Hard to tell

if memory inhabits me

Soft soft was her advent today
Her touch so gentle, almost
Apologetic. She smiled through
The sun’s rays, lifting curtains
Quietly. The lingering spray,
Cleared up the mental mist
Of confusion and tiredness.
I danced to work – the last
Few Days are yet to be lived
In this unexplored person’s
Skin – scenes to shoot,
Words to make mine, words
That belong to this stranger’s
Tongue but are sounded by
Mine. Another role may not be
Waiting but this one – she is still mine.

Mona Ambegaonkar accidentally strayed into the entertainment industry and has been a model, editor, documentary producer and director, writer and award winning actor in theatre, TV and films. She is now working towards writing and directing her own films and is acting in TV soaps and films as well. She has devoted her time in watching life, hers and other people’s, has always taken at face value whatever she is told and has always asked and answered direct questions. From this springs the fodder that enriches all her work both on and off the screen. Recently, she has been touring the world with Ek Madhav Baug,  a play about alternate sexuality.

This is an inspiring story set in the 1940s- a story of grit, determination, service and great entrepreneurship.

Orphaned at the tender age of two, Narasimha had seen it all. Hunger, poverty, insecurity, and above all helplessness in various situations. He was sheltered by his poor aunt and uncle. Having faced a variety of hardships, there was no bitterness. A strong desire to serve the needy was burning in young Narasimha’s heart.

The old couple desired that Narasimha take them on a pilgrimage.Those were the times when there were  no organised tours and communication facilities. With a meagre budget and no guidance, Narasimha set out from Bangalore, changing buses and trains with the old and ailing couple. It was not at all easy. At last when they reached Badrinath, he found a dharmashala and found a place to keep their belongings. He cleaned that part of the floor and facilitated the old couple to stretch and rest, while he set out to fetch things to cook. To his dismay he found out that the language was a big barrier. He somehow managed to get fire wood, rice and daal. By the time he cooked and was ready to serve the food, a big group of people entered the dharmashala and occupied the place by literally pushing the belongings, food, and the old couple to a corner. Narasimha had to repeat the entire exercise of finding another place and cooking. All this after a long and tiring journey, on an almost empty stomach!

It took months for the satisfactory completion of the pilgrimage.Everywhere he saw pilgrims struggling with the problems of language, culture, food and accommodation.  He made up his mind that he would organise tours and pilgrimages in particular, where any one- helpless, needy, poor, old, ailing could complete their pilgrimage in comfort.

It needed lot of planning, networking and hard work. He traversed the length and breadth of India to study the existing facilities,cultures ,languages and modes of transport. He meticulously studied and finalised  the routes, accommodation,diet,medical facilities and more.

His passion,selfless service and great spirit  helped innumerable old parents, widows and disabled people to enjoy the benefits of travel to religious places.

This man was my father G.A.Narasimha Murthy who pioneered organised travel to spiritual places and his vision kept expanding.  He had a great respect for the farming community and believed they were  the spine of  green India and they must have the facilities to see the  developing India. He helped them to travel to different successful agriculture belts of India and introduce them to new techniques, fellow farmers in other parts of the country.  He orchestrated Kisan Special trains. And even arranged for them to have a personal audience with the then prime minister Pandit Jawahar Lal Nehru and President Rajendra Prasad and many others.

He instilled pride in our farmers by making them present Mysore jasmine garlands,the tiptur coconuts and so on to the dignitaries visiting their State. He made it possible for them to witness the proceedings of the Parliament and feel like equal participants in democracy.

He proved to the world that entrepreneurship need not be just profit oriented but also service oriented. It could educate people,entertain people and broaden their vision. On Father’s Day, I salute my father for walking the talk and leaving behind a legacy for not just me but countless others to be inspired by.

**

Mukta Srinivas is a trained architect, mother, teacher and a keen observer of life and the human mind. 

]]> http://unboxedwriters.com/2013/06/my-father-the-pathbreaker/feed/ 5 http://unboxedwriters.com/2013/06/a-life-skill-called-love/ http://unboxedwriters.com/2013/06/a-life-skill-called-love/#comments Wed, 12 Jun 2013 03:25:55 +0000 Reema Moudgil http://unboxedwriters.com/?p=21731

Why is fear gnawing again
On the tender extremities
On aching feet that survey
Each new beginning?

Do these paths lead somewhere
Or are they just scratches
Self-inflicted, on dreams
That had turned to ashes long ago?

Drooping branches dangle
Flexing damp fingers
Glowing in the first light
Of a wetly-web-like dawn

Birds shelter in my window
Shaking the night’s rain
Out of gleaming feathers
A challenge in their eyes

Will you fly today, woman?
Or will you simply sit and cry?
Adding dampness to your soul
Or will you fight again to reach that goal?

**

Mona Ambegaonkar accidentally strayed into the entertainment industry and has been a model, editor, documentary producer and director, writer and award winning actor in theatre, TV and films. She is now working towards writing and directing her own films and is acting in TV soaps and films as well. She has devoted her time in watching life, hers and other people’s, has always taken at face value whatever she is told and has always asked and answered direct questions. From this springs the fodder that enriches all her work both on and off the screen. Recently, she has been touring the world with Ek Madhav Baug,  a play about alternate sexuality.

Traffic..like a pack of cards…

shuffling shuffling..

endlessly..

all hands dealt

on a table

of floating brown debris.

**

Mona Ambegaonkar accidentally strayed into the entertainment industry and has been a model, editor, documentary producer and director, writer and award winning actor in theatre, TV and films. She is now working towards writing and directing her own films and is acting in TV soaps and films as well. She has devoted her time in watching life, hers and other people’s, has always taken at face value whatever she is told and has always asked and answered direct questions. From this springs the fodder that enriches all her work both on and off the screen. Recently, she has been touring the world with Ek Madhav Baug,  a play about alternate sexuality.

It’s fantastic, this urge for
Food, drink, love, sex, music
All brought on by sheets
of moisture, drops of rain
Silly yearning, unknown pain
Wet leaves, trembling trees
Globes of water, suspended
On the tips of foliage
And those drunken roofs!
It’s time to head into Nature
It’s time for that cup of tea.

**

Mona Ambegaonkar accidentally strayed into the entertainment industry and has been a model, editor, documentary producer and director, writer and award winning actor in theatre, TV and films. She is now working towards writing and directing her own films and is acting in TV soaps and films as well. She has devoted her time in watching life, hers and other people’s, has always taken at face value whatever she is told and has always asked and answered direct questions. From this springs the fodder that enriches all her work both on and off the screen. Recently, she has been touring the world with Ek Madhav Baug,  a play about alternate sexuality.

January 26, 2001. We had all gathered at our school in Gujarat to celebrate our Republic day. The tricolour was unfurled followed by parade and performances. We all waited eagerly to know who was going to be awarded the best student of the year. It was a proud moment for me to hear my son’s name being announced! I was rejoicing over this achievement as a mother and a teacher too. Just then I observed the flag post sway a little. In no time the earth under my feet was kind of vibrating and the light poles were violently swaying. The students came running to me to ask, “eacher, teacher, what’s happening?” I said disbelievingly,”this must be an e a r t h q u a k e!” Soon along with other colleagues, I became busy calming and assuring the students outside. Common sense guided us to keep them away from the school building, just in case the building collapsed.

**

But there were students inside the school building too! Some were on the first floor and some in the ground floor classes, changing their costumes and waiting to be picked up by parents. I saw my son along with our PT teacher and a nun rushing into the school and carefully bringing the kids out. Without a concern for their safety they successfully brought all the kids out safely, much to the relief of the anxious parents. I was indeed extremely proud of my son.

**

After a few anxious moments, the situation was back to normal and we were ready to head back home. During the drive, we called my parents to inform them about the award and also mentioned the earthquake. Believe me, we were unaware of the extent of damage the earthquake had done in rest of Gujarat.

**

As we came closer to our locality we saw crowds gathered here and there, talking animatedly. Gradually all communication lines got cut off and television news revealed the deathly dance of the killer earthquake. We were just fortunate to be in a city where there was minimum damage. But slowly news of death, loss and chaos poured in from the neighbouring cities and the worst came from Kutch. Tragic news of death and destruction of lives known to us, school kids trapped under collapsed buildings, missing members of families and inaccessible cities. I felt so sad and helpless. Doom prevailed and as did guilt for being so safe and comfortable while all around  people were suffering!

**

Any amount of donations-money, clothes, blankets, food grains could not lift me from my depression. Appetite was dead long back. Though I would cook for my family, I could only see the faces of people in distress in my plate and I could not eat.

**

Some NGO had set up a centre for volunteers to cook and prepare food packets .They were to be sent to a place from where they would be air dropped to survivor, as all roads had collapsed. I joined my colleagues in making the food packets. I felt a little better. But still could not eat.

**

At home I was sharing with my kids, my experience of mass cooking and trucks carrying the food. I also mentioned that there was a major shortage of drinking water and fear of survivors dying out of thirst.

**

As always, my10-year-old daughter said she would be out in the neighbourhood to play for sometime. I was a little anxious when she did not return on the usual time. After a long time she returned with her young friends, all clutching bags full of used plastic bottles of Pepsi, Coke etc., They had collected hundreds of such bottles from the neighbourhood. She wanted to clean them, fill them with drinking water and send them to the earthquake hit places! I was speechless! She had called couple of her friends, knocked on every door in the neighbourhood and collected those bottles. A proud me helped her clean and sterilise the bottles and fill them up with drinking water. Loaded them in the car and reached them to the waiting trucks.

**

Needless to say, that after  many days I had a full meal and a restful night.

**

Are  women more sensitive, more prone to need extraneous approval for self esteem because there certainly seem to be some types of work that make women prone to being depressed and suicidal.

There are endless biological reasons related to hormones that make us more vulnerable at different periods of time.   Men use other resorts like drugs and alcohol to get over the pain. And of course violence. However,  suicide is also technically a very violent act, towards one self. No dearth of women drug abusers or alcoholics either.

But if women can survive being in politics, Sonia Gandhi, Mayawati, Jayalalitha, Sushma Swaraj and so on, possibly one of the least favorable environments for the delicate sensitivities, why is it harder to survive the entertainment business? The recent suicide of Nafisa (Jiah) Khan, a young Bollywood actress (25 years) , who acted in about three movies, sent me back into introspection and the differences in profession and how the male or female brains handle them. I remembered P.D. James being warned against being a police detective, homicide, as it was an ‘Unsuitable job for a woman’, she said in an essay with that title. However, from what I know, men and women swoon and throw up at the sight of dead bodies, in medical school and probably in crime sites.

Art comes with its own hang ups- lack of appreciation can kill the art and the artist. Whereas in politics, the drive is not particularly appreciation, it is power. Hence, the people who choose it are either born into it or choose it after long, careful strategic moves that need intense planning. They may be more prepared for the onslaught  that follows, hence better fortified against it. Public figures, in politics and entertainment, expect their dirty laundry to be hung out for people to see. Doctors probably understand they can contract anything infectious from patients, occupational hazards are often known before hand (unless it is a side effect of some chemical or production component).

I kept coming back to this need of being wanted and liked, and for people choosing the entertainment business, of being famous. That seems a more feminine trait, that of being needed and liked, or am I being biased?

Perhaps it is the unpreparedness for fame or shame or even worse of indifference and oblivion, that leads to suicides, in show business. The final attempt to attract attention, or the only decisive way of giving up. A Miss India winner and VJ, Nafisa Joseph, also committed suicide. She was also a Miss Universe runner up, had anchored several MTV shows and seemed intelligent and cogent. She had relationship problems, but then, who doesn’t? Ask any victim of domestic violence. How do they find the will to live? In all other accounts  both these beautiful young women had a lot going on for them. They thought otherwise, of course.

When I compare victims of ongoing domestic violence and the young actresses who committed suicide, no one can tell from outside who is having a harder time or feeling more lonely.

In India, the young find ever more reasons to die, so many high school students commit suicide because of not doing well in an exam. The countless farmers who have died at their own hands reveal the harshness of the economic tragedies that push people over the edge.

The end of hope is real for many people, regardless of profession. Whenever I look at all the child artists, I feel anxiety and fear for their future well being, I don’t know of many who survived through that stage of being in the limelight, into being well rounded human beings with a realistic view of life. Hollywood is full of such stories, be it Fred Savage, or Macaulay Culkin or Britney Spears.  There is a reason it is called show business, it is open to criticism, and one has to be inured to that.Tabloids and entertainment magazines are known to be rumor mongers and change their mind pretty quickly.

Growing up and making something of yourself is very stressful, for everyone. Acceptance of what you have and contentment are even harder to achieve, but without them whatever you achieve will be meaningless. Even an Oscar. Whatever wills the purpose or goal of a life, maybe fate or DNA or upbringing, life is more than a goal or should be. Families can cause and prevent serious depression and are  relationship issues not what drive a lot of people to suicide? I don’t know what an ideal support system for people would be, because anything that can make you can also break you into pieces, but I do believe the following poem by Rudyard Kipling says it very well, because in the end, it is you and about you. That’s not being selfish, because even people who live to help others only do it because they like it and are able to do so.

I also believe that’s where writers, poets and philosophers come into our lives, because they can fill the void others have left in us. ( some use religion as well, I am not a proponent but it does have its uses). It does in fact, hold true for both the types of brains.. male and female. Unfortunately, this poem and those thinkers are only for people who survive being young and ambitious and have not witnessed their own children starving, with loan sharks threatening their only source of livelihood. That is the burden for society, for us all.

If, by Rudyard Kipling

If

Ordinary life is hard enough to manage. How much harder would fame be? Too much of it? Too little of it? What must it be like to be watched constantly, measured, estimated, valued for what is visible in you? To smile at hundreds of cameras and then come home to maybe an imperfect life that cannot be fixed by the number of autographs you signed?

**