Sab kuchh luta ke सब कुछ लुटा के होश में आए तो क्या किया

Rajbir Deswal sings : Sab kuchh luta ke hosh main aayee to kya kiya

With Dev Anand

I am on right side of Dev Anand and touch him on the shoulder to invite attention. We were then talking about his Prem Pujari.

We love you, Dev Anand!

by Rajbir Deswal
DEV Anand never looked more pleasant to me than when receiving the Dada Sahib Phalke Award at the hands of President A.P.J. Abdul Kalam. Being an ardent fan of the Tragedy King, I have only been an admirer of Dev Anand despite some of the “flop-sides” of the man and his mannerisms. But it occurs to me that it was largely because of this deportment that many cinema lovers liked his screen presence — a fact that he cashed in on even in his flop films.
While the frontal gap in his denture, a la Mrs Slip Slop or, nearer home, Asha Parekh, enhanced the magnetic effect in romantic scenes, as some people believe, his protruding lower lip while executing emotions made him look intolerable. His rolling of the perfectly rounded eyeballs added confusion to his performance. Yet, he was liked.
His gait, employing a three-foot swing to the left and right, made him look the biggest drunkard on earth. Coupled with this zigzagging, the drooping shoulders made him a creature deserving sympathy. Still he was adored.
His dialogue delivery always ran in the fast forward mode. The notation and pitch falling and rising every now and then as if someone was writhing in pain made the audiences lend an extra ear attempting to decipher what he was saying. Even then he was admired.
Added to all this, his way of dressing and decking gave inferiority complex to those who boast of having a sartorial sense. His scarves, his headgear, his jackets, his chosen design or pattern in a particular cloth, black buttons with scoffed collars, black seams of his stitched apparel; everything had a Dev Anand mark on it. And he was rightly “impersonated”.
Old timers recall, although he denied it in a recent TV interview, that he was advised against wearing a red tie with a black suit since the combination could prove fatal to certain swooning onlookers of the opposite sex. His raised puff of hair, resembling perching of a sparrow, made people pirates of Dev Anand’s style of balon ki chiriya bithana! Obviously he was copied.
His finds, including Zeenat Aman, Tina Munim et al confirmed his exploration of freshness, ensured permanence of charm and an anticipated success of the “discoveries”. Above all his being the one whose one single glance on a “thing of beauty made joy for ever” made many a man envy him. Nevertheless, they adored him.
That Dev Anand refuses to age gives me a naughty flash of imagination. No wonder he had said, “They decorated me with the Dada Phalke Award whereas I deserved Chacha Phalke one because the latter has more youthful connotations.” We love you Dev Anand.

Nachhattar in New York: न्यू यार्क में नछत्तर सिंह

In Newjerk!

Rajbir Deswal : On a migrant Punjabi who took famously to Big Apple !
Nachhattar Singh is from Punjab and lives in New York. A school dropout, he had no other option but to pick up the bellboy’s job in a hotel after migrating to what he calls “Newjark”. We met him in his hotel. On noticing that we could speak Punjabi and that we were visitors from his own 'kontry', he took interest in us.
By no standards he appeared to be a man out of place. In his late-thirties and with a trimmed beard and pinkish-white complexion, he looked as if he was born and brought up in America. But the secret was out to the likes of us only when he opened his mouth to speak.
While in the lobby, we heard him interact with his customers. Sample this: “But tam flat?” “Phor tonty?” “Bill gat ban phrom hottal”. “Next” (He meant: “What time is your flight? At 4.20?) You will get a van from the hotel. Next please”).
Nachhattar Singh became quite friendly with us and he offered to double as our guide in New York. He would tell us, “Its going to be a bindy (windy) day, so better bear (wear) another jaa-kut (jacket),” and “Nyagra-Phaal beiwed from Kanada said looks marblous”. Hope you can make out what he said.
More than his ear-pleasing style (as enjoyed by us) of speaking English in an unadulterated Punjabi accent, his help rendered in saving some dollars was welcome. He would accompany us to his friendly vendors on the Time Square and get us cheaper stuff like phonecards or souvenirs. He even arranged a conference on phone to Delhi through the gadget at his residence.
He had a nephew Vimpy, whom he addressed as Bimpy, and who was employed as driver for the hotel van, courtesy Nachhattar’s connections. When we were to leave for the airport, he clubbed us with other customers in the van, which had four extra seats, saving us nearly $100.
Bidding goodbye to Nachhattar Singh with hugs, we thanked him for his services. As a last gesture of taking care of us, he called Vimpy and told him, “O’ Sambhaal Kay, Kaka! Raah-ch koi raff-ad na paa-een” (Take care boy. Avoid entering into trouble on the way).
Vimpy looked like his uncle and spoke after his fashion, but he needed to be groomed for living in New York since the boy did not have his “papers” in order.
As ill luck would have it, a car banged our van from the rear. The driver gave mouthfuls to Vimpy for no fault of his. Vimpy then alighted and charged menacingly at him and doled out choicest of Punjabi abuses which only we could understand.
Back in the van, Vimpy said, “Bladdy-phoolz! Eh sochday nay inha day pyo da kontry hai” (They think it is their father's(!) land). We recalled Nachhattar Singh’s cautionary and sagacious advice to Vimpy and wondered how bravely had he been putting up with hostilities in a land that is not his own Patiala or “Batala”.
While we made fun of Nachhattar’s language, the Americans made sense of it. This was precisely the lesson our friend wanted to give to his young nephew if the latter had to stay in Nachhattar’s “Newjark”.

Photo courtesy http://hindimoviesong.net/Blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/hindi-movie-singh-is-king.jpg

Ulta-Pulta in US --उल्टा पुल्टा इन अमरीका

उल्टा पुल्टा इन अमरीका

US customs and us
By: Rajbir Deswal
Yes, I will talk about both customs here in the US. The custom customs and also the custom customs. Customary musts of Wren and Martins are given a go by here. We in India are still the sticklers. Here we go, seriously.
Holidaying in Seattle this summer, I was surprised to watch the reaction of a local American on seeing an eagle. “Vow, did you hear the eagle squeak!” He asked me while strolling in Idylwood Park in Redmond.
I smiled back to reassure him since it is their national bird. But my mind took me on a flash back when in my village I used to dread the shriek of a kite of the eagle family, during the scorching heat of June. The yokels in my village likened the squeaking of the kite to the popping out of its eyes due to heat.
Many things here seem to claim the theme of Jaspal Bhatti’s copyright—Ulta-pulta! The lamp switches are on when turned up, and off when turned down. You tell your kids here to ‘always keep to the right’. There are no conductors and the drivers only give you tickets to your destination. The drivers flash the headlights of their vehicles to let you go first, unlike our desi variety who assert their right of way, being ‘Road Kings’.
Back at home, we receive gifts at the same time indulging in affectations like: “No, what was the need?” “No, it’s not done every time” “Why this formality?” But here when you receive gifts you are expected to open the packaging and appreciating the stuff, there and then, with many “Thank You!”s and “O so very thoughtful of you!”s.
Ofcourse when you are reading your fresh copy of the morning newspaper, then it is still the stale news of the previous evening here to catch up with. In India we invoke our Gods and Goddesses or even greatmen and women saying , “Hey” but here “Hey!” is to either express disgust or to address someone. “Hi” here is a greeting and backhome is exclamation of sorrow meaning—Alas! And lastly, you blow horns here only to invite frowns and not sound alarm to clear traffic as we do in India.

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!