  by themselves rather than as happy as such and such or happier than he or she. For others, nowadays, it is pure and simple 'Numbers Game' in every sphere of the life. There is no real litmus test of quality. No one has the time.

When a person gets elected, for example, in a democracy, it is taken for granted that he is the best suited for the job. In India at least (and I am sure it must be the case elsewhere too), the majority bestows on this person, so elected, to become arrogant about the power that he enjoys. Yes, the majority acceptance gives him powers that, say, Vincent Van Gogh won't have enjoyed during his lifetime. Power is derived from influence: how many got converted, how many are in agreement, how many like it? (Read my post Like or Why Read When You Can 'Like'?) In the Christian community, for example, one of the criteria of the effectiveness of a priest is the number of people he is able to convert.

The Numbers Game is ingrained in our systems. Do you remember the time when we used to put show 'Stamp Collection' as a hobby? When you had collected about ten thousand of them you could join the real league irrespective of whether you had any rare ones or not. However, despite the numbers, the rare ones actually mattered; a small minority knew its worth. But, then came the modern times and the Social Media; the Numbers Game became the raison d'etre' of all of us. A few decades back Prannoy Roy came on the television and proved that a certain small swing of, say, 2.45 percent, made a party, say Congress, come to power (I have already explained what 'power' means). I have explained elsewhere that the government in power enjoys as little as 9 percent of the electorate's votes (Read my post: How Proud Should We Be Of The Indian Republic at 62?). Hence this swing of 2.45 percent, say, does matter a lot.

Courtesy: Jack Rabbit

On the Social Media, one enjoys power by accumulating larger number of friends, followers, likes, comments, shares. This Numbers Game is some sort of a race. TV channels nowadays routinely Break News (Read my Breaking News - Indian Style); for them TRPs is a pure Numbers Game and they would go to any extent to get those numbers right. My friend Hans Sunny from Atlanta, USA is an unparalleled wit I have discovered. However, he recently complained that in comparison to what he puts up, certain girls have to just put up something inane such as 'Took a bus ride after a long time today' and they would be assured of at least five dozens likes and three dozens comments. I hadn't observed it but when I did I found his observation as true as his wit. What could be the reason? Could it be that women were called weaker sex and not heard of earlier but now, in a generational reversal of roles, anything they say is more intelligent, wittier, classier, more unique and spicier? Don't believe me? Well, how do you account for a certain Madrasan, Raag Shahana and all that, taking the country by storm with her views on Delhi boys in an open letter (Voyeurism of An Open Letter Versus Sane Thoughts)?

For the bloggers community there is a forum in India called IndiBlogger. All its criteria for judging good writing is based on nothing but numbers; and they claim it is fully automated. A post for this forum is an 'auto detection' of a blog's RSS feed; you could write a stanza of four lines and you can write volumes, both are just one post. There are any number of so called Prolific Writers totally adept at this Numbers Game; whose frequency of posting is 'Excellent' or 'Very Good'. IndiBlogger also tells you that one's Indiblogger Ranking (In addition to Alexa traffic ranking, Moz rank and incoming links) is also dependent upon a 'Secret Ingredient' (or "funky stuff that he would like to keep secret"). It doesn't require knowledge of Rocket Science to know that the so called 'Secret Ingredient' is the RSS feed of comments on one's post; the more the comments, the better the writing. Indeed, on a sub forum called 'IndiVine' one is made to believe that if only seven people have voted for you and about 140 have voted for another, the writing of the latter is 20 times better.

Curiously, many people who vote on other people's posts, in quid pro quo, either leave the URL of their own post in the comments or brazenly demand of the others to vote for them in return ("You scratch my back after I scratch yours")

Popularity contests are alright as long as we remember that popularity contests often don't reflect attributes other than those that appeal to masses. Some great Hindi songs such as 'Mere Mehboob' never made it to top of the charts in Binaca Geetmala but we still call them the greatest of the oldies. As Lalu Prasad Yadav said when a prima facie case was established against him in 'fodder scam', "Iska faisla to janata ki adalat karegi" (This will now be decided in people's court), knowing well that people in majority are fickle and can be easily swayed.


Courtesy: Anglo Indian Portal

Until we re-establish ourselves as a society where quality matters, the Numbers Game assures the success of such jamborees as reality shows; the person who gets the most votes is the best singer, most accomplished writer, best actor, best poet and best everything. We blind ourselves to The Pitfalls Of Majority Rule.

India is the world's second most populous country. Do we win the most medals in Olympics? Do we have the best ideas that change the world? Is our cricket team, a product of the richest (because more people pay to watch matches and ads) cricket council in the world always the topper; quite the reverse.

I wonder what would be the Moz rank and Alexa traffic ranking of Tagore's writings in comparison to 'Choli ke peechhe kya hai'.

POCKET-MAAR AND I

If the title sounds like another version of 'King and I' so be it; I had goosebumps on being face to face with Mr. Smooth Fingers. It wasn't anything like I had ever imagined: my first experience at being pick-pocketed or nearly pick-pocketed. I didn't even feel a thing. A hand brushed the right side of my bottom and stayed there just a wee bit longer than the casual brush; and my first reaction was that someone had misunderstood my realtionship status and was trying to make a pass. The next moment my back-pocket, heavy with the burden of my wallet felt lighter. It had all my credit cards, Driving License, PAN Card, ECHS ((Defence) Employees Contributory Health Scheme) card - indeed everything that helps me prove to others who I am. I won't have minded if someone had taken my Service Discharge Certificate for having done nearly 35 years of commissioned service in the Indian Navy because, on retirement, that didn't help me get a ration card or a bank account ("sorry we don't accept this as the proof of your residence or date of birth or anything; but if you have a copy of your credir card bill, or your electricity bill, that is acceptable". Now that the Army Chief has tried to prove that his DoB as given in his Service Records is not correct, this Service Discharge Certificate, henceforth, will have even less value).

Courtesy: fs.fed.us

My reflex action, the kind the armed forces are famous for, came in handy and I caught the arm that made my pocket lighter. The comparison with 'King and I' ceased. This young boy of about fourteen was as far removed from Yul Brynner as you can get; and I was no Anna either. As we alighted from the train in a mad rush of humanity, he would have never imagined that someone would catch him. There was a brief look of pity and defeat on his face (no remorse though) but the next instant he had fully recovered, "Your wallet was falling, Sir; I caught it. You are lucky. Else you could have lost it. Next time, Sir; you must carry it in the front pocket. You may like to give me a small reward." He rattled out breathlessly as if he had rehearsed this escape route a thousand times.

It was smart and credible. I laughed my guts out if only because I remembered having buttoned my rear pocket and there was no question of the wallet negligently falling out. I pocketed the wallet with my other hand and told him that I would certainly reward him. "No, not the Police Station", he told me pitifully, "The police would take money from both of us. That's the way they sort out disputes. Why don't you buy me a meal?"

Once again, this was ridiculous. This young boy after his unsuccessful attempt at pick-pocketing was demanding a meal of me as if he had actually done me a favour. He was a great actor and having acted in and directed a few plays myself, I admired his impromptu performance. "All right, lets go. But, no running away until we both have finished." "Promise", he said with the sincerity of the movie-goers at the rendition of the national anthem before the show.

We settled with our eats: he with a vegetarian combo and a large Pepsi and me with Mac Chicken Nuggets and a coffee. His opener instantly made me feel guilty, "Apun aapke bete ke maafiq lagta kya?" (Do I look like your son?). He told me that his father was a shoe-shiner opposite Mumbai CST Station ("Bapu ghabraya apun ko dekhke; maine signal diya ahl ij well" (My father was frightened to see me with you. I signalled to him all is well)

"What about your mother", I asked him. He told me she was a maid-servant in a rich family. He sipped his Pepsi and strated his monologue. I shall skip the bambaiya and the translation and give only the gist. He said the art of pick-pocketing was dying down; during his father's days, it was considered a great blot on the career (he actually pronounced it 'carrier') of a pocket-maar if he'd ever come anywhere close to getting caught. "Today", he said, "my career is not really ruined because you caught me. We have been told to avoid policemen (easily distinguishable by their sloppiness and paunch) and faujis (armed forces personnel) (easily distinguishable by thier haircuts and smart looks). Indeed, we respect the faujis. One of my friends once picked the pocket of a fauji. He found nothing other than an I-card. An Armed Forces I-card can be sold for more than a Lakh Rupees, but, we are opposed to it on principle. But, you don't see the Netas (politicians) having any principles. They are the biggest pocket-maars; and then stash away money in foreign banks."

He considered the property dealers and land-developers as equally big pocket-maars, the doctors and engineers, Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporators who have make loads of money by giving contracts about road-repairs to fraudulent contractors year after year when janata (public) suffers. A guy in his chawl (slum) got killed when a dumper went over him after his motorcycle toppled in a pot-hole during monsoons. What about the police? "Apun mehnat ka kamai khata hai aur vo behan-c--d police wala; khali peeli apun se hafta leta pocket maarne ka. Vo chor nahin hai kya?" (We earn our living with hard work, but that sister f-----r, he receives his cut from us for pick-pocketing. Isn't he a thief too? He told me that his blood boils to see people like them making money by underhand means and still get a standing in the society.

Courtesy: ideachampions.com

After that we started some quick Qs and As; a sort of rapid-fire round. What got him into being a pocket-maar? "Family tradition", he told me. How big was he when he got into it; I shouldn't have asked him, already knowing the answer made famous by A Bachchan, "Bus youn samjhiye ke jabse hosh sambhala hai apne pairon pe khade hain." (Well, since the time he became old enough to think, he is been on  his two feet). What about the necessary skills? These are, he said, passed down the generations: smooth fingers, sharp blade to rip a bag in a bus or train and take out ladies purses etc, engaging the victim in conversation, creating adequate confusion, run-away acts, techniques of chain snatching, removing watches, cell phones, and other precious items. What about the girls, I asked? Well, he said, they are now getting to be more successful than the boys, "Bahut chaalu cheez hai ladki log. Mard ke pocket mein haath rakhta to saala bahut khus hota; aur bh---i ka bahut dance karke pocket marvaata" (Girls are very street smart. They keep their hand on a man's pocket and he feels good and then it is easy to fleece him when he is dancing).

He translated my continued interest into my acquiescence for his having a swirl ice-cream cone. He took my money, went to the counter, paid for and collected the ice cream, and then rejoined me on the table. He narrated an incident whence he stole a man's cellphone. There was his wife's number saved and then the ba-----d had a string of girls that he was trying to patao (deceive with promises). He phoned each one of them in the night from the man's phone and told them about the man's deeds. None of them even knew that he was married. His advice to them was to do something honourable like becoming a pocket-maar and not bring disrepute to their families by falling for a crook.

My last question to him was what he did in his spare time. I was not at all prepared for the answer: he studied in an evening school (School on Wheels) and he hoped to become a doctor, "Pocket maar daakter nahin, sahib, per imaandaar dakter. Pocket maar hamari majboori hai; dhanda nahin in logon ke maafiq" (I don't want to become a pocket maar doctor though; pick-pocketing is my compulsion not a vocation like these people.

He parted and I sat silently to watch him all the way to find his next victim at Mumabi CST. His opening words still ring in my ears, "Apun aapke bete ke maafiq lagta kya?"