A City lost-and-found & the Stories from my Childhood

I love the idea of shooting randomly... just to keep capturing, without end points - the 'everyday', the 'not often' and the 'first time ever' all alike! And the city of Bombay provides a fertile ground for the 'constant capturer' in me - without (mostly) being stared at, or asked to stop! One could nearly merge with them while recording them/it all.

And one fine day, I put it all together on the edit table, the many beginnings... middles... ends... in different orders - till several stories are wrung out!

I am an unabashed fan of Bombay, (like countless others), and have had the privilege to spend my childhood years in the city .
From Nov 1982 to July 1993. 11 years. What an amazing time to experience this city.
That was an era - before the monsters of globalization, corporatization and economic liberation took over the great financial capital of the country. When people still went to Maratha Mandir, Novelty, Minerva to watch 'tax-free' movies, When the city and its beaches were still the source of evening entertainment and when traveling in the local trains would be a pleasure.
I was a 'very suburban' 'middle-class' 'Bombay kid'. (All three need to be in the inverted commas - cause the categories are strict :); and I was all three) We lived in the Bank Office quarters, in Malad. It was a childhood well spent.

July 2008, since the time I returned to Bombay, I had never even chanced a visit the place where I grew up. Or even to an area close to it!

The visit kept pending.

(Thats another aspect of the city. If you 'seek' work, it will give you so much, till the day, you put your foot down and cry out (to yourself) - "bas yaar, ab kuch apna bhi kar lete hain..").

So somewhere in March this year, Psycho, Yazad and I decided to visit 'this' place 'where I grew up' on a weekend - and with my camera.
Thats how the film 'happened', err... the beginning of the film, a trailer, some middle...

To make it a complete film, to find an end(s) we will go back again. For now, here's the trailer:


A City lost-and-found & the Stories from My Childhood
A Short Documentary by Hardik Mehta

the trailer for A City lost-and-found & the Stories from my Childhood from hardik mehta on Vimeo.

© Copyrights 2009 www.bhaandgroup.blogspot.com. All Rights Reserved. Hardik Mehta

"Maara dil ma dhadke Gujarat!"

As a writer, one spends a lifetime journeying into the heart of language, trying to minimize if not eliminate the distance between language and thought. 'Language is the skin on my thought'.
From the essay Power Politics – Arundhati Roy
 
Ok, so this post has to get me the maximum ire from readers. I am ready.  One of my senior colleagues once labeled me as a left wing ‘terrorist’ because I opposed Modi's politics on a public forum. The senior conveniently lives in a country that has most recently witnessed maximum racial attacks, and neither have I seen him coming out in support of his fellow countrymen nor have I heard his opinion on the barbaric attacks. It’s amazing what kind of double lives we live in this modern (complicated) world. Consistency in shallowness. A Shiv Sena opposes Sachin Tendulkar's statement, so he goes to the MNS' Maharashtra Day function and accepts a golden sword. Take that, from your popular icon! Why are popular figures asked to take a stance. And even if asked, why do they have to take one?. Amitabh Bachchan going to Modi and suddenly giving a new "kahaani mei twist" to the whole political scenario. No one denies in participating for the celebrations for a Gujarat Day or Maharashtra Day. But why associate with MNS or BJP?

On the occassion of celebrating 50 years of the state of Gujarat, A R Rahman has composed a song (like an anthem for the state) "Jai Jai garvi gujarat..." Hear the song here.



The song is so brilliant that for a moment my hard lined-hurting Gujarati heart warmed up to the thought of belonging to this wonderful state Gujarat. Music lingers on long enough to heal from within.
The A R Rahman anthem begins with
 "Dhanya hu thai gayo, ahi janm chhe maaro thayo..."

What an amazing way to put forward a simple thought. After all, this is where I was born. This is where I did my part-schooling and my graduation. This is where I found my calling and this is where I belong ultimately. I am sure any NRI Gujarati hearing this song, will feel as emotional as the soccer players feel while the national anthem plays on the ground on the eve of Finals before the huge crowd. The language of the song: both music and the lyrics are so very Gujarati. It reminds me of how I so love talking in my mother tongue, Gujarati. I always talk in Gujarati whenever I come across a fellow Gujarati. The emotions, the tone, the expression, the words get a new high when I speak in my language. I feel my laughter is more free-flowing, when I laugh in Gujarati. Yeah. even laughter has a language. I even love the abuses that are original gujarati style, invented right there.

My favourite line from the song:
"mane phoolon jetlo parseva thhi pyaar..."
(i love the smell of the sweat like the fragrance of a flower)

Brilliant! never has the enterpreuer inside a Gujarati symbolized in such a perfect manner. Blame it on my lack of reading good Gujarati literature. But this simple line is beautiful. Thats what so many friends of mine whose parents migrated from their states to Gujarat tell me: "you know hardik, If we as a community are told to stand on the street and sell potatoes or sell toys, we wont do it, we would rather take a job of a security guard outside the posh building or a peon in a swanky office, coz thats what we seek in life: stability. whereas a Gujarati wont mind stepping on the street and getting burnt in the scorched heat and manage to make an earning out of it. Forget making money, he/she will double it in a few days. A Gujarati is not in this world to survive but thrive, is how he/she will explain you their philosophy. Thats what makes us different. "dhandha maate koi sharam nai rakhwaani". That is one thing I borrow abundantly from my community.

But deep down, as a poetic Gujarati would put: "yaadon ne jo vaagoliye..the murky history comes floating up. And then being into the 'sane' side of things, the thought of Gujarat and Modi brings with it the ghosts of its gruesome communal background and a reminder that the man in power is probably not meant to be there. Yes. I can hear your counter reactions. Oh have you already closed the page or have started hurling abuses. "these bloggers do not know anything, just because Internet has given them space, they think they can write anything. Narendra bhai has worked very hard to bring glory to the state of Gujarat".

Well, when viewed through the myopic glasses of the urban middle class, Gujarat surely is a state that has done wonders for itself. And what better example can history give: Tata Nano the middle class dream went to Gujarat! An NRI sitting seven seas away and romanticizing about his childhood Gujarat and how it has now changed is bound to give credit to Modi and will be up in arms any moment if someone dares oppose him. Now its very interesting to see the dimension that an NRI Gujarati speaks of. Just because they are away and miss their native land, doesn't mean that the land misses them as much. While drinking beer on the other side of the world they surf government websites, read email forwards about the statistics and the % growth and hear 'only' good things about the state and when they do visit once in two years, they drive along the Expressway and think wow, all is well in my motherland.

The year 2002 - the very year that took away my state from me. A year if only I could erase from the annals of history. But no it cant be undone so easily. I was 19 then, in my most prime youth. Modi returned back with a thumping victory, even after all that he did. But the world moved on...Neither of us had lost any near or dear ones so who cares, those were 'the lives of others'. ***Estimates say: 2000 citizens systematically killed and 1,50,000 driven out of their homes (should i be afraid to say that most of them happened to be Muslims) 288 people were booked by the police under POTA (now the irony that one feels like laughing - 287 muslims and 1 sikh! ) 240 dargahs and 180 masjids were brought down. Women were gang-raped and parents were massacred in front of their kids. With all due respects to the 57 people that got charred in the Sabarmati Train, but the incident still remains a mystery. Only if I could edit this paragraph out of my write up?

Maybe I would have never felt as worthless if the genocide would have happened in an another era, like my counterparts in Delhi, I haven't heard them ever or seen them as ashamed for the anti-sikh carnage (maybe), coz she/he was hardly born or was a toddler and has only grown up on the stories of 1984, but this 2002 was before our eyes., during our prime youth, during the time minds change and beliefs are formed and maybe thats why it has affected my imagination and how. It has painted a picture of a country that is very very volatile! A country so fragile that you would fret your kids to grow up. Where should I go from here. Maybe earn enough, get out of this rat-race and see my kids growing up in a very small town that is hardly visible on the map. But then the claws of a dreaded animal called globalization will surely catch us. And Internet is its biggest example.

Epilogue: In the 'intellectual' Delhi circuit of post 2002, I was so afraid to speak out that I am from Gujarat. All due to you Mr. Modi and your recent history. The thought that everyone will give me a second look, I was so afraid. Not for that, but for the simple reason that I cannot see my motherland in my dreams as pure as it would have been - FOR THAT I will always blame you. Its only for that one reason I would never ever be able to forgive you.

"manne garv chhe ke hun gujarati chhu, pan haqeekat ni upar paato maari ne besi nai shakun jindagi bhar." (Don't feel like translating!)

Please don't mind the random structure and language of this post. Couldn't proofread given the topic!

*** if anyone has a doubt over the reference and the numbers written here, they are free to contact. will produce the required documents.

P.S: have written this hearing this. One of the most haunting themes I have come across. Can do wonders to writing at night. Needless to say comes from Coen Brothers.

© Copyrights 2009 www.bhaandgroup.blogspot.com. All Rights Reserved. Hardik Mehta

To the Game and its Master

Getting up in the wee hours, with the alertness that was always missing in the other early risings, the careful walk down to the living room that had the TV in the corner, the soft baby steps, a cat walk, so that there was no noise to wake up the parents, along, with my oft repeated self quote ‘am not superstitious but a little luck did no one any harm’ - then switching on the BPL television (most oft on mute mode) and looking at the half-fuzzy, out of focus cricket scores, sometimes a third of the figure eaten up by the top right corner of the screen, and a me almost bending under, a tilt of the neck so as so get a peak into the half hidden digits, then squinting the eyes, and various facial muscles put to good use to get the clear figure,
"what’s the score man!"

All of this reminds me of the best times I spent with the game. In addition to the rituals I indulged myself in on the D-days, what really added the charm were the colourful uniforms, the white kookaburra balls and the lush green Australian grounds.
Yes, that’s my memory of the Benson & Hedges series in Australia. And then came the worst, the struggling Indian batsmen against the giants and monsters like Merv Hughes, Craig Mcdermott and company. It was always a lost cause. Post 1985 series, we had consistently failed to make a mark in the Benson & Hedges series. Sanjay Manjrekar, Kris Srikanth, Ravi Shastri, Manoj Prabhakar and others were always struggling. Often their wholehearted shots wouldn’t even as much as disturb the birds, conveniently sitting, lazing actually, at the boundaries in the Australian grounds. The scores would read: 3/32, 4/27 etc.
Australian score cards always had wickets before the runs. And in times like those, situations would arise that figures like 3/7, 2/5 – would make it really annoying to first read those scores with half awake eyes, and then figure –

“Yeh runs kaunse hai… wickets kaunse… out of sheer disbelief of the situation”!

During vacations the game and me used to be the best of friends, inseparable duo. The early childhood days in Bombay – the one bedroom hall flat was my Eden gardens! I used to constantly bowl at the two chairs, lying not so conspicuously in the hall. They were joined such that hitting the ball at their legs, that is bowling to their legs would have the ball go in different directions – depending on the spot of the leg that the ball was hit, all this, meaning the two chairs were my batsmen. And when I wanted to bat and enjoy the game, the vintage ball-in-the-socks-tied-with-the-ceiling was the best method. And when I fell sick or invariably got my leg injured or sprained, and was restricted to the bed, to stay in touch with the game, I would play the ‘Book Cricket’!

Turning the page of a thick book and getting the even page number as the score of the batsmen. I had my own unique set of rules and regulations for this form of sport. Eg: If the page number was 190. Then the last digit 0 meant the batsman is Out! Those tough book cricket days came as an unsuspecting, unusual companion to rescue. My favourite Book or I might say ‘collaborator’ used to be super thick Banking Examination book that my father used to read during his Banking Exams days.
I wonder how any of the kids didn’t like tear away all the pages numbered –digits ending with ‘0’; oh, we hadn’t been exposed to the phenomenon of ‘match fixing’ as yet.

Being the only child then, I did everything; I played my own tournaments; did my own commentary, organized my own world cups, and had my own winners. Of course India had to win in almost all of them, but when it used to be Wasim Akram bowling, I would allow him a 5-wicket haul! I shamelessly copied Wasim bhai’s style even while bowling in school grounds, for years to come! Like the young Andy Kaufman's wall in Man on the Moon.

There was a time in the early 1990’s, when India was playing dismally. I remember the 1992 world cup, only 5 points. 2 for beating Pakistan, 2 for beating Zimbabwe and 1 for the rain-washed match against Sri Lanka. Rest all matches were lost. Mark Greatbatch, Brian Lara, David Boon, Andrew Hudson all collectively assaulted the Indian bowling line-up. In those times I blocked myself, as far as I could from the stats floating around and indulged myself in my own drawing room cricket tournaments, cups and series, where I was calling shots, doing it all to make India look a little better in my mind. The game was so much a part of me; nay the game was me. That’s where my heroes lay and they were failing me.

Post 1996 World Cup, life became too busy with academics and I couldn’t follow the game as closely. Perhaps I grew up and stopped letting India win in my mind and the joy it brought along, Perhaps I was mature now:
“Hardik these things don’t happen simply if you make them happen in your mind”. Or perhaps India started performing great esp. around 1996 World Cup.

It’s been years since I followed cricket, but I sincerely thank god(and the Kochi sun) for giving me a strong headache on the 24th Feb 2010. I didn’t go to work and thankfully the Master chose that day to show the world, yet again what he Is capable of. That one milestone that only the most deserving one could and should reach. A double hundred.
Again like the movies of my childhood: Ajooba:
“yeh talwaar wohi shahzada nikaal sakta hai, jo iska haqdaar hai!”.
That sword stuck in Shammi Kapoor’s kingdom. And how amidst an emotional chorus of crying women did Amitabh Bachchan pull out the sword. Fans of Ajooba will remember this.


That night I thought about all the brilliant innings that he has played and fought so strongly for India. Fought for grown up kids like me who would not want India to win in their minds but win on the grounds. Maybe if he had started playing these innings in that early 1990s phase then I would have never left the game the way I did.
A writer said an amazing line about Sachin: “He may not play in the finals, but he will make sure that India reaches the finals” I thought about this one innings, perhaps the best, or one of the many best innings that he has played.

In 1994, on the day when I was playing holi with my friends in the building, the master was asked by the then captain Mohd. Azharuddin, to open the innings for India. The first time he was asked to open, in a match against New Zealand at the Auckland ground. The Master had started hitting the ball in his style. My father called me from our third floor flat:
“Come up, India’s batting has started”
I was still busy with the group of friends. My father again shouted from the window:
“Tendulkar has come to open the innings. 2 fours in the first over.”
“What!!!” exclaimed the group of friends.
We stopped playing and rushed to our respective homes.
2 fours in the first over in the pre T20 era and the age of Ravi Shastri’s 23 (65 balls) was a revelation.

That day I saw one of his best innings. Firecrackers were bursting on Holi, no we’d not confused the festivals, it was the Master’s 82* in 49 balls. I can never forget the way he approached the ball, the way he would come in position and hit that flashing straight drive, from right under the bowlers nose, the ball zoomed past. That square cut, you could almost hear the ‘knock’ sound of the kookaburra ball. The going on back foot and the lift over the mid-on and the amazing hook shot – the blitzkrieg of the genius. From that day he always opened the innings for India.

I can never forget the way he welcomed an aggressive “talking-too-much-to-media” Shoaib Akhtar in the 2003 World Cup. Six over thirdman. Youtube terms it as a “shot of the lifetime”.

To all the masters whom I started following off lately including Abbas Kiarostami, Michel Gondry, Micheal Haneke, Emir Kusturica, Wim Wenders, Werner Herzog. Sorry sirs – I forgot The First Master - My Childhood Master.

“No one like my Sachin.”

I feel extremely sorry for he had to make a 200* to make me realize how important a man he is for my game and how great an impact he had had and continues to have on our lives.

Time to play some cricket.
Phir dil do apne game ko…


Happy Holi to all the readers. Ironically aaj bhi holi hai...!!


© Copyrights 2009 www.bhaandgroup.blogspot.com. All Rights Reserved. Hardik Mehta

Growing up with the Game and the 1992 World Cup

Back in 1992, when i was in class 5 - cricket was still considered a menace for kids. but worse, the school authorities didnt allow to play cricket in school. I mean not allowing cricket to kids who used to get up at 4 in the mornings to watch New Zealand beat Australia in the opening match of 1992 World Cup. Infact, let it be any damn match – since the World Cup was being played in Australia, setting the alarm for 4 in morning was a norm. To top it all - there were the new colourful uniforms, the wonderful white ball, those lazy flamingoes on the Australian grounds and the lush green outfields. My parents discouraged me from getting up at four in the morning. But when you are a kid, nothing comes between you and your interests.

Imagine a father's plight who had to get up at 4 to wake his kid to watch Zimbabwe play Pakistan and then a couple of hours later wake up again to start for the day that included traveling in those sweaty local trains from one corner of the city to the other extreme.


Back to the school - Radios were not allowed in the premises. And most of my classmates would just get up, get ready and come to school by 8 am without knowing what match or what score it is. And by the time they reached home, the match was over and Star Sports was showing a random Rugby match. As a result not many of them could follow the World Cup matches. So, when someone in the morning in our class would want to know the score, they would turn to me and all of my fathers and my efforts to get up at 4 would come to help –


Classmate: “South-Africa Vs. West-Indies ka kya hua?”


Me: “Meryck Pringle took 4/19. All four batsmen including the great Ritchie Richardson, Brian Lara were caught in slips.


Aah, the joy of it! Heads would turn. Faces that looked at me asking for more info on the match.


I know 1992 world cup like no one else does. I can bet. From Jadeja’s historic catch of Allan Border to the flying Johnty Rhodes to run out Inzamam. From Mark Greatbatch’s power stroke play to Ian Botham’s famous gesture.

Javed Miadad scored 40 of 110 balls against India at SCG. John Traicos of Zimbabwe was 44, the oldest cricketer to play for any country then. Ravi Shashtri was the slowest batsmen that we saw then. (25 off 75 balls). Facts, figures, trivia, scores, statistics – all were a part of a great brainwave – called Star Sports – yes the television had come home.


The one memory or that one match of 1992 World Cup that i can never forget is Sanjay Manjrekar scoring that brisk 47 off 42 deliveries against Australia. His knock took India till the doors of victory untill a cool Steve Waugh, a clueless Tom Moody and the substitute wicket keeper David Boon snatched it away on that last ball.

Last ball, 4 runs required and Javagal Srinath is on the crease. As usual, when Tom moody bowled, he took a wild swing. The ball went high, high and was almost on the edge of boundary when a running Steve "red-handkerchief" Waugh appeared - but hey !! he dropped the catch ( Gibbs, you can laugh on him. - even he did this at some point of time)

But hey, we need 4 runs - Indian batsmen or should i say bowlers were running hard. I remember Bill Lawry, the commentator shouting to Javagal Srinath and Raju - RUN, RUN, RUN. My uncle and my father who were watching the match, almost shouted when David Boon took off those bails, leaving India high and dry. I was more tensed than them, but on seeing their reactions and their utter disappointment - I felt we should have won that day. I thought, if only Ravi Shastri, the slowest batsmen in the world could have not wasted 75 balls to score his 25.

These days, when every match ends on a last ball I can hardly remember scores, players and events. It doesnt feel special to witness or be a part of the hysteria. I cant recollect the last entire match that I saw. Gone are the days when i took that scolding from my parents to get up for a random cricket match. But I still love the game.

Its been 3 years now, since i took the Bat in my hand. But legend has it that on the grounds of Agricultural Campus, Anand, there was a left-handed batsmen who almost reached to his century - the first ever to happen on that ground. But alas, short by three runs - 97* not out!

Much like that India-Australia match. But as wise men say there are somethings that are better left unconquered.

Of Brown paper covers and School days

Those unique Brown Paper Covers with which we used to cover our school notebooks. And the Sticker labels - ah!

Once the brown covers were put over the books… edges neatly folded – then was the turn of the various sticker labels that had to be pasted on top… to tell the world who does this Book belong to! The stickers had different characters drawn on them - from colourful cartoons to He-Man to Tom & Jerry etc.

First was the choice – involving very careful selection of which sticker label should best suit which notebook. Once that decision was reached, then with great precision… you were to get the placement of the label right on the cover. Sometimes the non-conformist streak in few would prompt rather edgy/angular placement of the label… Sometimes using the lower left corner… Anything little innovative… thoda different… we thought to ourselves.

After that came the part where you were to fill all the details… (some of us blessed with elder siblings, who had or at least thought they had neater hand writings…were deprived of this pleasure, in my case… with my scribbles… I took great pride in passing the honours to my father…)

Name: Hardik Mehta
Std: III Div: A
Subject: History
School: Students Academy

Last night, I happened to read one of the finest books of Rohinton Mistry and it took me to that world of mine - when my Parents used to take me to buy the books for the new academic session. I precisely remember that come first week of June and we used to head to this shop outside Malad station, East side - The shop was called Bipin Stores.

I happened to check a few days back and it still stands tall… with all its stationeries and various books… Actually now it seems to be oozing stationary actually – its loaded itself with so much stuff in the same dimensions of fifteen years ago Bipin stores - like it could explode of stationary!

Once the New Books were brought - the storewallah used to promote the new Brown Paper covers and the Cartoon stickers - saying:

"These days, it is compulsory for students to cover the notebooks with Brown paper cover, just yesterday two students from your same school bought it"

Thus we had no choice but to buy them. But my parents always had a different idea for things. That day, my parents told me that there is no need to cover the books with the special Brown Paper, we can always use the old Calendar sheets - especially those Bank Calendars which were of no use once the Year had gone by. Those Calendar sheets were huge and every Month, if torn out carefully, they could be used to cover at least 2 notebooks.

Amazing it was - they showed it to me: November covered my Science & History and December covered my Geography & Mathematics.

But in a fast changing world, covering your books with Calendar sheets was looked down upon… esp. when there was this beautiful Brown paper made available exclusively for covering the books.

Now in the middle of the academic session starting from June - the brown paper would breath its last, somewhere near December and then till April, the front few pages of the Book too would come out - thus giving both the book and the user the assurance – it was used often and served its term well!

Actually the condition of the book would determine how much the student has used/spend time with it (playing cricket with the rolled up book was a way too ☺)
I still laugh at this memory.

Back to the story, so when I saw my classmates with all their fresh Brown Paper covers on the first day in third standard, I immediately summoned for the Brown Papers… I spelled out the clearly the demand to my Parents.

Infact my classmates even knew how to cover a book by cutting the exact size of Paper from the huge Brown Cover Sheet. I never knew how to do that. (There are a few things I still don't know: eg: tying a tie, ironing clothes, Folding my full sleeves collared shirts etc)

My Parents had to help me in covering the notebooks with Brown covers. I didn’t even fill the sticker labels. I thought my father's handwriting was beautiful –each alphabet formed like a pearl and he obliged by writing on the labels.

One fine day my bench partner saw the label on the Brown cover of my Book and asked me:

"That handwriting on the label is not yours, whose is it?"

Without much ado, I said - "Its my Fathers"

The next thing he asked: "From which place did you get this brown covers ?"

I said: "Bipin Stores"

He said: "Same pinch"

:)

Same Pinch I tell you - June is coming in a few days. Time for children to buy those books and those Brown Paper covers. Am sure the labels will have IPL players on it. And now am told the huge brown paper sheets are eating dust in the back stores of the book shops –fancy water proof sheets custom sized for notebooks have come in…
This note… in memory of those unique Brown Covers with which we used to cover our school notebooks. And the Sticker labels - ah!

virtual re-union

"when u get a really understanding person to share ur life with u will know that u don’t have to bully the other, it is a thought- the feeling the other person catches up and tries to make that feeling pass through..." - Karishma Shah.

This is one of my friends responding to other, when the other allegedly said that you bully your husband. a simple but profound line she wrote to him. I was touched. Am sure now, marriages change people for good. One starts learning so many things. patience, sharing, tolerance and creative excuses. :) hmm...

Today morning as i opened my mail box, Bhargav had mailed to all of us who were friends since class 6 in Baroda. As a kid i was not much into friends i guess. like one of my friends started crying when our taxi left the Mumbai apartment - At that point of time - it struck me - man i will never come back here again, hardik!! does that strike you anything? yet I never cried. Nothing affected me

Although i remember each and every incident and each and every person of that phase in Mumbai, yet am emotionally disconnected to them. But somehow I was always emotionally connected to the city of Bombay (then).