I pray for Dilip Kumar's health

A date with tragedy king*

(*Published in HT & The Tribune)

By: Rajbir Deswal
During my school days I saw Dilip Kumar’s “Paigham”, a Gemini production, thrice and he became my beau ideal for the rest of my life. I would not let go a Dilip Kumar movie without being seen anywhere around till my college and university days. All my life I have remained a great fan to him. In 1979, when I was a sub-editor in a weekly in Delhi, I was finally able to grab an opportunity of talking to him.
I met him at his bungalow in Mumbai last June and spent about a couple of hours with him. The discussion took off with the mention of “Musafir”. In London, way back in 1992, I was able to procure a video cassette of “Musafir”.
Dilip Kumar, also called reverentially by his original name Yusuf Bhai by his intimate friends and admirers, evinced keen interest in me, looking at me with his deep, probing eyes. I moved on to “Paigham” and Dilip Kumar’s pairing with Raj Kumar as also that the movie, seen thrice in my childhood, was still fresh in my mind.
And when I, purposely though to open up the maestro, recalled his “Insaniyat” with Dev Anand and “Andaaz” with Raj Kapoor, Dilip Sahib instantaneously manoeuvred an expression of compassion and gratitude in his observing eyes and said, “I never knew I had admirers in a state like Haryana too.”
The rest of one and a half hours with Dilip Kumar was virtually a treat.
“Yes, those were the days....!” In Musafir” Bimal and Rishi counselled and desired it, to be a happy ending plot with Dilip Kumar dying...!” He laughed with a jerk when I intervened. “But the perfection with which your fingers dance d on the violin chords was superb”.
Acknowledging the compliment, Dilip Sahib reverted back to “Musafir” and his “dying”, “I don’t know in how many ways I have died in the Hindi films. Now it occurs to me that I have exhausted all modes to die in a film.” He again laughed and added, “it was in a light comedy, ‘Azad’, in which I didn’t die. People in the film industry started talking about then that Dilip Kumar had had his funeral’ obviously they thought if I would not die I would do a comedy film and I would be ‘finished’.”
Here entered Captain Baig, a pilot-friend of Dilip Kumar, “He has the rarest distinction of flying a plane even after having a bypass surgery,” he turned to a blend of the mundane and the philosophical undercurrents of modern life.
“Look how poorer have we been rendered in time. You start with supersonic speed from London to meet your son in New York and then you are in so much of a hurry to rush back. Your being with your son, at such a speed, does not afford you enough time to sit and chat with him.”
Here Dilip Sahib was all praise for a train journey of yesteryear when he produced the sound and imitated, “Those slow-moving trains had much solace to offer with their kha-rang-tang-kharang-tang, and if a tunnel would approach it, he would add a shatak-shatak note. If the train was going over a bridge then trong-tong-trong-tong would resonate, making the train journey an enjoyable experience. But Captain Baig...!” Dilip Kumar laughed, and we laughed at his imitating the train.
Raj Kiran, a film star, joined at this juncture and Dilip Sahib introduced him and asked him to be seated. He would only bow to him and keep standing with a file in hand. They exchanged some notes quietly and Dilip Sahib joined us back. I reminded him of his interviewing Noorjahan on television some years back. With a strange flash of smile on his lips and almost being nostalgic he recollected the melodies of olden days.
First he hummed and then started singing. “Uthaye ja unke sitam aur jiyeja; yuhin muskurayeja, aansu piyeja.” And prolonging and accentuating the notation wherever needed to render it very sweetly, Dilip Sahib did so and said “You know these days they have those Tara-Rara’s and Na-na-na-na-na-re, na-re only. The other day Lata Behan was telling me—Aaj kal hum koi gane gate those hain, ugaltey hain,”.
Suddenly, he rose and took us to his nicely maintained green backyard. But he was disappointed because the buildings near his bungalow were coming up, “blowing to winds all norms”. Here we had a brief photo-session with Dilip Sahib guiding us as to what would be the most suitable angle for natural sunlight available on the face.

Wild Beauties मिलें ना फूल तो काँटों से दोस्ती कर लो

When it comes to appreciating or arranging flowers, we always go for the apparently good looking ones with pithy and nicely naturally cut or shaped petals or green stems and almost perspiring leaves. Why do we not appreciate the wild varieties which again are a creation of Mother Nature and grow in more exacting environs than usual. I mean heat, less water, extreme winters, deserts, tropics etc etc. The spikes and thorns put us off generally. Dryness and brownness of leaves does not attract our eyes. But if you have a liberal VIEW then you will see that even the wild varieties of flora is equally beautiful.

I took these pictures wading through the Mary Moor Park in Redmond, Seattle.

Click the TITLE above to see all photos in a web album

When Michael Jackson 'Happened' to me twice!

By: Rajbir Deswal
I am more amazed at my association (?) with Michael Jackson who I didn’t know (!) till I landed in London in 1992. Being an Indian and always fond of Indian light music, I had no idea of pop except our own desi variety.When I was told by my host in London that Michael Jackson had come to perform there, I could not figure out the newsyness of the thing, nor had I an idea that the guy would make big news in the tabloids the next morning.Lo and behold, he was shown in the frontpage pics appearing in the balcony of his hotel, when thousands of his fans had assembled to catch a glimpse of their beau idol!There after, I associated myself with the legendary Michael in many ways including imitating his style (then acrobatics for me and many others of my ilk) at the cost of developing low back ache once in a while.The second time Michael Jackson ‘happened’ to me was the day he died. I was by chance in Los Angeles, his own city, when the tidings came that he breathed his last.Something in me had me rush to the Walk of Fame near Kodak Theatre in Hollywood. I stood by his ‘star’ for hours and witnessed his admirers remembering him almost singing encomiums and saying paeans with the common refrain being “We love you Michael!”People were taking their turns to offer their love and obeisance not failing to pose for a photo in the backdrop of a continuing ‘mini-memorial fans service’. I too posed for a photo which will be with me for all times to come as a reminder to the King of Pop.While they are having a memorial service for Michael Jakson in LA, I can chime in with his fans to say “We love you Michael!” See me in the pic...yes behind a Rayban!

Jab we met...! जब वी मेट

By Rajbir Deswal
We met almost every day. On our evening stroll. I didn’t know her. Nor did she know me. Her walking laps were smaller. Just close to her house. She preferred going not too far.
I saw her reverting back to her house after completing a lap or two. Then again she was there. Alone, or with someone from the neighbourhood. I could also once in a while listen to something like crooning of a song, when she passed by.
Her children used to catch up with her sometimes. She seemed to be someone who was a favourite in the neighbouring houses. But we had no interaction amongst ourselves. Not even formally greeting each other.
Then one day I found there were many vehicles parked near her house. There were no signs of any kind of a celebration or revelling. The atmosphere looked to be very gloomy.
I passed by her house. Tried to figure out if something had gone wrong. I couldn’t know. The following day when I again went on the same stroll route with my wife, she told me that the owner of the house had died.
“O’ God that is why I don’t see her out of the house anymore!” I murmured to myself.
After some days I could spot her standing near the gate of her house and talking to another woman of the neighbourhood. Suddenly, I got worried as to how would I gather courage to pass by her, without saying a few words of condolence.
And what would I say. As I said, we never talked to each other. My steps dithered and failed their direction. I couldn’t lift my eyes to catch hers. How would I do that? What if our eyes met? What would be my reaction? I was still walking towards her.
And she bowed her head and wished me with folded hands. Things suddenly became very easy for me. I told her I was sorry to have heard the sad news. “But what happened all of a sudden?” I asked her.
“He was straight-bodied like you. His heart failed.” She was able to barely speak. Her voice died in a choke. Tears rolled down her eyes and she went inside her house. I also went my way. With a heavy heart.
Now we meet oftener. Now we greet each other with folded hands. We have no hesitation at all. She seems to have come to terms with her tragedy. Time is a great healer. Also that we unite in grief and stand by each other, than in happier times! Life goes on. But walk we must.To meet one another at some point of time lest we fight shy of letting our eyes meet!