IS AMERICA THE PERFECT WORLD THAT WE IMAGINE?

India is 141st in the world in Human Development Index; it is 135th most dangerous nation out of 153; Mumbai is 116th in world big cities in livability. However, whenever we have to compare ourselves we don't stop at any other nation but compare ourselves straight with America. It is not just with the media or the intelligentia. You go to the remotest village in the country and the commonest of the men would tell you, "Yahan jo ho raha hai vo umreeka main nahin hota. Traffic bade niyam se chalta hai vahan." (What happens here does not happen in America. Traffic has to follow certain rules there)

If you now ask this person when did he last go to America; the chances are that he has never been there. Ask him next if he has any friends or relatives there? Once again you are likely to draw a blank. It is just that he imagines everything will be well in the "best country in the world - America".

I am reminded of this yokel who returned to his village after extensive "world tour". He was showing off about how he spent a week in umreeka, a week in London, a week in Germany, a week in Hongkong, a week in Paris and so on. The others just stared at him until one of them who had studied in primary school commented, "Bahut achhe. Aapka geography ka knowledge to bahut improve ho gaya hoga." (Very good; your knowledge of geoagraphy must have improved a lot). The yokel's immediate response was, "Ek hafta vahan bhi rahe" (Stayed for one week there (in geography) too).

The armed forces, politicians, bureaucrats, industrialists, actors, actresses and other film people, music people, scientists, teachers and academicians; virtually each and everyone has America as an ideal. We denigrate America in public life; in and out of parliament. However, whenever a neta has an illness the first country that he/she runs to for treatment is America.

We fondly draw comparisons between the US and India; how we are natural allies: world's largest democracy hobnobbing with the most functional one. "And by the way, theirs is as messy politics as ours", we say proudly.

In public life we take a person or institution to task for sharing any secrets with America. But, as in the case of David Coleman Headley's case, we privately share secrets and hope like hell it won't be public because of such nuisances as Wikileaks (who have even given names of politicians belonging to both ruling party and opposition having large accounts in Swiss and German banks; but that is another story).

One country that we want America to sort out for us is our half-brother Pakistan. We imagine they have the power as they did during Kargil War. Once again, we do not want America to intervene. However, we expect it to sort out nuisances around us without intervening.

The only thing that we don't want America to sort out is the mess that we have made of our own country: in corruption, governance, city planning, traffic (that kills more people in a year than most wars around the world), intelligence, human rights, police reforms etc because these would be interfering inthe "internal matters" of the country. That America gives support to Su Kyi in Myanmar, and dissidents in China, is lauded by us. But, we are a democracy; we have every right to quell dissidence by invoking "supremacy of parliament." Obama ji, please keep clear of our domestic matters. These are the only things that give us a sense of power.

Our NRIs in America have a similar love-hate relationship towards US of A. Whilst in America, they extol the goodness of Indian way of life; however, should they decide to take a trip (the annual one to meet relatives) to India, they show off how backward India and Indians are to America and Americans.

The relationship, then, trudges along like this; blowing hot in private, blowing cold in public. Irrespective of what they do in AfPak region; when an American in authoritative position, during visit to our great nation, dances with the village women in Rajasthan, close to Delhi, all is forgiven and forgotten.

"Yeh dosti hum nahin chhodenge....."

MY YOUNG DAYS OF WATCHING MOVIES IN SOUTH BOMBAY

I joined the Navy in 1973 and in 1975 I was commissioned into the Indian Navy. I had many happy years of my early career spent in South Bombay. I was never into politics but it is my belief that internecine and dirty politics had not spoiled Bombay at that time. Bombay Police, for example, used to be compared with Scotland Yard in efficiency and reputation. In the services club, when we used to discuss such hair-raising incidents as advent of rogues and killers like Billa and Ranga in Delhi, we used to speak with great deal of satisfaction that such incidents won't happen in Bombay due to the pro-active approach of Bombay Police.

How safe South Bombay was can be made out from the fact that it was a common sight to see young girls come for the late night shows (though South Mumbai movies had to finish by 12:30 AM by local law) by themselves and then walk back home.

South Bombay prided itself in having the finest of the theatres patronised by decent crowds; the type who would be aware as well as well mannered: Regal and Strand in Colaba, Eros at Church Gate, Metro at Dhobi Talao, New Empire, Liberty and Sterling and later New Excelsior near Flora Fountain. There was Akaashvaani near LIC Building and one could watch good repertoire of movies there devoted to a theme. For example, I saw many of Raj Kapoor movies there.

And what were the movies of those young days? In 1974, still an Acting Sub Lieutenant, I saw  The Towering Inferno in Eros. It was a done thing during those days to read the book and then see the movie. The movie ran in Eros for over a year. During the first few months it was impossible to obtain tickets in current booking. My uncle, my dad's eldest brother, Tej Bhan Singh, had arrived from New York with his American wife, Betty aunty, and two daughters Kiran and Maninder. Kiran and Maninder had missed seeing the Inferno in New York and requested uncle if I could take them to see the movie. They hadn't reckoned, though, that we couldn't just walk in to see a movie in South Bombay without prior reservation. Anyway, uncle came to our rescue. He just walked to the Booking Counter where a large sign said 'House Full', and addressed the Booking Clerk thus, "Sir, would it be possible to get three tickets in the Dress Circle for my daughters and nephew?" There must have been something in my uncle's personna because the Booking Clerk dished out three tickets. It was actually House Full and he put three plastic chairs for us in the Dress Circle.

A scene from Towering Inferno

We were on the edge of our seats watching rescue operations

And what a movie it was; starring Steve McQueen, Paul Newman, William Holding and Faye Dunaway. We were at the edge of our seats with the excitement caused. The movie won three Oscars but left to us we would have given it many more. Hollywood was really very good at making disaster movies. Many years later when they made The Titanic and it was appreciated for its technical excellence, I was not surprised at all.

The Poseidon Adventure, a rescue from a ship that scuttled after meeting with cyclone at sea was another great experience. I saw it in Sterling. I hadn't read the book before seeing the movie starring Gene Hackman, Ernest Borgnine, Shelley Winters, and Red Buttons. Once again the sitting on edge quality was the hallmark of the movie.

A tense scene from The Poseidon Adventure

One movie that really changed my life was One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Jack Nicholson got the Oscar for it. Louise Fletcher played Rached and did it so well that I instantly hated her. The movie was so powerful that you didn't walk out the same person from the hall. I saw it in Regal. The last scene where the supposedly loony Red Indian uproots the wash-basin in the hospital so as to throw it at the window and escape (and thus the name of the movie) is so intense that you had your hair standing on ends. You were silently willing him to do it. I would rank the movie amongst the best that I have seen. I read Ken Kesey's book many years later.

By far the best movie that I ever saw: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

She did her role to perfection and you felt like strangling her alive.

It wasn't all disasters and hateful stuff all the while. Paper Moon was a gentle movie that I saw in New Empire. The movie was based on the novel Addie Pray and starred the father and daughter pair of Ryan O'Neal and Tatum O'Neal. Tatum, as Addie Loggins was born to a prostitute. It was rumoured that Ryan as Moze Pray was the actual father of Addie since he had had an affair with her mother. Ryan, however, was a conman and was determined to deny it. The last scene of them driving off together as father and daughter is touching.

Ryan and Tatum O'Neil in Paper Moon

Talking about conman, how can I forget The Sting that, once gain, I saw in New Empire. Both Paul Newman and Robert Redford were there and the suave manner in which Sting was conducted would be probably in the same league as Count Victor Lustig who sold off the Eiffel Tower.

Superb acting by Paul Newman and Robert Redford in The Sting

Surprisingly neither Paul Newman nor Robert Redford got the Oscar for acting. I can go on and on since it was such great pleasure seeing movies at that time. However, let me just bring out two more before I go on to tell about some of the Hindi movies that I saw. Both these movies are important to me. Fiddler On The Roof was one of the greatest musicals that I saw, in Sterling theatre. The movie was an adaptation by Norman Jewison of a 1964 Broadway play about a Jewish family living in Tsarist Russia. The movie had an unforgettable role by Topol as head of the family with five daughters. As a poor Jewish father he had the task of finding the daughters their matches. The movie had most memorable songs such as Matchmaker, If I Were a Rich Man, Sunset Sunset, Do You Love Me?, To Life, and Far From the Home.

Topol with his wife and five daughters in Fiddler on the Roof

The other movie is really very dear to me: Chariots of Fire, story of two English track atheletes, one a devout Jew and the other a proud Christian. This was the first movie I saw with my newly wedded wife in Bombay. We had married in a mandir in 1981, prior to my parents according their permission almost two years later. As she joined me in a one room (bedroom, dining room, kitchen, and sitting room all-in-one) flat in Naval Coastal Battery Worli, I had bought a cutlery set, a few utensils, a fridge, bucket and mug, gas stove etc on instalments. Even in such indigence we went to see this movie. The movie won four Oscars.

A scene from 1981 movie Chariots of Fire

Let me now turn to some of the Hindi movies seen by me in South Bombay. South Bombay had the distinction, at that time, of not screening the run of the mill Hindi movies about rich daughter of smuggler in love with poor but upright hero; some of these financed by the smuggler Haji Mastan at that time. It would show Hindi movies with a difference. By far the most powerful of the lot was Garam Hawa (Hot Winds), a 1975 movie that I saw in Regal. The film, directed by MS Sathyu, dealt with the plight of a North Indian Muslim family in the years after partition of India in 1947. Balraj Sahni as shoemaker Salim Mirza, the head of the family, came up with a most memorable performance of his carer. As one by one, Muslims left for Pakistan, Salim's daughter finds that her betrothed Farooq Sheikh (having migrated to Pakistan) cannot marry her since he had found someone else in Pakistan. She then turns her attention to Jalal Agha. Nothing is decided between them until they go to Fatehpur Sikri where a most poignant scene is enacted. Jalal Agha as Shamshad tells her (Geeta Siddharth as Amina) about the Emperor Shahjehan entrusting the Queen Mumtaz with two pigeons whilst he'd be away for a short while. When he returs he finds that she has only one pigeon in her hand. A little annoyed he asks her, "What happened?" And she says, "It flew". He asks, "How did it fly?" and Mumtaz releases the other one saying, "Like this." However, since the story was already known to Amina, she held Shamshad's hand half way by saying, "I won't let the second one fly." In the end Shamshad is arrested and she commits suicide by cutting her vein.

Balraj Sahni in the role of his lifetime in Garam Hawa

Once again in Regal Theatre I saw a great movie called Shatranj Ke Khiladi (the Chess Players). The movie directed by Satyajit Ray and based on Munshi Premchand's short story by the same name, had a super cast of Amjad Khan as Wajid Ali Khan, Richard Attenborough as General Outram, Sanjeev Kumar as Mirza Sajjad Ali, Syed Jaffrey as Mir Roshan Ali, Shabana Azmi as Nafisa, Mirza's wife, Farida Jalal as Mir's wife and Farooq Shaikh as Aqueel. Mir and Mirza get so obsessed with the game of chess that they negelct their wives. There is a famous scene in the movie when Shabana starts having an affair with Farooq but Sanjeev insists, "Hum aaj kal bahut door ki sochte hain kiyunki hum shatranj khelte hain" (We look far into the future because we play chess). Because of such far-sightedness, they continue to play chess when the British marched their forces to take over Awadh.

Sanjeev Kumar and Syed Jaffrey in Sahtranj Ke Khiladi

Another movie that I saw during those days was a Vinod Khanna starrer Achanak (Suddenly) directed by Gulzar. Vinod Khanna as Manjor Ranjeet Khanna was to face gallows for having killed his wife Lily Chakravarty and her lover Kamaldeep who were having an affair when Vinod Khanna was away fighting for his country. When Vinod Khanna, running from the police, is finally caught, he is heavily wounded. Dr Chaudhary played by Om Shivpuri is entrusted with the task of reviving him so that he could face gallows in good health. An excellent movie with ironies galore.

How can I ever forget another one directed by Gulzar called Aandhi (Tempest) that I saw in Metro? The movie starred Suchitra Sen supposedly as Prime Minister Indira Gandhi and Sanjeev Kumar as a hotelier with whom Suchitra Sen had a love affair but with her engagement in politics it was not expedient to carry on. The movie had three excellent songs penned by Gulzar and music composed by RD Burman: Tere bina zindagi se koi shikva to nahin, Is mod se jaate hain, and Tum aa gaye ho noor aa gaya hai.

Suchitra Sen and Sanjeev Kumar in Aandhi

Once again, I can probably go on and on. However, let me end this by saying how an actor came on the scene like a breath of fresh air and during those days we were floord by the light heartedness of those movies. Yes, I am talking about Amol Palekar in Chotti Si Baat and Rajnigandha. During those days, heroes and heroines like Rajesh Khanna (I saw quite a few of them in Liberty, eg Ajnabee with Zeenat Amman), Dharmendra and Amitabh Bachchan (Sholay), Rekha (Umraao Jaan), Hema Malini (Sholay) were so larger than life that small timers like Amol Palekar and Vidya Sinha didn'y stand a chance in making a box-office hit. But such was Basu Chatterjee's direction, Amol Palekar's effortless acting, and Salil Chaudhary's lilting music of such popular songs such as Jaane man jaane man tere do nayan, na jaane kyun hota hai yeh zindagi ke saath (title song), and Yeh din kya aaye; that the movie was a super-hit.

Amol Palkar in Chhoti Si Baat - breath of fresh air

Chhoti Si Baat was the second movie of that genre. Basu Chatterjee had earlier made Rajnigandha with the same cast and music by Salil Choudhury. It received the Critics Award in 1975, the year of my commissioning in the Navy. It too had two memorable songs: Rajnigandha phool tumhaare, and Kai baar youn hi.

I live in Kharghar now, far from South Bombay; it is not even Bombay anymore. Every now and then I get overwhelmed with nostalgia of that era when I was young, when life was uncomplicated, when seeing a movie was such indescribable fun that it would create timeless memories. I feel like singing Gulzar's exquisitely written lyrics for a 1975 song for the movie Mausam starring Sanjeeev Kumar and Sharmila Tagore:

"Dil Dhoondta hai phir vahi furasat ke raat din,
Baithe rahe tasavvur-e-jaanaan kiye hue"
(The heart once again yearns for those leisurely days and nights
When we could just sit back leisurely, and let our imagination wander)

OUT OF BOX THINKING?

This is the dilemma armed forces face. In a uniformed service we choose to promote the uniformity of training, response, actions; in short everything. It is a virtual cloning. DSSC tells you that even letters have to be written a particular way: "I have the honour to state that we are not getting anywhere"etc. Then, suddenly, at a particular rank and seniority, we hope that some would still have some innovative grey matter left, and would be able to think out-of-the-box.

The ONLY solution is to separate the occasions that require uniformity from those that can be done in various ways, right from the beginning; say, if someone writes a Letter of Procedings like a blog we will not call him to task and use the "standard" armed forces response: "What s__t have you written?"

The entire thing arises from our sense of insecurity that if 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest', it would be end of discipline in the armed forces; "For heavens sake, today, if we allow him do things differently, tomorrow there will be nothing left of our culture, traditions, and heritage."

Think about a simple thing like 'contact with foreign nationals'. Have we amended the Navy Order knowing that everytime you go on Internet you are in contact with foreign nationals? Or AC cars for Commodores and above only; knowing that these days, even if a Ag SubLt wants to buy a car, there is hardly any choice but to buy an AC car.

Are armed forces resistant to change but at the same time expect that its people would think out-of-the-box?

"Ah, but there is ample scope for innovativeness even in the strait-jacketed atmosphere of a hierarchical structure. Some officers really turn out to be innovative" is the oft heard refrain of some senior officers. The answer is, "Sir, we don't want a handful to become innovative. We want a larger percentage to be thinking out-of-the-box. And, in any case, Sir, those who turn out to be innovative do so not because of the system but despite the system."

We don't want out-of-box thinking as an accident or aberration. We want it as a norm. For this not only that we have to start thinking of it at fairly early stages (formative years) of officers careers; but, also send signals that it would be rewarded just as, if because of it, we land up into failure, we shall not do witch hunting.

HOW CORRUPT OR HONEST ARE WE?

Suddenly, due to Anna Hazare's movement, the subject of Corruption is everywhere. The focus or the target is still the Powerful and the Rich. It has been taken for granted that all of us are upright; but, like the good, sati-savitri, bathed in milk, Hindi movie heroine who is forced into prostitution by the cruel samaaj (society), we are somehow forced into giving bribes. Hence, we'd make ourselves believe that giving bribe has never been our first convenient choice but the last recalcitrant one.

I don't know how many really believe in it and can really say with conviction that they were forced into taking short-cuts; that their conscience didn't go through an upheaval when they reached smartly for the wallet to sort out a minor, insignificant aberration of jumping a red-light and being stopped by the traffic cop; when, if he had any sense, he'd be really concentrating on those who do bigger and more serious offences? You reason it out with your conscience, "Red light hi jump kiya na; daka to nahin dala, chori to nahin ki hai?" (Only red light I jumped; (for havens sake) I didn't commit dacoity or theft?)

I am reminded of the my young Sub-Lieutenant days. I was travelling by a train from New Delhi to Bombay. The train had started from Amritsar and there were these young students as my co-passengers in the Second AC compartment. They were playing cards and the subject was extolling the virtues of the TTE. Amongst other things, here is what I heard, "Marvellous and well behaved TTE (Traveling Ticket Examiner) really. Took a hundred rupees from each one of us and provided reservation without any fuss." At this, another solemnly observed, "People like him are becoming rare these days."

Then there is another incident I brought out in Adarsh Society, CWG, Corruption in Armed Forces and Public Morality; I am re-producing it here because of its relevance:

Most of the First Class compartments had been booked for our course as we headed towards Jamnagar. To pass time, we played Bridge and drank beer and rum. When the TTE (I still remember his name on the his name telly: V Srivastava) came to our compartment he saw that we were drinking. He was visibly shocked at this and addressed us in chaste Hindi which is translated thus: "Young men, you should be ashamed of yourself. You are passing through Mahatma Gandhi's state wherein drinking liquor is prohibited. And yet, here you are - young men who would be responsible to defend our nation - shamelessly breaking the law and drinking."

I was, at that time (perhaps I still am) an idealist and moralist. I was so mortified by this that I left the gang, collected my Ayn Rand and climbed to the upper berth to hide my head in shame. I was so immersed in 'The Fountainhead' that after some time when I looked down I found the TTE having a drink with my friends. I got down from the berth and berated him, "Srivastava ji, you had no right to be pseudo moralistic. Look at you, now, a TTE on duty having liquor. I think at the next station we shall hand you over to the Vigilance people".

His reply is pointer towards the central theme of this essay, "Ab chhodiye bhai sahib. Main to ek do peg pi ke chala jayoonga; vigilance wale kam se kam poori botal lenge aapse". (Just forget it, brother. I shall (quietly) go after one or two pegs; the vigilance people would demand a full bottle, at the least).

Is this what we are, honest and upright by comparison to the bigger fish? If that is the case we should be conscious of the fact that where we are today and the nation is, is not merely because of the neta and the babu. In the Indian society, as of now, it is a smart thing to be a man (or woman) of the street and know the tricks of the trade.

Have you ever considered asking your lawyer or doctor for a receipt of the fees paid to him? Are you scared that in case he/she get annoyed with your effrontery he/she would spoil your case or your health, or worse still that of your children or aged parents? Does your not asking for receipt make a difference? Of course it does because he/she then obtains - what is called - black-money and the government doesn't get tax on his black income. Have you ever thought why is it that whilst a doctor or lawyer gets large amount of fees he/she is shy of receiving these in cheque or even by credit/debit cards? Is it because all these instruments leave a trail that he doesn't want to leave?

Have you looked the other way when the vendor tells you the price of a thing and that it would be cheaper by a certain amount if you don't insist on a bill or receipt or invoice? Have you ever considered that the cumulative sum involved of these kind of sales is much more than the loss to the state caused by A Raja?

Well, chances are that you actually thought of these things but have argued that a drop is really a small thing as compared to the ocean of corruption. Isn't it the same convoluted reasoning we give for not voting or for littering or for playing our loudspeaker?

Yesterday I was listening to Kabir's dohai (couplets) and the most appropriate to the situation that I heard was:

"Bura Jo Dekhan Main Chala, Bura Naa Milya Koye

Jo Mann Khoja Apnaa, To Mujhse Bura Naa Koye"

(I went looking for an evil one, I couldn't find one;

Then, I looked into my inner self, I found I was the most evil."

Lets do everything to set right public corruption. However, lets set right ourselves too.

SHATTERED DREAMS

Shamli was  a quaint village. From across the hill it would appear as if huts and houses were rolled down from the top of the steep hill and they somehow managed to hang on to a relatively flatter portion. This was fortuitous because a few metres more they would have surely fallen over a cliff into the silvery river far below.

Lakshmi was born into a traditional farmer family. She was the youngest of six daughters before her parents were finally lucky to get a son, her brother Mohan. Farmer community often waited for a son to be born for keeping possession of the land within the family as also to have a male member to till the land.

Lakshmi, however, used to wonder why her parents ever wanted a son. She and her sisters worked at an apple orchard and a canning unit about five kms from the village and brought enough money home every month for the family to somehow afford two meals a day. They also studied up to sixth standard in the government run primary school. She and her sisters, when they received their monthly salary from the 'factory', were allowed by their father to keep up to 50 rupees to indulge in such things as buying bangles, ear-rings and bindis. Mohan, on the other hand, grew to be a lout. He never helped their father on the field. Even when he was sent to the school, he started spending the money given to him for fees and books on buying a glue like intoxicant simply called nasha.

Initially, Mohan was drugged only during school-time; but, lately, many a times Lakshmi had seen that he was in a stupor even at home. Despite his uselessness and hopelessness, Lakshmi noticed that her mother was partial to Mohan, being a boy. He was the heir-apparent of the family; when he would get married, he would demand and get dowry, whereas, for lakshmi and her sisters dowry had to be to offered to the parents of their bridegrooms. Even in the orchard where Lakshmi worked, men were paid 'daily-wages' at least thirty rupees more than women; all because men had greater physical prowess or so they thought.

Lakshmi knew this was not correct at all. She had seen the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) women, with their kids tied to their back, doing such 'manly' works as lifting and breaking rocks, using pick-axes, spades etc and then return home and cook meals for their men-folk. Mohan, her brother, might have been physically stronger but she could do twice the work that Mohan could do.

Lakshmi was not into nasha at all. However, She was not above fantasizing. She had seen a few Hindi movies and was fascinated by the life-style of the actresses. They looked like goddesses; she felt even better. No one in their village had ever seen an actress (they often referred to them as heroines) but, Lakshmi had heard that in a village called Ghata, about a hundred kilometres away, once a famous actress Madhuri Dixit had arrived to shoot a movie. People said she looked even more 'sundar' than she looked in the movies. Lakshmi never let her fantasies get the better of her. She was a great believer in her religion and kismet (fate) and knew that it was entirely Ram's will that she, Lakshmi, was born in Shamli and Madhuri and others lived in the City of Dreams, Mumbai.

Mohan, however, was different. His dreams had not stopped at seeing the movies. He actually dreamt of going to Mumbai and tasting life of that filmy city. He and his pals strongly believed that in Mumbai, money was literally lying on the roads and was waiting to be picked up. He had, helped by liberal doses of nasha, come to the conclusion that his future would never be in Shamli, but, in his dream city Mumbai. He had made good friends with a lorry cleaner Subhash. During the apple season, many lorries left from Shamli and other villages for Delhi and Subhash told Mohan that some were even sent to Mumbai too. Mohan had asked Subhash if he could take a lift with them up to Delhi and then, if possible, up to Mumbai. Subhash had informed him that their lorry was small, meant for hill roads; whereas, the ones that left for Mumbai were bigger and had three to four drivers who drove in turns so that the apples would reach without much time delay. Since Subhash was also in nasha, Mohan, during all his visits to Shamli had frequently procured it for Subhash. Therefore, he felt he had the right to ask Subhash if he could find for him a lift all the way from Delhi to Mumbai.

One day, it was all arranged, and Mohan simply went missing. Lakshmi was quick to realise that so was her carefully saved kitty bank. Her father also reported a few hundred rupees stolen from his almirah. The family was crestfallen, but, fell shy of lodging a police complaint. Everyone in the village knew that it didn't help to have the police involved in one's woes; for, the woes were sure to increase after police's interjection. It was, indeed, fortuitous for them not to have gone to the police because a few days later, during his next trip to Shamli, Subhash told them that Mohan had left for Mumbai. He assured them that Mumbai was a city of great fortune, like no other city in India, and very soon Mohan would be a big man.

It took them some time to get over the loss of Mohan. The father, as always was impassive but the mother was inconsolable. Lakshmi too missed her brother. He could sing the pahari songs really well and was a great hit at family gatherings and even at other people's celebrations. Now that he was gone, she reminisced about the time when he tried teaching her how to ride a bicycle, and other memorable acts of his.

One day, when Lakshmi returned home for lunch from the factory, she found Bhumi Ram sitting there and being treated to kheer by her mother. She really perked up at the sight of Bhumi Ram since he was the postman and his being there signalled a letter from someone. She couldn't believe her eyes that the letter was from Mohan to her father. He apologised for his sudden departure but said he had dreams, which could only be fulfilled in the great city of Mumbai. He said he was already doing good bijnus, and would have them all there in Mumbai in a big bungloo. At dinner time when the thalis were served to them in front of the choolha, the father was once again quiet as usual but the mother just couldn't hide her 'I-told-you-so' look. She said she had predicted that her honhaar (accomplished) son would one day bring joy and great fortune to the family.

It became a ritual receiving Mohan's letters periodically. The mother couldn't read but made one or the other daughter read them several times especially in front of the father. One day, it came out that Mohan had moved into a house and requested that one or more of them should visit him there to see the lovely sights of Mumbai. The father was ailing and mother couldn't ever think of leaving him alone. Gradually, it was decided that Lakshmi would visit Mohan in Mumbai. However, it was easier said than done. For Mohan it was easy to hitch-hike on apple lorries;  but, she was a girl and it was not practical. Finally, after much debate in which the other villagers too participated, it was decided that she would take a bus to Shimla, another to Kalka and then take a train to Mumbai. They told Subhash to take a letter to a relative in Kalka who would help with the train reservation.

Lakshmi had never been on such a long journey and she was both fearful and excited. Up to Shimla she had in the bus her own type of people. Even though the bus was very crowded, they guided her nicely. She had to wait a lot for a connecting bus to Kalka. Outside the Kalka Railway Station, her anxiety was the most intense but she met her uncle Sewak there whom she had seen when he had visited them last year with his family. He had even brought packed dinner for her since the train was to start late in the night.

She had an upper berth on the side in Second Class. She didn't mind it at all. Most often than not she slept. Sometimes only she sat with the old lady on the lower berth who was going to visit her daughter and son-in-law in Mumbai. But, she was more interested in looking out than talking to the old lady. She hadn't seen so much of flat land ever and her reaction was that it would be much easier tilling the plains than the hilly regions.

On the first night she slept peacefully because of the tiredness of two bus rides in the hills. However, on the second night she hardly slept with the anxiety of meeting Mohan at a strange station in a strange city.

As the train came to halt at Mumbai Central the morning of next to next day after they started, the din and flurry of activity were more than any that she was used to; even more than the time Mohan had taken her to the mela (fair) in the village. Mohan had written to her to wait for him in front of the compartment till he'd find her. But, such was the rush and confusion that it was difficult for her to stand there with her suitcase. Finally, she spotted him. He looked weaker and haggard but she was glad to see him. She hugged him. As they walked outside the station, she noticed that many coolies exchanged greetings with Mohan. She was alarmed. So, when they sat in the taxi, she asked him, "Mohan, are you a coolie too?" He said no; he had a fine bijnus.

It is only days later that she found that his bijnus was to stand in a queue everyday at the Reservation Counter, and get reservations done in fictitious names and sell them to passengers in need who gave him commission on every ticket. "But, doesn't the booking clerk suspect this?" she had asked. "No, he doesn't suspect. In fact he knows. I have to give him a cut on every ticket just like all the other agents do." She had another valid doubt, "What about the police?" He very confidently responded, "Police too have their cut."

She insisted that it didn't sound like a very good bijnus. He said he was lucky to be promoted. Earlier, at the same railway station he was a Pusher. She wanted to know what a Pusher did. It turned out that many people travel in the General Compartment, where they are allowed to travel without reservation. The only problem is that the number of people getting in normally exceeds by a few hundred the capacity of the compartment. Hence, a Pusher, well versed with the right push at the right time, charges a passenger about Rupees Fifty or so, to be pushed inside the comaprtment. Once inside, there is never any chance of anyone being pushed out since the traffic is always one way. Many weeks later when she travelled by the local trains, she found that one has to get in and get out with the general flow of other passengers. Else, one can be stranded either inside or outside.

When they reached his house, she was in for another shock. It was in Dharavi, Asia's biggest slum, with such inhuman conditions that she nearly vomited. He shared a ten feet by eight feet room with three other men; two were Pushers and one was an Agent like him. When they spread their mats on the floor to sleep there was hardly any place for anything else. When the mats were lifted, a kerosene stove was brought out from under a stool (the only piece of furniture in the room) to make meals. The washing of dishes was to be done common at the end of the floor where there were also toilets and baths. Water was available for about ten minutes in the mornings and evenings. There were some utensils and plastic bottles kept in the room for storing water. The four trunks of the four men were kept on one side in a row. Mohan asked her to keep her suitcase there and to ensure that just like the trunks it should be always locked.

Gradually, Lakshmi came to know that Mohan didn't want to waste money on toilet and bath (one has to pay everytime for the use). He and his friends found that there are always leaking pipes at the Railway Station and all you require was a small soap to make yourself clean. As far as urinating and relieving oneself was concerned, Mohan had found that Mumbai is a very friendly city. Nearly all his friends (and not just the room mates) did it anywhere and everywhere.

She was normally left in the room when he went on bijnus. However, on the sunday after she came, he took her sightseeing. There were people in mad rush even on a sunday but it was nice and a little peaceful at the Gateway (a 1911 monument to commemorate the visit of King George V) and she saw the sea for the first time. Mohan bought her singdana (roasted peanuts) and she felt that was life. For the duration of time she sat there and looked at the Taj Hotel, the ships at anchorage, the people gayly walking by, the cameramen asking her if she wanted her and Mohan's picture to be taken, the boats on the side of the Gateway, which Mohan told ferried people to famous Elephanta Caves; she forgot all about the life at the chawl, the daily struggle to live, cook, bathe etc. She looked at the cars of the rich people coming out of Taj hotel. They looked exactly like what she had seen in the movies.

Mohan had gone to see a taxi driver friend just a few metres away and told her to wait for him at the other end of the Gateway. That's the time when she heard the explosion; no actually felt it in her bones. Suddenly, there was carnage all around her. She had blood splattered on her face and she was knocked unconscious. Her last recollection was that of a girl being killed  by shrapnel at a spot where Lakshmi had stood only a minute ago.

When she came to her senses it was in a hospital. She screamed. Where was Mohan? It was much later she found that he was not only instantly killed but his body was blown to bits.

Mohan's room-mates were all from Bihar. They were very nice to her and arranged for his cremation when after much delay they could receive the body. It was in no condition to be kept for funeral later. She had sent a telegram home but she knew no one could have made in time for the funeral. After the funeral, the next day, she sent another telegram informing them about the date of her return. There was nothing much to be sorted out since Mohan didn't have much.

Next week, she was on her way back by train to Kalka. She didn't have to be pushed in the General Compartment as Mohan's friends had managed reservation for her through their contacts.

When she seated herself, this time on the lower berth, through her tears she took out from her suitcase the picture of Mohan and her taken at the Gateway just before the explosion. He looked so happy as if he owned the Gateway, if not the city of Mumbai.

She, however, felt, that in the City of Dreams you don't really own anything except your dreams. And one day, you have a rude awakening. As the train picked up speed she looked at the chawls next to the train track, some as precariously placed, as the dreams.

Note: All characters in the above story are imaginary and have no resemblance with any person dead or alive. However, the incident of explosion at Gateway of India actually took place on 25 Aug 2003.