On Apr 20, 1974, news of Awtar Kaul’s dramatic death had spread in the film and art circles like a wild fire. Especially owners and staff of Samovar and Gaylord were badly shocked, since they knew Awtar, as a bright new filmmaker and as their regular visitor. Everyone had something to talk about him. Conversations heard on ‘Apr 19’ became the backbone of the story ‘what might have happened.’ After these ‘snippets of conversations’ of his friends and people from these establishments were pieced together, there emerged a believable story line, with a time line of, not more than 12-14 hours.

First piece from Arab Bungalow (Patel home):

Apr 19, 1974, morning. No one can have any idea exactly what time Awtar left home. Getting out could not be seen as an unusual activity for paying guests of the Patel family. Arun, his roommate too was a busy person by then. He may or may not have noticed him leaving. People go out for work, for fun, for a date or meetings… So his leaving home that day could not be seen as anything special - except that, that late morning Awtar went out for the last time.

Second piece provided by conversations at Samovar:

It is early afternoon, may be just before lunch, when Awtar got there. As Samovar staff knows their regular customers very well. Awtar would be talking about his film, its production, actors, future plans, his frustrations… to his friend Butani, a young independent journalist. She must have been scribbling all the details on her writing pad for press. It would be understood that they spend too much time at that restaurant or at some stage, may have gone away somewhere else. Their relationship was understood to be more than interviewer and interviewee. They met quite often and were together for long hours.

Second piece from a bar:

This is the most important piece of conversation that comes from a painter who narrated it to the cinematographer, Bir. This painter was a part of the group of at least three people, he himself, Awtar and the lady journalist Butani, who were carrying on from their lunch date at the Samovar. They were at the Ritz bar for a drink… after a while as they loosened up, the lady got too emotionally aggressive towards Awtar and let out steam. Due to this loud display of frustration from the woman, the painter now becomes familiar with the tangle between the two. Not only the painter; but ‘memory water marks’ of the scene are left on the staff of the bar too. Later these marks will turn into conversations for completing the story line…

In the end things become a bit calm. The group finishes wine and dine. They pay up. Awtar and the lady offer to drop their painter friend at his residence. He accepts. They take a taxi and head towards ‘White House’ at Walkeshwar via Marine drive.

Closing conversation:

Geography: The painter lived right down where the sea touches the wall of the apartment building. Situated on the right, at the lowest edge of White House, from a distance it looked like a studio apartment or even a garage. But for a painter like him, it must be a beautiful place to live, having unrestricted view of queen’s necklace, the sea and its proximity.

Painter: “After not so comfortable evening at the Ritz, Awtar and Butani came to drop me. They walked me right down till the last point. Nice of them. As I started a short walk to my house, they waited looking at me. They were being really very kind to me. It was a dark, no-moon night. Sea too was extremely noisy and rough due to peak of high tide. Tall waves were banging on the boundary wall of the building. I went inside my house but decided to keep the door open until they went away. I could see both of them talking to each other. Their actions were a bit heated now. I knew they had been having very bad emotional tiffs. I was changing and doing my usual chores. I thought they may be wanting to spend some more time with each other to thrash things out. I went in the toilet. When I came out, they were still there, but now the girl was standing on the parapet, screaming and gesturing towards Awtar and sea. She was throwing her arms all over! She seemed very very agitated. I was alarmed. Thinking of the neighbors getting disturbed, I decided to go out and cool them down. As I turned back after picking my keys, I saw Awtar standing on the parapet, in place of the woman! He was screaming his lungs out looking towards the sea with outstretched arms. I knew worst had happened!  She had jumped in the swollen sea. As I got closer, I could see her being tossed up and down by the waves. Fearing for him, I moved towards Awtar to pull him down to safety. Due to the din, quite a few neighbors had woken up and were standing in their balconies. One of them threw down a nylon rope. I advanced towards Awtar to grab his shirt to bring him down. Just then the waves tossed the woman closer to the wall… and he too jumped down! He caught hold of her. In desperation we threw the rope for them. The girl had stopped trying to save herself. She had lost strength and was floating helplessly. Awtar was holding the rope; but he too was no match for the power of the sea. The waves banged him on the wall many times. They had separated now. Rope was of no use. Someone called up the fire brigade. Waves were now carrying them away from the wall and perhaps towards Chowpati beach. They seemed to have lost consciousness…

It may be a little before midnight, when I lost sight of them due to darkness and growing distance.”

July 19, 1974, 5pm, ground floor of Arab Bungalow, Khetwadi main road, Girgaon, Bombay.

The day did not seem to be any different from earlier ones. Land lords of the large place, Patel family was going through its usual lazy chores. Jayantbhai, Bhabhi and Ba (grandmother) were sitting on the floor, as usual. Kids were back from school. Their servant Tukaram, brought tea from the kitchen for all of them.  Arun, one of their paying guests was also hand over a cup. Between four people there were three different kinds of cups. Nobody in family think about it. Arun also did not seem to care. He was happy to be relaxing for a day from his grueling shooting schedules. Arun’s room partner Awtar Krishna Kaul, producer-director of an under production film titled, 27DN, had left before lunch to meet friends. His regular time-pass adda used to be Samovar at Kala Ghoda. It was the meeting place and savior for so many people of this city, who were either jobless, between jobs, strugglers, starry-eyed, writers, painters… People would order a cup of tea or a beer and stretch its contents to hours, unless suddenly a waiter slides the bill in front. With experience most of them knew when to renew the order well before a waiter got restless…

At 7pm Jayantbhai proudly switched on his Hitachi B&W TV, a star attraction for many. It made a regular gathering of about 15 guests feel very special, watching Chhaya Geet and other weekly movies. Those days it was a huge privilege to be in front of a TV. At 7.30pm Hindi news was scheduled. Jayantbhai and Arun would be anxious to watch it, because of the newsreader. She was a very pretty, young, dusky belle Smita Patil…

Among other political headlines Smita announced that national awards for films have been announced. Arun being a film person got interested. Later giving details of various awards, she said Awtar Krishna Kaul’s film ‘27DN’ had won national award in the best Hindi film category! Suddenly a spell of utter disbelief fell over everyone. Jaws dropped down. How could something so special happen to someone living right here inside their home? Their own paying guest? Might be a mistake. But when a clipping of the film was shown, the emotions tuned into a high-pitched excitement! Arun especially was so ecstatic. After all he was an assistant recordist in that film! Patel family boasted to all the TV watching neighbors that the news of the award was about their paying guests. Arun became an instant hero among them. Jayantbhai boasted, ‘Awtar has gone out right now… he and Arun live in that room there…’

As the national award news sunk in, something had to be done to celebrate it. They decided to organize a grand party to announce the news to Awtar and then celebrate with him. Arun and Jayantbhai went out and got a bottle of whiskey and a rum from a wine shop near Dreamland cinema. On their way back they picked up lot of snacks, like assorted bhajia, gathia, batata wada etc go with the drinks…

Awtar was still not back. Therefore, everyone used the time to organize glasses, put extra bottles of water in fridge and took out nice plates for snacks. It was past 8pm. He had to be back soon. Arun decided that they all go and watch TV again to watch the English news bulletin too (mainly to reconfirm). Normally, Arun and Jayantbhai would pour a drink around 8pm. So, 9pm was quite late. Unanimously they decided to clink the glasses at 9.30 and keep waiting for Awtar. With noisy cheers in the name of Awtar, Arun, 27DN and National award, this small group of friends took their most exciting first sip…

At 10.30, Ba (grandmother) peeped in asking has he not come yet. Arun said, ‘no.’ She said, ‘he also must be drinking somewhere like you all. Do you think he doesn’t know about the news?’ That put a different perspective in everyone’s head. ‘Yes’ all felt, he could be knowing and may be celebrating with people of his own status. Everyone felt that whey should stop making noise and go out for dinner, as the family had to sleep…

Arun took the main door key from Tukaram before going to sleep. In case Awtar arrived too late and too drunk, he would open the gate quietly…

3am, Arun thought he heard a tap on his room door that in fact ajar. He thought Awtar is here finally. But it was Jayantbhai, who was shaking him. Arun thought he wanted the door key, but he said there was call for him. Call? At this time? Many quick ‘dark’ flashes crossed his mind. His father, mother, accidents god knows what. Arun was just about 23 years old and he was shit scared of getting a bad news from his family. In his drunken sleep Arun asked who has called? Jayantbhai said ‘call is from the police station and they are talking all crap. I don’t understand what they are saying.’ In the darkness Arun got up in his underwear and walked to the phone in outer verandah. ‘Hello’ he said. Caller voice identified itself as a police inspector. Arun said, ‘yes, I am Arun Sharma’ and in few seconds he sat down on the floor while listening to the cop. The receiver slipped from his hand and he passed out…

Jayantbhai was shaking him up. Arun had gone to sleep again sitting on the floor with the receiver hanging near his face. Jayantbhai put the phone to his ear and kept it down. Slowly both realized what had happened. Around 4am a police jeep noisily stopped near the gate of Arab Bungalow and two cops shook the collapsible gate. Arun was awake now and was dressed in pant shirt. Entire Patel family was awake too. Arun stepped out. He said, ‘I am Arun Sharma’. He was made to sit at the back of the jeep. They drove to Nair hospital near Bombay central station. Arun followed two cops to a room where a police inspector was sitting. ‘Come in’, inspector duty said and pointed him to a chair to sit. A green curtain was drawn at his side. Inspector held a small telephone diary in his hand and was going through it. Arun knew it belonged to Awtar. In a moment inspector got up smartly and said, ‘come’, drawing the green curtain aside. They both entered. There he was. On the stretcher was Awtar in his familiar red kurta. Inspector asked, ‘is he Awtar Krishna Kaul’. ‘Yes’ Arun mumbled moving closer to him. He noticed many bruises and cuts on his forehead and face. Arun went closer to him and lifted his hair from his forehead to see if there was any other major hurt. Perhaps he wanted to touch his face and hair. He also became very angry with Awtar. ‘Why’, he thought, ‘what was the need to be so rash in life?’ They both moved out and sat in chairs. Arun had never felt an emotional tide of that magnitude in his life. He was just 23 then. Deeply shaken from inside he had managed to stand steady through it.

Inspector narrated his version. “Awtar’s body was seen floating in the sea at Girgaon Chowpati at around midnight. Fire brigade was called and with great difficulty they fished him out. You see it is no moon night and high tide was at its peak. He was rushed to Bhatia hospital, closest from there. He was alive then. For some reason they refused admission. Then he was rushed here; but was declared dead on arrival.”

For the police, identification of the body was complete. Arun was free to leave. He came out and same jeep dropped him back home.

Everyone was awake. Arun sat with them. Bhabhi made some tea. Arun narrated what he saw and reproduced inspector’s version of the incidence. Nobody knew how to react to this sudden reversal in fortune.

Arun could not sleep in the room, next to Awtar’s empty bed for many months.

TV is on and the live telecast of multiple terror attacks on my city, Mumbai is in its 36th hour! I am tired of hearing too many words that are being spoken faster than machine guns. If alone I switch off the sound and only read the scroll. If not then I prefer to sit in another room and listen to the rat-tat.

Everyone knows that we Mumbai-ites are so used to being terrorized – in the extreme ‘extreme ways’. In Feb 93, I was in the thick of it. I filmed all the eleven bloodied locations of the serial blasts. Many more serial blasts followed in Mumbai, Delhi and several other cities; but present ‘36 hour’ long action is unthinkable. We keep a meticulous register of all the blasts and shoot outs in our records for future references, to draw guidance for our course of action. The CCTV grabs some people carrying gifts wrapped in shiny papers are boarding trains and get off at the next station leaving behind the gifts. A car slowly parks/a scooter parks/a cycle parks; a man gets off casually for shopping and vanishes in to thin air. It can take from a few months up to ‘n’ number of years to find that ‘man’. This kind of investigation is not risky, not stressful and can add outstation holidays for work. Our politicians and security forces learn their lessons from the standard method of ‘what has happened’. There is no class that teaches them ‘what could happen!’ Well you could say that even USA could not avoid 9/11. It is considered to be the one of the most meticulously planned and executed project in the world. Like famous code 9/11 we too have our own codes like, 12/03, 13/9, 7/11, 5/14… So even present attack will have to get a figure-code assigned to it – perhaps 11/26, but I am not sure if the government and record keepers will be happy with it, since the action has spilled into next day i.e. Nov 27 too and… is not over yet. Technically they are right if they don’t agree to 11/26. I suggest 11/26-27 may be more appropriate. Sure it is a little clumsy but it is true, which is of paramount importance - the truth! Fact is that 9/11 was over in a few hours, 12/03 (famous ’93 Mumbai blasts) in half a day, 13/9 (Delhi), 7/11 (Mumbai trains) or 5/14 (Jaipur), all few hours… nothing spilled over to next date. We have to wait until it gets over. Then only politicians and record keepers will approve a figure ‘code’ denoting current crisis.

Well to re-cap all that you already know. A bunch of twenty odd young and highly motivated boys are dropped in rubber speedboats on high seas. They all are dressed in jeans, T-shirts and are carrying a backpack. Ubiquitous backpack is not a problem; but it is a problem that they all have a backpack each. That sure seems odd.

A friend from Delhi calls and tells us to watch news; there are blasts happening. Reluctantly I switch my TV. The newsreader is all worked up in her reporting. The scroll is claiming that hotel Taj at the Gate Way of India, Oberoi at Nariman Point and Nariman House (houses Jew families) have been taken over by terrorists. Soon the visuals are splashed - a man’s body on a street, a blown up taxi near airport, hospitals, outside Metro theatre, inside CST and a speeding police van occupied by ‘backpack boys.’ Soon the random visual clippings turn into direct live telecast by numerous channels. Now I realize it is not the usual stuff. Not the one from government registers.

Some think that police walked in quite late at the Taj. Some guests had already been killed.

A confidant looking senior cop arrives, ‘don’t worry I am here now’, he says… and sometimes later, him and another brutally injured officer were being taken to hospital, only to be declared dead. As I said they also became victims of the ‘register records.’ They did not follow the ‘dress code’ while going to meet the backpackers. With all due regards to their exemplary bravery; they perhaps did not think that this enemy was going to be vastly different from the first timer gun wielder ‘Rahul Raj’… In all 14 cops have been victims of the ‘register’. Of course not to forget nearly 400 versions of me – the poor common-man. Responsibility shifts from police to NSG, Indian Army and Navy.

I am genuinely feeling so bad about what our Taj has been out to go through. It is an expensive hotel for the super rich guests. Taj has been the first choice of many top CEOs, country presidents and sports personalities. Yet a common-man (me) never got a feeling that I was not welcome there. It always maintained that warmth… Now it was horrible to see the same warm, welcoming and tender interiors of the hotel being blasted with hand grenades, automatic guns and being set on fire. Taj at 105 years is older than the Gate Way of India. It is a beauty filled with grandeur inside out. It is 11am but still the Taj is not entirely free of terror elements. The scroll says a NSG person is injured on the eighth floor of Taj during sanitization process.

It is sad that south Mumbai is under curfew. I am dying to go there and see the hotel for myself.

Trident-Oberoi hotel too had very bad times. But right now it is said to be cleared of backpackers and the guests have been rescued. Nariman House is a war zone right now. For the first time Mumbai witnessed the visuals of helicopters dropping commandoes on the terrace of that building. We can hear automatic gun sounds. A pitched battle seems to be on right in the lap of Colaba. It may be over soon, but really don’t ask me to commit anything at this point. I just junked my register in the garbage.

At the time of publishing it, firing has resumed at the Taj. At least one militant is supposedly battling NSG commandos and may be holding some hostages. I guess it is not over until it is ‘over’.

However, I am waiting to see shots of a much traumatized Ratan Tata and Krishna Kumar surveying their beloved property to take stock.

Finally, Mumbai may survive many terrorists’ attacks; but I am really not sure if it can survive current breed of politicians for too long.

Nothing is same in front of my house compared to 1980… perhaps except a loud and clear voice, ‘dabba batliwallaaa…’! You can say that ‘voice’ is not a thing. It is just a voice, which cannot be called as a part of this lane. Agreed, but I do hear it in my house, morning and evening, just as I hear the traffic noise. Therefore, for me it is part of this ambience. It is voice of a short and thin Marathi guy. Perhaps well built under his white shirt and dhoti, since he walked such a lot all over, and carried all his stuff on his shoulders. He did not own a cart, like many others. Be it summer, winter or thrashing rains, he was very regular in his business trips. He weighed newspapers with his small weighing scale that has a mettle hook. Somehow I never sold my old newspapers to people who used a that kind of weighing scale. I knew their scale would never be right.

I had experienced it once. One day I called out to a young man to sell the newspapers. He arranged the newspapers in a neat heap, tied it up, pushed the hook of his scale in the string… and pulled it up. Simultaneously his face distorted, right arm shivered and his gorging eyes gave out his failing strength. “3 kilos”, he said, putting it down heavily. I laughed, “Does lifting only 3 kilos of weight makes you shit in your pants?” He was so sheepish. He didn’t know whether to admit that he was weak or a cheat. I asked him to get lost… Years passed, I did not change my view of scale with hook and never dealt with that dabba batliwalla too.

Coming back to only constant ‘dabba batliwallaaa…’ in this entirely changed settings. The new 7-Bungalows. He was still making his rounds, though virtually doing no business. His bag remained empty in the morning and in the evening. He looked older as he had been walking on this road for more than quarter of a century. His walk is a drag now, as though he is pulling himself in an invisible cart. I realized I too had changed. I had become soft towards him. I think it started with my wife. One day we had some empty whiskey bottles to dispose off. She called him and handed the bottles to him. As he fiddled in his pocket for coins to pay her; she told him not to bother and instead gave him Rs 5. He must have been shocked. It is not the way this business works. This was 5 years back. Since then our business model has been modified. She said he is so old now. I too liked the idea. He takes the bottles, which actually helps us in clearing clutter and we pay him for it. He says ‘Namaste’ and both parties are mutually grateful.

Later I worked on making this business relationship a step ahead. I started wishing him, ‘Namaskar’ Kaka, whenever I passed him on the road. He is happy about that. One day I stopped him, made small talk with him and asked him his name. “Sukhdev” he said. I found his name a little surprising. I always imagined him to be Sakharam, Ganpat or may be Patil. Sukhdev was so unlikely for a such a typical Marathi Manoos. More over I did not have too many Sukhdevs in my memory. First one was a huge documentary filmmaker and second was the freedom fighter - both Punjabis. Never mind I thought. He says his name is Sukhdev. It is fine. After that I started addressing him with his name rather than just ‘Kaka’. That made him feel better, because when someone living in a flat calls a ‘dabba batliwalla’, by his name, it must give him good feelings. At least that was my intention…

It has been 4 months he has not been heard. There are quite a few bottles lying under the kitchen sink. After waiting for quite a few days, I decided to find out about him from the nearby cobbler Parmeshwar.

I stepped out immediately and met Parmeshwar. I asked him for Sukhdev’s where about, saying he has not been seen for some time now. He at first could not recollect the person, but then he said ‘oh him? He met with an accident.’ I was surprised, ‘When?’ I asked him. ‘May be about 4-5 months back.’ He added, ‘he was in hospital for sometime after that I don’t know.’

‘Oh I see!’ I exclaimed, feeling very bad. Parmeshwar noticing my concerned said, ‘I know where he stays. I will go and find out how is he feeling and let you know.’ ‘Fine’ I said and came back…

Two day later Parmeshwar called out to me from my balcony. I saw him peeping in. He said Sukhdev is very weak. He cannot get up. He is perhaps too old to recover completely. I felt like going to meet him right then, but in the hot afternoon it was not so easy to get up and get out. I lost to my will power. In a few days bunch of empty bottles vanished. My wife must have disposed them off.

… Sometime back I was with my son in the balcony. Sukhdev was passing and calling in his powerful patent style, ‘dabba batliwallaaa’. In a light mood, I told Prateek, I have never seen this Dabbawalla eating any meals, ever. He just walks and walks. That means he may be burning many more calories than he is consuming. That also could mean that one fine day someone will find his shirt and dhoti on the street, but without him in it! Ha ha… it’s not funny.

Now it seems so much has changed on this road.

At midnight, Sushila and Prateek called to wish me. I woke up at 7am after my first night in Jeolikote. It was Sep 25, 2008. I was brushing my teeth facing the mirror above the wash basin in his verandah. I felt the view in the mirror was drastically different than any other I had seen. Here the background behind me was a range of mountains with a gorgeous valley in between. Not a usual tiled flat wall. Hmmm, I knew this odd feeling was due to a lot of depth and 3D effect in the mirror. As my mind opened further I found the view more breathtaking.

At 8.30, Krishnanand went down to unlock his scooter from the electric pole. He uses a very heavy iron chain to lock his two-wheeler. After a few kicks we were on our way uphill towards Nainital. I was in a T-shirt and in shadow areas the air was a bit nippy. I took out my camera and shot a video of the fleeting view. I found that being on a scooter there were no restrictions like windows or wind screens. I could move my hand freely.

About a kilo-meter before the observatory the scooter stalled. So I got off for it to be restarted. It started but I decided to walk up. I told Krishnanand to carry on.

Everything that I saw seemed like worth taking home. So I clicked everything on my way up; flowers, valleys, multi layered distant mountains, including myself with auto click. I feel so ‘on my own’ when I am all alone; ha ha ha, obviously! The walk up to the observatory was actually quite tiring. I was sweating and panting… haven’t trekked for long.

Finally I reached up and my new scientist friends greeted me. Krishnanand was in his room. I asked him if I could visit Almora or Ranikhet (both 59km) in about 10 hours. It would have been nice. I did that once when I had visited Sariska national park, from Jaipur. On my way back to Jaipur from Sariska, the buses were damn packed. So I took a bus going in the opposite direction to Alwar. There I went around the city in a cycle rickshaw trip and later got an empty bus to Jaipur… but here everyone discouraged me from taking any trip. They said it had been raining and buses were very slow on the hilly roads. My train for Delhi was at 8.30pm same day. So without resistance I gave up the idea and decided to make the best of Nainital itself.

Aries has a staff bus that keeps going up and down to Nainital. It is used by working women and students. I took that bus at 10am and reached the lake city in 25mins. I was told to definitely get the return bus at 4pm. There was enough time for loafing around. I went to the Talli Tal rowing boat office and booked a boat to go to Malli Tal. Ticket cost, Rs125. This was my third trip but I never had an opportunity to be on a boat in this lake.

Someone called out to my boat man asking him ‘how are things?’ to which he said ‘I have got a trip after 4 days.’  A little surprised I struck a conversation with the pleasant looking boat man.

‘What work, do you?’

‘Just row my boat, nothing else.’

‘But you said you have got a tourist after 4 days, so how does it work for you?’

‘I know, but there are no jobs here. I can only do this.’

‘But look at this town, there are so many hotels, restaurants, offices, you can’t find work any where?’

‘No one gives you a job. Everywhere only the family members do all the jobs, like cleaning, serving, cooking etc. They too can’t afford to hire outside help. ‘Only in ‘season time’ there are some jobs.’

‘Oh, but if you don’t make enough money, how do you feed your family? You have to find ways to do it.’

‘I know this place well sir. I know every shop here. None needs outside help.’

I had been asking him to click some of my pictures too in between our conversation. In about 25mins I was at Malli Tal. It was past 11am. I was headed towards the rope way, when I heard someone call me. A tourist cab driver was shoving a photo album towards me with pictures of various important points. He kept walking along and flipping the pages. He had my attention. ‘I will show you seven points in Rs 400’. I stopped, ‘how many people are in the taxi?’ ‘No one, just you.’ ‘OK, get the taxi,’ I said without a hitch. He made a call from his cell and a Maruti Omni appeared from a lane and I was on my way. In 5 min the young driver parked the car and said, ‘this is Cave Garden.’ I got off bought the entry ticket and went in. The caves are quite interesting, real natural and wild. They claim that wild animals like tigers actually used lived here. To make it more authentic he added, ‘before the garden opens to public, guards check the caves thoroughly just in case…’

Next stop was ‘Bara Patthar’ or ‘12 rocks’. Actually Indians called the rock as ‘Bada’ meaning big; but British mispronounced it as ‘Bara’. So the name stuck. Young ones come here for rock climbing.

3^rd stop was on a peak to view ‘Khurpa Tal’. But it was very foggy. An army of clouds were on the move. The lake is in the shape of a cow’s hoof (Khur). After about 10min I got a fleeting glance of it. At 12.30pm I was at 4^th point, ‘Sadia (rotting) Tal’. Lot of rotting plants were floating on it. In the restaurant near the cascade of water, I had some snacks and tea. Next was lover’s point. It is a rock where couples get their snaps done as the background is very cool. But what is not cool here. My driver cum guide showed me a mountain called as ‘China Peak’. He said before 1982 you could see Great Wall of China from top of that peak. In 1982, however there was a huge land slide that made the peak shorter, hiding the view. All the rocks that came crashing down made a partition in the main lake. The new smaller part did not have any source of water, thus remained dry. It is called as ‘Sookha (dry) Tal’. However Sookha, it did have some water in it.

My last point was called Himalaya Darshan. From here snow capped Himalayan peaks can be seen. But that being a cloudy day the view was blocked.

From here I was dropped near the top point of the rope way. Driver told me, it is a 10min walk. A short walk was going to do me good after 2 hours in a car. I set off on the path. And soon I was facing a bunch of my most scary animals, monkeys! A huge healthy one was looking and walking confidently towards me. I stopped in my tracks and hid in the village. An old lady told me that pick up a stick and walk, they wouldn’t say anything. No way, any stick, I thought. Bad idea. There were too many monkeys walking the only narrow path. Only when I noticed the flow had stopped and the fattest fellow had vanished, I casually stepped on the path. Few babies crossed my way…

I wonder if this feeling of having heart in mouth does any good to you. I am sure my pulse rate must have been very high without any cardio work out. Finally after covering 200 meters in 15mins, I reached rope way. It started raining; but it was nice feeling to float over the trees and look at the lake right down.

I had lunch in an ordinary place called New Raj on the Mall Road. It was 2.15, when I started walking from Malli Tal to reach Talli Tal. Mall road is very pretty, clean and is fairly lengthy. It was a nice one hour stroll.

I had to spend another half an hour before the bus came. I walked up the hilly market area. The bus was there at sharp 4 and I reached back soon.

We both left at 5pm from there, since I was to take a bus to Kathgodam from Jeolikote by 7pm definitely. Pushpa bhabhi had packed dry dinner for me. I got my bag down to the street. It was dark by now. Bus appeared suddenly, I jumped in saying a hurried ‘bye’ to Krishnanand. In 40min I was on the platform. I had my dinner there itself. Soon the train arrived; I found my berth, made my bed and felt relaxed.

It may not look like it at all; but actually I was on a business trip to Nainital.

On May 17 at 6.10pm precisely, I got out for my daily walk. Sun was still quite high. I had decided to go Versova beach, which will get dark after sunset, as there are no lights there. On the way there is an entry to Seven Bunglow beach too. Just for the heck of it, I turned in. I love to take sudden decisions and check out my hitches… At the edge of the lane I realized something was missing. ‘Parekh House’! It had been demolished, obviously to make way for an apartment block. It had a sturdy stone structure and its interior had an old world charm. Parekh House had been a well known landmark and was regularly used for film shootings. I too had done many films here. ‘Aangan ki Kali’ was entirely shot here… never mind; old has to give way to new. And especially if you can't maintain something, let it go.

Last time I came to this beach, Arohi and Uchit were with me. It was their first day with us. There was a cluster of illegal huts all over. And the beach itself was full of human dirt. We had to dodge and walk. I was feeling very bad for the kids. They had come down from a squeaky clean Canada, to watch this …?  Today again I decided to take look. If it is not clean, I will walk along the beach to Versova, I thought. But surprisingly today everything seems to have changed for the better. Huts had gone and there was no dirt. Kids were playing cricket and football on the long beach.

Seven Bunglow beach is quite interesting. As you leave the road and step on the sand, you see a hump of sand going across the length of the beach that blocks the vision of water. You have to climb the dry sand for sea to reveal itself.

From top of the sand bump, I looked towards Juhu and was stunned. I had never seen so much clarity in the air. I could see Juhu, Bandra and even Nariman Point very clearly (even without my specks). It looked so gorgeous that I stopped and turned back to get my camera from home. I wanted to capture the scenes for everyone to see. I don’t remember seeing such a beautiful panorama, in my own backyard beach. But then I stopped and thought that it is a long walk home. If in the mean while, the light changes, I will miss everything. The pictures and enjoying it live too. God knows when it would look so pretty again.

From the sand hump there is a little slope down to a wide inviting beach. On the right is Versova beach, my usual walk destination. I started walking towards left. After a 500 meter walk I reached the edge of Seven Bunglow. Here a sea water channel separates Seven Bunglow from Juhu beach. The Mumbai sky line was looking even better as I came close to the edge. The stream flows towards land during high tides and goes back into the sea during low tides and that is when you can easily go across it.

Southern canvas looked like a carefully painted background for film shootings in studios. There was a uniform spread of clouds across the horizon in the distance. And under that long belt of clouds, city sky line was uniformly lit up by direct soft light of setting sun. Yet the sky on top was blue. Every known building was clearly defined. Sea Rock hotel, Taj Land’s End, TV tower at Worli and finally Air India and other buildings at Nariman Point. I could see the NCPA tower clearly. Soft sunlight was falling on entire coastal landscape and on the cloud-belt. Suddenly I noticed a white color spray of light or water near Bandra and was wondering what was it? It had a starting point from top and spread downwards left and right. Thanks to the magic of diffuser in my eyes, the secret opened after I had taken many rounds. It was the cluster of ropes that was holding a part of Bandra-Worli sea link, bridge! I thanked my memory stick, not the eyes.

Direct sun and its glare in water were making it twice as bright. I had to change angle of my walk. I took many rounds between the dividing stream and last cricket pitch. Many people especially young couples were crossing up and down the stream to reach Juhu beach. They had to hold their footwear in their hands and wade through ankle deep clean water.

Around 6.30, sun hid behind clouds close to the edge of water, making it very pleasant. Breeze had turned cool on my sweaty body. Around 6.45, I sent the sun to wake up Rimko in NY. Skyline had changed from the ‘Color’ film look to nostalgic B&W. Only a splash of flaming orange remained on the edges of clouds. A Jumbo jet rose quietly from the dark left. As it moved over Juhu, it lit up warmly in fading sunlight…

Now the sky got a color that I had never seen in my life. A band of purple color was spread above the stretch of clouds. I stopped and started staring at this never seen before, color. Clouds were totally in B&W now. Purple was also gradually changing its saturation. Effect of color kept reducing as proportion of black grew in the mix.

For a few moments I was getting this weird but strong feeling that I was on a wrong planet.

Long back once I had made a design on my T shirt, which looked something like the one shown below. I know, I know; it is not clear what it is supposed to be. Well, these are marks of exclamation like this- ‘!’ The first ‘!’ is straight, as it is supposed to be; expressing the expression of exclamation for the writer or the expresser. But then there comes a stage, after you have seen so many things going topsy-turvy in your life that you stop reacting to a misfortune that has suddenly appeared in front of you. Next bad luck does not surprise you. It was to denote that sense, the last one of the ‘!’ has become flat or ineffective.

Not long ago, I used to get kicked by fairly average events in life- come home and start punching the key board and upload it. But since constant kicks of time has forced the proud ‘!’ into submission; I stopped punching the key board that often. But of course big surprising surprises too do pop in once in a while. They manage to drag me to the computer trolley, hold my neck over the key board until I start thinking, ‘how to start.’

Enter a pleasant surprise of Aug 29, 2008. At 8.30pm a group of 120 people collected at the PVR theatre, Juhu to see ‘Rock On’. All of us were Purab’s family, extended family and family friends and plain friends.

Well, I knew about this movie for sometime. I had heard about it when it was to roll and then once I had gone to see its shoot too with Indu and Prateek. The production seemed to be thoroughly professional but it certainly did not seem to fall in ‘big budget’ bracket. Biggest name in the film was, director Farhan Akhtar, but he was not directing this film; he was the lead actor and singer in it. So in that sense even his big name didn’t count for the box-office appeal. But somewhere on the way ‘Magik’ happened. Actors in the film were a group of friends, who perhaps believed in the subject (sorry for the cliché) and made an honest film. Friends in life, playing the friends in the film, became deadly authentic.

Due to honesty of making, a dew fresh look at life of current youth, new sound of music and film’s technical brilliance; Big-daddy of media grabbed the film, as well as its Hindi Rock music…

For the group of 120, including me, Purab was the point of focus. He has grown up in front of us all. Starting a bit unsteady as a student, he got invaluable experience as a child actor in school campus TV soap, ‘Hip Hip Hurray’. He managed to sink his teeth in the field of performing art called ‘acting’ by being a popular VJ on Channel-V and ad films. After a few years on the small screen, he started dreaming the big screen dreams. Without getting into his period of ‘anxiety’, let us steer into the area from where things get super serious for Purab’s life; that is post ‘Rock On’.

Eventually every metro guy and gal will see ‘Rock On’, so it’s no point getting into the story telling. Main thing is that, this film is a great product. The film has flawless camera work, very good ‘sound’ and seamless editing.

Purab’s role was kind of tailor made for him. He plays a witty and cute baby of the rock group. He carried the role of an energetic drummer very well. His out bursts at two points were well balanced and had excellent take off and landing. Not to forget the impromptu solo song that he did in a party scene sent girls in the theatre into tizzy.

Farhan Akhtar and Luke Kenny had some scope for maneuvering their parts to higher levels. Prachi Desai, playing his wife delivered very well, especially whenever a scene needed her strength. But surprise came from an unexpected quarter- Arjun Rampal and his wife, Shahana Gosawami. For me watching these two, especially Shahana was most fulfilling. Although I am technician myself; watching good performances always refreshes me. They make everything so believable and thus watch-able. Remember how many films having crappy story lines became golden jubilee hits, thanks to Amitabh Bachchan’s power of performance!

Music of ‘Rock On’ by Shankar Ehsaan Loy is doing very well. All the young ones are listening to it and singing along aloud ‘Rock On’. Javed Saab has come out amazing as a lyricist in this new kind of writing. Here lyrics did not require well penned beautiful tender lines like in Silsila or Love Story 1942. The songs here have the quality of lyrics that were perhaps ‘scribbled’ just before the show. I am sure he took his time to achieve that.

Congratulations to producers Ritesh Sidhwani & Farhan Akhtar for choosing services of director Abhishek Kapoor. He is a real thorough guy, who knows his ‘ok’ takes. It is strange that everyone’s name is brought up while talking about the success of the film; Abhishek Kapoor is not heard. Appun ka phillum industry aisaich hai; it has always been like that. But take it from me he is the back bone of all the rocking that is going on. And he is going to be a hot property soon…

Post ‘Rock On’, I am so happy for Purab. Professional and mental well being of any actor so frightfully depends upon the fate of his last released film. He desperately needs to be noticed and appreciated… Listening to the girls squealing his name aloud ‘Pooorab’ in the theatre, it seems the time has come for him to get ready and pull his ‘socks on’.

In all this noise and hustle, my mind goes to Purab’s very sober, bright, creative and pretty wife, Yamini. Fasten your seat belt too Yamini, it may be the take-off time; but I guess you are the one who has to keep things well grounded.

I know I am being boring here - can’t help it. I guess I have turned into a boring guy. When and how it happened I have no idea. Did it happen gradually or quickly? No idea, but you can ‘blame it on me’.

Next days’ shoot was in Colaba Woods. It is such a lovely garden at Cuff Parade, close to hotel Taj President. After reaching first thing I did was to go for short walk there. I thoroughly enjoyed the garden. At one point the garden touches the WTC of Mumbai. For a suburbanite like me it feels awesome, looking up at the tall high profile structure.

The shoot turned out to be quite tough. As morning turned into noon, it became very hot. There were no chairs and work was hectic, as Rahul was leaving at 1pm.

We shot till about 2.30pm. I was tired. Perhaps hard work of this kind has happened after very long. Any ways, the shoot was complete and the end was happy.

After a little walk around, I took an AC bus from WTC to home. I was very tired. Due to comfort of AC and cushioned seats, I went to sleep immediately. Thank god for it, since the journey was nearly 2 hours long! Sleeping is the best ‘time pass’ for me. I always do it during long distance train journeys. Sleep, sleep and some more sleep, till I get there.

Next 2 days I had my classes at the SNDT for media students. This year media class has only 3 students. And on that day, one of them happened to be absent, which meant 33% of the class was missing. So I lectured my lungs off for just two students. ‘Bahut na-insafi hai’!

Yesterday I went to the Seven Bunglow beach to get some pending pictures for an earlier blog post. But the light was wrong… I clicked some any ways. I call them ‘sunset soaked striped sand’. What say you?