Second book as translating author... launched at Queen's Dinner May 2013, Lakshmi Vilas Palace, Vadodara

Pappa, please just once.

Pappa...

Its going to be six years that you left me. I still want to fight with you for that. I told you on that Friday, 'Please don't go to Bhavnagar.' But you being you, you left and never came back.

I still can't accept you are gone.

You were to spend more time with me. I don't remember that anybody at home ask me for a glass of water any more. Things, people, thoughts etc have moved on but me? I am still lost some where, at that very point where you were gone, so suddenly. I still remember we reading news papers together, the last film we watched at a multiplex and you loved the cup full of tea and even asked me how much did it cost and then even were surprised, irked that why to pay twenty five rupees for a cup of tea?

How you always wished that I complete all parts of Pathmala? How in every summer vacation I would buy a new note book and mom would crib,'I know you will never complete it.' And how actually I never did, but still I could narrate the Sikandar and his Elephant story without any grammatical mistakes. You were thrilled when I learnt active and passive voice. Pappa I never make mistakes of 's' and 'es' when I use third person singular. How we went to all the book exhibitions and bought bunches of books, some times the same once again because I wanted a new one, and you teased me that you will tell mom that I forced you to buy them all for me. Every time I used to fell ill you would take me to the doctor and say that I survived on Samosaz. By they way it was you who bought them for me. Dad I don't eat Samosaz often and go to all sorts of doctor all alone but believe me you.. I am scared of doing so. Coming with you to all Dharanas, demonstrations, lectures and what not is something still I want to relive. I loved being THE KIRIT BHATT's daughter. How can I forget that when you didn't get excited about my salary reaching ten thousand, I fought with you but you just said, 'its just the beginning.' Were you so sure of me? I would have loved listening every thing from you. I wish you were there now, when I am in a situation that I could have done a lot for you. Dad you read out Happy Days to me and gave me best of the books to read. You let me grow the way I wanted to,. You trusted me more than anyone else in the family. I hate every one who has tried to hurt you.

Papa speak to me once. I bought a golf cap last year when it was your birthday. I want you to talk about what I am doing and how I must go about it. I want you to hear your voice daily when I reach home in the middle of the night. I know you never went off to sleep till I reached home.

It feels very lonely without you Pappa. I am tired of holding this brave mask now that 'all is fine.' No Pappa, I need you. I never got enough of you because you were so busy with every one around you. But then I know you were sure of me, but at least come once to see the results of the surety you had about me. I meet at least two persons a week who say that they are what they are because of you. I have a complain dad, I want to be you, come to me once. Pappa do you remember that you always told me that I shouldn't worry about making pages. I make pages and have made some of the best one's. All are there to appreciate but they are not you. Its winter and no one asks me, ' Where is my woolen cap?' You always knew it was next to you pillow but still you wanted that I must give it to you. Same was the case with your spectacles. By the way I have similar trouble with cold and sneezing that you had. But I know the medicine and I want to give that to you. I want to hear your Hello after a very deep pause on phone. I want to hear all that odd names you called me with. I still want to tease you with Madhuri Dikshit.I write a copy and I want you to read it. Pappa, I want to buy new tea set for you. A nice golf cap, a pen, a nice jhola. I hate Octobers as I can't buy khadi for you any more. I buy all that you used to buy for mom, I do take care of her the best I can. But we miss you. I want to take care of you too.  Pappa please come back, just once, for me. I need you.

Winter School Shimla: Gyan Marg to attain Gandhi

This is the same place where once British Viceroy was gravely discussing about how to nail down Gandhi. Every wall and each stone of this magnificent building has heard constant talks about how a dhoti clad lean man named Gandhi can be proved dangerous for British Empire. Today it is a paradoxical situation. This edifice office of Viceroy is still the same but a tiny charkha is one of the decorations on it’s table. Those walls and stones now listen to long talks on Gandhi’s spirituality, his greatness. The Vicerigal lodge of the British period is now known as Indian Institute of Advance Study (IIAS). IIAS teaches the making of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi into Mahatma.

   Since last three years IIAS organises a Winter School on life and thought of Gandhi. What made that man? Why the entire Nation was ready to give up anything on his one word? What were the reasons behind whatever happened in his life? Why people who differed with him never left him?  A man who was either fasting or was busy with his Charkha had something in him that he proved to be an eclipse for the shining sun of British Empire, but what was that ‘something’?

   When, some of the best of the teachers talk about these issues surrounding Gandhi in the Winter School they take you closer to solutions of some ever lasting confusions and questions. This adds to romance, pain, force, introspection and hunger to know more and more about the Mahatma.

This is a different kind of Gandhi School, where no body is clad in Khadi clothes that will be more like a rug after one wash. Gandhi’s celibacy, his ambition to lead, his associations with women, troubled relations with his children, stubbornness of not moving an inch from what he thought was correct and many such more questions can be discussed freely and thankfully you are not even judged.

At least in this Winter School you don’t have to be a Gandhian to understand Gandhi. His Khadi, liquor prohibition, politics, spirituality, values all are observed from 360 degree perspective in black and white.

Social scientist and Gandhian Scholar Tridip Suhrud explains Satyagrah in South Africa, evolving of Satyagrah thought, first imprisonment of Bapu and many more facets for hours in his soft voice and no eyes are blinked. At one point the great Dandi March is talked about and there you have questions brimming. Why Bapu never returned to live in Gujarat after that? Are we still failing to find Gandhi? Was he hurt? After prolonged discussions one may find some answers but more questions stand there holding Bapu’s lathi to be responded. You are still attempting to understand Bapu’s strategies and there a question is thrown at you. IIAS Director Peter D’souza makes things complicated when he asks, ‘Can a deep moral thinker be a strategists?’ Even after listening and understanding Gandhi for fifteen days leaves you puzzled at this very point.

While listening about Satyagrah at Dhrasana one comes to know that brutal lathi charge took place for 21 days. Later British demanded a report that had details of fractured bones of Satyargrahis. Mainly shoulders and heads were fractured not fingers as none of the Satyagrahis rose their hands in defence.. By the way the lathi charge started at 6.30 a.m. and continued till 4.30 p.m. While Tridip Suhrud unfolds the painful truth about Dharasana Lathi Charge, the silence in Sidhdharth Vihar, the conference room at IIAS is accompanied by some sobs.

Hind Swaraj was written in eleven days when Gandhi was travelling from London to South Africa. You are taught this text not just in contexts of values and nationalism. Even its epistemic and cognitive nature is explained to you, and you are even told why and  how it led to new dawn of civilization.  While scholar Ananya Bajpai elucidates why Hidn Swaraj was written, senior historian S.R. Mehrotra talks about Gandhi’s ambition and passion for leadership.

Congress accepts partition.  Indians who drove away British through non violence suddenly turns violent. Mahadev Desai and Kasturba are no more. Gandhi suffers political isolation.Gandhi is nothing more than a discarded property for Congress. These days Gandhi consistently speaks about his death. He told his companions, ‘if I die a natural death you must declare that this was one man who could never follow truth.’ To Manu he said that it was her responsibility to shout and tell people,’ This Mahatma was fake.’ Gandhi could not endure the cringing state of his Ahimsa. 

In the Winter School class one comes to know that at one point Gandhi started believing firmly that if his death wouldn’t be blood spattered and violent, the national violence wouldn’t stop ever. These were crucial times. On one side Gandhi was surrendering to depression and socio-political situations were turning bad to worse. It seemed that it was destiny’s order that Gandhi and Godse must face each other. Was Gandhi a Mrityunjay or he achieved his death wish? He always said, ‘My ideal death would be at a time while I am returning from Prathansabha.’ By receiving three bullets in his chest Gandhi stopped all roads to violence. Gandhi, who always wanted to come face to face with God held his own cross.

This makes you to think about Bhishma. A war was fought by Bhishma and Gandhi too had his own battles. Both had very different weapons. But the finale aim for what they both struggled didn’t exist; let it be Kuruvansh or the Akhand Bharat. Neither Bhishma’s armour nor Gandhi’s khadi could resist shower of actual or socio-political arrows. Both failed miserably.

Each learner gets his or her own Gandhi in this Winter School. Professors, students every one desires to visit Sabarmati Ashram in Ahmedabad because ‘Hradaykunj’ beats in their hearts now. Gandhi followed his inner being through out his life. Congress, Hindu Mahasabha or Gandhians none has a solution to this puzzle known as Gandhi. The threads one gets at the Winter School lead to another set of questions. True Gandhism is somewhere in the answers of these questions. There are two ways of attaining God in Purans; Bhakti Marg and Gyan Marg. If Gandhian institutions are Bhakti Marg to attain Gandhi than Winter School is the Gyan Marg.

PAPA, I KNOW…!

Mitra was very happy; because it was her birthday after two days and the first news she got in the morning was that dad’s new play was opening the very same day, on 17^th August. The thought was exciting because she would be turning 20 this year and would be leaving for US for further studies within few months. The only thing that worried her the most was, ‘what papa will do all alone once I leave?

For Mitra, Papa was the center of her life. Since her childhood Papa was always there for her. She knew her Ma, as a short-lived cancer patient who died leaving the lovely daughter to look after. Papa always told her that Ma was very loving and tender. But, she never even saw Ma’s picture. Earlier many questions played on her mind but she started enjoying Papa’s company as time passed and never missed her lovely Ma. He was more like a pal than Papa. He was a playwright and that too a serious one!  Mitra saw him busy scribbling all the time. Earlier she used to throw tantrums because she didn’t understand, why did he write so much? As she grew she realized that there were only two things in Papa’s life and they were his writing and her.

It seemed that, for Abhinav, Mitra was the only reason to live.  His loneliness was eighteen years young, but with Mitra around it hardly existed for him.  He was more like an eccentric when with his own self. But when it came to Mitra he was the most enlightened father. He would suddenly talk of fashion trends and latest music and all funky things that Mitra would prefer.

Mitra remembered her last birthday when he gifted her with a turquoise eveningwear with sexy cuts. She couldn’t believe her eyes and when she asked Papa that how he could manage to get the latest one.  Abhinav gave a smile and said, ‘Beta, I know…!’ This had become quite regular because Abhinav got something or the other and it always matched precisely to what Mitra wanted. It could be dresses, music, movie tickets or books. And to Mitra’s wonder Papa always had one thing to say, ‘Beta I know…!’ It happened even with her career planning. Till now it was not apparent, how her simple Papa could know so much, but he knew.

Today when Mitra came from college, Abhinav was not at home and had left a chit that he would come late.  She was awaiting her bolt from the blue on this birthday, but there were still two days to go.  For a change she decided to give a surprise to Abhinav. The only thing she could do was to clean his study, which was never done because entering there was confined to Abhinav only.

 Though it was a major task, with scripts lying here and there, shelves packed with books and papers lying all over the table, she was firm to do it. Abhinav kept losing his things now and then and so Mitra decided to put all in order without asking him.

Mitra went upstairs and couldn’t understand, ‘where to start from?’ She got a ceramic pen stand and put all kinds of writing instruments in it. Made separate bunches of scripts, poetry pages and newspaper cuttings. With all her surprises she found some yellow flowers and colorful feathers in between few pages. When her hands reached the top shelf of the book rack a diary fell down. She had seen Papa caring that with him almost everywhere. It seemed he had forgotten it that day. The curious mind wanted to look in to it.

Mitra opened it.  The first few pages described her birth and the pain associated with it. She was shocked to know that her Ma never wanted to get her in the world. It spoke of Papa’s struggle to explain Ma the want of a child. With teary eyes she tried to read it further but heard Abhinav calling from downstairs.

Papa was home. She silently took the diary in her room and joined Papa in dinner. Abhinav was too tired to hear about the cleaning of the study and went to sleep.

Here in Mitra’s room the gloomy facts were right in front of her eyes. 

The diary said….

And she bluntly told me today when I was caring Mitra to the cradle “Abhinav, I can’t live with you anymore…it’s over…you wanted a child and now you got it. Don’t ask me why and where I am going and don’t try to contact me ever again.” And she left us that evening…what will I tell Mitra when she asks me about her Ma? I don’t want hatred in my child. God, please help me.

Mitra now knew that Ma was alive somewhere but never turned back. The diary further read about her first word ‘Pa’ and her first teeth and her footsteps. She could see her growth in the letters scribbled in that diary.

Now Mitra is growing. She asked me about her Ma and I said that nice lady is a star in the sky. Is it fair? Don’t know, but could convince her.

Her sleep was lost that night and she kept on reading. That diary had noises of Abhinav’s loneliness. The shrilling pain of silent screams of a loner was written in it.

But then Mitra read some thing and she was thunder struck. It said…

When I first met Madhvi, I sensed the lost sensitivity in her eyes. She is too tender and young but speaks like a grown-up. Now it has been almost a year and she asked me what next? Don’t know what to tell her. She is too young. I sense the intensity but I feel Mitra won’t accept her. I will explain this to Madhvi.

Mitra could not trust her eyes; Dad had someone in his life but where was she? She hurriedly leafed through the pages.

‘Madhvi told me that if it’s Mitra’s question she could adjust. She had decided to leave the city till Mitra gets older, so she won’t be an obstacle in my life. This girl is crazy and stubborn.’

‘Madhvi left the town but has promised to see me once a month. I feel emptied. How could she do this? But Mitra needs me more. She called last night and kept talking about Mitra. Now Madhvi wants to live alone.’

‘Mitra loved the set of audio books and asked me that how did I know she wanted it. I can’t tell her it was not I. Madhvi thinks I should know all about a teenage girl. She sent me a write up on menstrual cycle so that I can explain it to Mitra and it really helped.’

“Madhvi today called and said she will be getting a designer eveningwear for Mitra’s next birthday. Madhvi keeps on sending all this. She mails me about latest trends. I had to ask her whether she has some place for me or not!!? Madhvi is coming here on 17^th August. I want her to meet Mitra but I am not sure about Mitra? Now she is mature and I think can’t take all this because for her, Ma is no more.  Madhvi will see me at the same café on the station road, sit for few hours and will go away.’ Part time life is not an exciting idea though…

‘Mitra freaked out with the attire and again asked me how I could manage it. As usual I had to say, ‘I know beta...’ I wish…I could tell her that its Madhvi who taught me how to be a good father.’

By the time Mitra finished reading the diary her Whinny the Pooh pillow was all wet. Papa took the pain of being alone and never said anything. Her Ma was alive somewhere and never even bothered and here there was someone who was so much concerned about her. She couldn’t decide how to talk about it to Papa. Next day she left early for college. Sat in the library and read those scribbled words again and again.

Abhinav was amazed when Mitra said that she wanted to attend college on her birthday. She had some important lecture. Abhinav dropped her at college and went to the flower shop. Every time he met Madhvi he used to get yellow flowers for her. He reached at the station road. He could feel the waiting eyes, the warmth.

As soon as he entered the café his eyes straight went to the table where Madhvi was sitting. His feet stopped there. He was flabbergasted. Mitra walked towards him, held his hand, looked at Papa and took him to Madhvi. Abhinav asked in a confused voice…’How come you here Mitra?’

Mitra gave him a hug and then looked in his eyes and said…”Papa, I know…!”

Chirantana Bhatt

My first book as translating author 'MARA DADDY NU ZOO' on stands now... Pick it if you love animals and read Gujarati.

MY SHARE OF FRAGRANCE

Nita looked at the shriveled flowers of Rajnigandha and then glanced at the windowpane. Raindrops were trying to peep in to her cozy room. She was alone. It has been seven years, that day was not different from today.

That day she had gone to the market. It was sweaty and sticky. The rains were not yet out of the clouds. Nita was busy looking for fresh potatoes. Different shades were mixing up in her mind. She was lost in another world, searching for some soothing moment. Someone pulled her dupatta, little irritated she looked back. It was a street kid, holding a bunch of Rajnigandha; the kid looked at here with dry eyes. As if those eyes were scared to dream.  There was no reason but she bought the bunch of flowers and returned home. Her husband gave her a puzzled look. He asked,” what made you buy this? What about my aloo chips?” She looked at him with dry eyes. He left. She sat near the window with a cup of coffee and those flowers. It started raining. She was trying to smell the rain and was looking at the flowers. With every drop of rain she was taking a step backward. It happened few days ago.

She always saw Vedant at the book shop, sitting at the right side corner table. She often went to the book shop and every time that right side corner looked the same. This monotonous man amazed her. One day she happened to reach early and when he came he was lost in search of his own corner. Nita smiled and got up. She heart the monotonous man for the first time,” please, continue your work, I will come tomorrow”. Before she could utter anything he left. The next day she couldn’t understand how and why but she was again at his corner before him. There he arrived to get settled in his corner. And before he leaves suddenly Nita told him to take his corner. With no reason she added,” would you mind if I share this corner with you?”

He looked at her and his eyes spoke, since then Nita sat there every day.

    At that time Nita was twenty something and he must be in his thirties. Vedant’s hair was usually undone; his eyes spoke the most as if looking for someone who could hear them. He was tall, broad shouldered. Dusky Nita wanted to touch life with her long fingers.

         Days passed and that silent, right side corner started chirping.  Both shared cup of coffee, and now Nita too had liking for black coffee. Vedant lived alone with his son and came to the bookshop after dropping him to school. He used to write for a magazine online and he enjoyed music.  He was still getting adjusted with newness of the town.  He loved reading Nita’s poems aloud and enjoyed finding mistakes in them. Nita was drowning in those deep eyes day by day. One day she didn’t come and the coffee cup was not emptied.

       It was raining when Vedant saw Nita running towards him in the bookshop street. Her marriage was to take place in next few weeks. She was getting married to the man her parents found perfect for her. The rains suddenly stopped and sky was dry. The fragrance of the rain filled their hearts and Vedant kept looking at the rainy eyes of Nita.

   

Once the ceremonies were over Nita came to the bookshop and shared a cup of black coffee with Vedant. She had nothing to say. Vedant spoke something which sounded like,”The coffee tastes better today. I never knew that I will miss you. But be happy.”

On that day they went for a quiet walk, holding hands, passing warmth to each other, knowing nothing.  It was drizzling again. Nita was feeling cold. They stood aside. Vedant pulled her, the embrace was tight.  Nita didn’t leave him. She closed her eyes tightly, as the moment was freezing in her. She was filled with something.

After few days she again went to the bookshop but that corner was empty and it gave a feel that it will never chirp again.

It has been seven long years. She kept reading Vedant online but never tried to reach him. Because she always felt that he was within her breath. She still smelled that secure deep breath around in the aura that covered her.

She looked at the seven years’ fresh dryness of Rajnigandha, looked out of the window and sipped her black coffee.

Chirantana Bhatt

Bikhare lafz

RAAT KE DAAMN SE NIND CHURANE KI KOSHISH ME.....
TANHAI KI SUKHI AANKHE KAAJAL DALE JAGTI RAHI....!

KORE SAPNE, BHIGI PALKE, MAAYUS CAHND, BERANG DHANUK...
RISHTO KE YE TUKDE JODE,RAAT KATRA KATRA PIGHALTI RAHI...!

AAINA ANJAN HOKAR, AANKHE MUNDE, MUH CHHUPAYE ROSHNI SE...
SANNATE KI KHAI ME MERE HATH TUMHARI AAWAZ DHUNDHTE RAHE...!

Chirantana