HALF MOON
CHAPTER - 9
Night was silently, obediently passing by her. Mehar watched it with eyes filled with tears of joy mixed with sorrow, heart sinking with every beat deeper and deeper in her own ocean. Darkness in the window turned to sweet silvery moonlit square peeping at her lying half awake on her bed. She had taken a shower a few minutes back. Her blue nightgown felt fresh to her still aroused and at the same time blessed contours. She closed her eyes and felt Giriraj's brash lips on hers, bruising her with pleasure she never knew before. Many hours had passed, she still had his fragrance in her, making her need him again. She lay there waiting for the night to lull her to sleep, to throw her into oblivion, where she could be none, where she could belong to herself and do what deemed fit to her. The land of dreams beckoned her to enter as its gates were thrown open for likes of hers. She slept blissfully that night.
Morning arrived with hectic activity. She sent Ranjit to school, hurriedly got ready to receive the crew at railway station. The train arrived on time. She was a little late. As she entered the platform she saw people coming out. She hurried her pace. She had not met any member of the crew; all she knew was the camera person's name Amar Khanna. She was told that he wore blue jeans and white shirt. She smiled to herself and also at the person in Mr. Suri's office who provided her with this piece of information for there were many on the platform who filled this description. As she was moving forward while looking around herself, she saw them. There were three of them with all the equipment, suitcases strewn around them on the floor of the platform and standing silently, all three looking in three different directions.
She approached them and said “Hello, I am Mehar. I think you are looking for me.”
They looked at her and gave their tired smiles. She shook hands with them. Amar was easy to recognize. Middle aged, graying hair, medium height, large eyes, heavy built, white shirt and blue jeans. He spoke very fast and always seemed to be in hurry. He looked
Hassled and irritated. May be he did not like to wait for Mehar on the platform. Ranjan was taller than him, very thin, long nose, hungry eyes, long arms and equally long fingers continuously combing in his hair. He had this habit of commenting on everything that happened around him and expected a response from others too. Third one was Raju, young, brash, village bumpkin, eager to learn, eager to talk at all times, he was comfortable with everything around him and never demanded anything. Mehar learnt later as she worked with them.
They all came out of the station to the waiting car Mehar had booked for them. On the way to the guesthouse, Amar sat with Mehar in her car. He started asking questions about the city, which she answered. He told her that he was expecting to see a Punjabi woman laden with loads of gold as her name suggested but was surprised to see her. Mehar did not know whether to take this as a compliment or not, so she remained silent. She asked him when they would begin to work. He told her after all three of them had freshened up and had had their lunch, they would begin work. She left them at the guest house and went home to return later.
That day they went to the fort of Junagarh, old fort of Bikaner situated in the heart of city. Bastion of rulers of Bikaner, it dates back to fifteenth century, when crown prince of Jodhpur Rao Bikaji estranged with his father came to this wilderness, made this his home and created a new kingdom. This fort has many firsts to its credit. First aircraft that was flown in India is kept in its museum.
Beautifully painted ornately designed rooms tell many tale of those times. One room on the top floor of castle was the bedroom of the ruler. It was designed such that anyone who entered the main gate of the fort could be seen from its window. Mehar had been to this fort many times earlier. As they were shooting around they got a message from the director of the fort that he wanted to see them after their work was done. She had met him earlier to seek permission for this shoot, so was surprised at this but they went to see him in his office.
A distant relative of the royal family Mr. Singh greeted them with respect, politeness and grandeur fit to the royal place he was sitting in. He invited them for dinner that night but as Mehar had already lined up an interview that night they had to decline this invitation with due politeness. He too accepted this without any
Outward grudge but both Mehar and Amar felt his annoyance. The moment they came out of his office, Amar remarked, “Whatever there is to shoot here, let us do it now, for tomorrow we may not be able to shoot here.”
They did not have to return there next the day. Mehar though did not have any prior experience of this kind of work but had lined up other things for the next day. They finished the Fort shoot the same day. This shoot they did was for a story about Bollywood films that were shot in Bikaner. Many local people would get involved during these shootings. This made a beautiful story after editors fixed it with beautifully cut montage. Palace keepers were more than willing to show them the places where fights happened or where suicides were committed or places where hero and heroine of film romanced. Raju and Ranjan were constantly commenting as well as working on the directions of Amar. Mehar had to keep the logs of the shots.
It was early nineties and the system they were shooting on was U-matic. It consisted of one large very heavy camera with equally heavy tripod, heavier and bulky sound recorder which needed careful and attentive individual handling. Ranjan did that with his constant remarks thrown in between. Rustic Raju was to carry the tripod and other heavy loads. He even once whispered into Mehar's ears that Mr. Suri had instructed them to not to make Mehar carry anything, so if they ever did, she can complain to him. She laughed loudly at this suggestion. Raju looked bewildered.
They finished that shoot around late evening, had an early dinner at a restaurant in the main market of the city. Now was the time for two interviews. This was the first time Mehar was to interview for television. She asked Amar how to go about it. Amar explained that she would not be in the frame as it would be used to cut bites to streamline the story with. She immediately felt at ease. Whatever tension she had by now was erased. She was not feeling comfortable about being in front of the camera. They went to two different places for two interviews. She realized that setting up camera for it take a lot of time and effort as this involved light and other arrangements, since it was not daytime. So the first two lessons she learnt were to try to line interviews during the day time and to try to line them at one place only, as this cuts down time and labor both.
That night when she lay down she was dead tired and went to sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. But before long she woke up, lay there wondering if she should go to the railway station and see Giriraj off, as he was leaving the next day. She did not know how to handle that. He had told her that he would wait but in the same breath he also added that he would not like to see tears in her eyes. So he had thrown the ball in her court. She kept thinking but could not come to any decision. She needed to see him badly before he left but where and how she did not know. Thinking about him, feeling his absence with all her being she went back to sleep. Her parents were with her these days, so she did not have to worry about her household.
It ran efficiently.
Next day they resumed the shoot from early morning. This was a story about a small-scale industry of Bikaner, the “paapad industry”. A flourishing business for manufactures but the women who did manual work at basic level, backbone of this industry were the ones who were most deprived. They would get very little for their labor. These women would collect dough from manufactures, carry it home and roll out paapad with rolling pins – a very tedious and a tiring job. Inonedayonewomancouldrolloutabout50to60paapads. The money they would get for this job was a paltry sum. Now some women organizations had created co-operatives where women could share profit among themselves and hence were better off. But still this job paid very little compared to the labor involved in it.
She had named the story, “kitne paapad bele”. This is a phrase in Hindi which means “to express tough times”. Later this became a joke in Mr. Suri’s office. The moment she would enter it, many would call out aloud, “Hey. Mehar, kitane paapad bele” and she loved every moment of this teasing.
Now as they were going through this shoot, wandering in narrow streets of old Bikaner, Amar told her that she had to shoot for her piece in front of the camera for this story in one of these streets. She was nervous initially but soon composed herself and got down to prepare her part for the camera. She found it difficult to remember the whole thing as she had to look into lens of the camera, look friendly and had to be oblivious of the whole lot of people gathered around her. They were all over her, on her both
Sides, whispering among themselves, women and children on the roof tops looking down. The street was blocked. Traffic almost came to a standstill on either side of the street. This made her more conscious of herself. Finally after three retakes, fourth time she took a deep breath, decided that she had to do it now, was able to give the final take and everyone felt relieved.
Street was filled again with people, traffic and onlookers. People were friendly, since many knew her because of her familiar voice. Moreover it was the beginning of the television explosion in India and like every new beginning people were quite receptive to this. They were eager to know more, to have more. They wanted to see their lives on television. They loved the fact that their very own street would be telecast on television. They were happy that the story of their city would be telecast on national network. They were happy that their voice would be heard far and wide.
Though she was busy with her shoot, there was no space or time for h to think about anything but it was brewing inside her. As day was progressing and evening drawing closer, she was getting restless. Today was the day Giriraj was to leave by evening train. She wanted to see him off but she did not want to see him go. She did not know how to handle herself. She could not afford to cry, she was not able to concentrate, the saving grace was that she had recorded her ptoc in the afternoon and there was no interview scheduled for the evening of that day. She was simply tagging along with other members of the crew, her mind and her heart elsewhere.
They had lunch at the famous “pooree sabzee” joint of Bikaner. It was a late lunch. After they were through with it, she saw it was almost half past five in the evening. Giriraj's train was to leave in less than one hour. Her heart was aching to see him once again, to say goodbye in person, to shake his hand one final time as they had done on their first meeting. Work for that day was over. Amar told her that she should come with them to the guesthouse to see the footage of last two days’ shoots, so that if there was something missing, they could shoot it first thing next day and then proceed for their next story towards Ramdevra. This story was the highlight of this shoot schedule. Mehar had scheduled almost three days for this one as it involved a lot of traveling around.
She was at a loss of words but somehow managed to tell him that she needed to take a shower and change because of heat and
Dust, for which she needed to go home then join them later. From the guesthouse she picked up her car and instead of going home she headed towards railway station. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she failed to notice the sky darkening at the horizon. Bikaner being at the heart of Thar desert was always open and prone to dust storms at any day of the year, at any hour and sometimes it would be so intense that wind speed would be above one hundred kilometers per hour, that would make air carry small pebbles too along with the normal fine dust and tree leaves and other waste material lying on roads. Visibility would be reduced to zero and one has to be indoors under all conditions as being outdoors could prove to be fatal.
She had hardly gone about two kilometers and was in front of the hospital when the city was hit by it. Suddenly it was pitch dark and she felt her small lightweight Maruti-800 almost glide in air, a few inches above the road. She applied brakes immediately and came to a halt in the middle of the road. She switched on the headlights to realize that many shops on her right had their lights on but pulled down half of their shutters. She decided to park the car in front of one shop and take shelter in it. As she moved her foot away from the brake it began to move forward, such was the force of the wind. She immediately applied hand brake and maneuvered it to halt in front of one shop. She tried to park it with an angle with the wind’s direction, so it stayed there, did not fly away with the wind and create further havoc.
After parking the car she looked around to find a pitch dark street. Not a soul was to be seen. All she could see was some shreds of light falling out of nearest shops, and this light too diffused in the dust within a short distance of peeping out. All she could see from the quickly darkening windscreen of her car was hardly beyond less than ten meters away from her. She knew it was going to be bad for some time and might turn even worse. She had to find some place away from her vulnerable car to be safe. She gathered herself, took out her scarf and a torch from the glove box, covered her face and head with it, picked up her handbag and got out of the car.
It was difficult to get out of the car with dust particles piercing through clothes, she felt some on her face although she had covered her face with the scarf. With a torch and her handbag in her hand, she tried to find her way through darkness and left the car unlocked. After much effort she was able to make it to the entrance of one shop, kneeling down she tapped on the shutter and simultaneously
Entered it without waiting for an answer from inside. Once inside she opened her eyes and cleared eyelashes off the dust with her scarf. She was relieved to see that it was the same shop she always bought medicines from.
The owner Guptaji recognized her, made her sit and asked in worried tones if she was all right. She assured and thanked him. As she sat there waiting for the storm to calm down she knew that whatever little hope she had of seeing Giriraj one last time before he left Bikaner was lost. He must have reached the station by now and in less than half an hour his train would leave. Storm seemed to have slowed down but it would be long time before roads would be clear enough to move around and hospital was a good twenty minutes drive from Railway station under normal conditions.
She sat there not knowing what to do. She could not venture out, it was still not safe. She had even lost the opportunity of talking on phone with Giriraj. Had she known she would not have been able to make it to the station she would have called him earlier during the day. Now it was late. She felt helpless, deprived, lonely, lost in this wilderness. Sitting here inside this warm enclosure smelling of medicines, cardboard cartons, soaps, listening to roaring wind outside, stray material striking against shutter of the shop making threatening sounds, she felt her life to be in tandem with this chaos.
Her throat felt dry, she coughed and felt once again her eyes filling with tears. She hated herself for not knowing how to take care of herself. She hated herself for not telling those who cared that she was unhappy. She hated herself for not telling those who made her unhappy that she did not care for them. She hated herself for not telling those whom she wanted to know that she wanted to be happy.
She did not realize that her eyes were filled and she was staring in vacuum. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and returned with a start to herself to see that Guptaji had a cup of tea in his hand to offer her. She took that without a word and started sipping it without realizing that he was looking at her intently. The storm had died down by then. It was the time for the train too.
She said goodbye to Giriraj within herself and got up to leave. She thanked Guptaji for his kindness. A portly wise middle aged man, he accepted it with pleasure. He began to talk about his Guruji. He said that next time he had satsang at his residence he would send
Invitation to Mehar and she would have to come for that. She promised and stepped out of the shop. Shutters were now open.
Her little white car was coated with sand, she removed some of it from the windscreen with her scarf and drove home. The outer courtyard of her house was completely covered with dust. She hated this sand. The feel of sand between teeth, sand on her skin, on her fingers, on her clothes, between her teeth, that screeching sound of sand when anything moved on it made her shudder. She felt as if it rubbed on her brain. She wanted to remove every grain of sand from her being. She did not even look at little Ranjit when he greeted her and went straight to her bathroom.
After removing every garment from her body, she turned the shower on and stood under it. She did not realize when her eyes began to shed tears she had not allowed them to for so long. She felt the salt on her lips and realized that the water which was carrying sand from her hair down the face also had her tears mixed with it. She let them be. Merging with the feeling of despair she felt her throat ache and a small cry escaped her lips. She let it be. Soon she found herself sobbing uncontrollably. She felt comfortable with the fact that her bedroom was bolted from inside.
With the water gushing down her head and body she wept, she shampooed her hair, she soaped herself thoroughly, meticulously, every contour of her body, every inch of her surface, every contour she could reach to and she wept to her heart's content. She washed everything off her body and mind. But her heart ached when she covered her hair with her hair towel, it ached when she dried herself with another one and it was aching when she put on her night clothes. It ached when she called up the guest house to inform Amar that she would not come to view the footage and he told her to take rest as he was already through with that and would tell her the next day more was needed to be shot.
With an aching heart, and dried up eyes she ate her dinner with Ranjit and her parents. They thought her to be tired and asked her to retire immediately. Ranjit wanted to sleep in her room but she cajoled him to be with his grandparents and the child agreed. She came to her bedroom, waited for sleep to bless her. Sleep did come but in intervals. She was tired physically, mentally and emotionally. Exhausted beyond her control and slept the moment she put her head on pillow. Not much time had passed when she woke up to find herself in pin drop silence outside and within.
She got up and covering herself with a shawl, stood in the window to look out. Tree was silent as ever at this hour, lights were off, moon had begun to shed its slices, today it was two slices slimmer. She could see the whole of it right now, she knew it would rise higher in a short while, then hide behind the thick pungent smelling leaves of her neem tree. She wanted to savor it as long as it lasted in her window. Full moon with two slices gone, for her own moon was half the moon.
Morning was beautiful with her inner self at peace. There was so much to look forward to. She had to shoot for one more ptoc. She sat down on dining table waiting for breakfast, wrote that piece and was soon ready to leave. Her mother assured her that she would pack her bag for three days of travel which she could pick up while moving out of the city. She knew her mother would do a good job of it as she had had a touring job all her life.
This time they recorded the ptoc in desert just at the outskirts of the town. Now there was no crowd to disturb her. Only the vast expanse of sand dunes as far as eyes could see. There were lizards, small shrubs, sporadic grass too as it had recently rained, some creepers with little yellow flowers, some quails guarding their nests which they always make in sand. They would become highly agitated if anyone came near them. Mehar looked around and a shooting pain invaded her senses momentarily. This place was very close to royal crematorium, where she had come with Giriraj a few days back. She could see those umbrella sculptured in stone from where she was standing.
She tried to shake that feeling of gloom away from her and returned to present. She felt comfortable with the fact that once he settles down with his job, Giriraj will phone her and she will be able to speak to him. Amar was setting up camera among sand dunes for her ptoc and she observed keenly. She realized that though it was not very late, only half past eight in the morning but because of white sand they had a tough time trying to evade burning of the picture. Finally is was done. Mehar did three different takes for precautionary measures and they packed up. On their way back to Mehar's house to pickup her bag Amar took some more shots of the road in front of fort and other market activity. Soon they were ready to take the plunge for their next story, that was a tribute to “Baba Ramdev”.
Ramdevra is a village situated about 12 km to the north of Pokhran in Jaisalmer district of Rajasthan. The village is named after Baba Ramdevji, a Tanwar Rajput and a saint who took samadhi in 1459 A.D. at the age of 33 years. He was a descendant of Tomar rulers
- King Ajmal Tomar was descendant of Anagpal Tomar of Delhi. His son was Baba Ramdevji.
Maharaja Ganga Singh of Bikaner constructed a temple around the samadhi in 1931AD.
Near the village, there is a tank known as Ramsar tank which is believed to have been constructed by Baba Ramdev himself. A large fair known as Ramdevera Fair is held here from Bhado Sudi 2 to Bhadon Sudi 11 (Aug – Sept). It is attended by a large number of devotees who come in groups from far and wide. Irrespective of their caste, creed or religious affiliations, these devotees throng the shrine dedicated to the saint. These groups organize night long singing of bhajans and kirtans to pay homage to Baba.
People come from places as far as Delhi and Haryana. Majority of them travel on foot. Carts loaded with their provisions follow them. Families, friends in small and large groups. As the days pass their feet are infested with blisters, puss and blood oozes out as they walk, the bandages they tie around their feet are soaked and smeared with dirt, but the devotion with which they continue their journey on foot is remarkable.
Mehar had witnessed all this earlier too. She knew this shall be a popular story.
They picked up the bag from Mehar's house. Surjit was delighted to see crew members for the first time. They all did very solemnly pairee pauna to both her and Janab Singh. Surjit had prepared some aloo paranthas for them. They ate heartily with lots of praise for paranthas and her. Surjit was relieved to see the boys, felt happy and comfortable about Mehar’s well being with them. They started their journey. Amar was delighted to see caravans of devotees just outside the city limits. It was a beautiful sight; picture perfect.
Road were dotted with camel carts moving at slow pace, one after another, loaded with sacks of flour, vegetables, cooking vessels, steel boxes filled with pulses and other cooking material. Steel trunks of clothes, bedrolls and small children sitting on them
Exuded an ambiance of a fair. Colorful clothes, tired feet but their hearts were filled with enthusiasm and devotion for their saint. This one saint has devotees across all sections of society, rich and poor, Hindus and Muslims. Muslims call him “Ramdev peer” and Hindus call him “Baba Ramdev.”
As they kept moving with one such caravan taking their visuals, Mehar tried to zero in on people she would talk to later and record their bites. Setting sun looked at Mehar with its mesmerizing gaze. She felt her heart leap out to it. Large orange ball hung in the horizon just above her head at almost an arm’s length beckoned her to smile and brought tears to her eyes instead. Sky was turning Grey, darkening with every passing moment, wind had become sharper. Dust now looked more profound as now it had no sunlight to hide behind. Darkness was making a futile attempt to hide behind it, by pushing it to the forefront. Caravan they were shooting with stopped. Carts were offloaded. Preparation for the night halt began at war-footing. Men spread beds on the side of the road and women began to set their makeshift kitchens. Mehar spoke to a few members of the party about their journey and emotions, Amar recorded it and took leave of them.
They were still about two hours away from Pokhran, where they were supposed to stay for the night. After today's shoot everyone was tired and spent, no one was in a mood to talk. Even Raju was silent. As their car sped towards Pokhran, three of them slept while Mehar was wide awake thinking of nothing but the day that had passed. It was an eventful day, in terms of work they had established a lot. She felt that almost one fourth of the story was shot in half a day’s work and tomorrow at the shrine they would complete shoot for this story. After that they would have one more day in their hands. She was thinking of finding another story from this region so that the day could be utilized or else they might leave early and do another story in Bikaner. She had two story ideas in her mind, thought of discussing these with Amar and later with Mr. Suri on phone to get his approval for those.
It was around ten at night when they finally reached the one and only Hotel of Pokhran. On inquiry it was found that they had one suite and many rooms vacant. They booked suite and two rooms. Mehar being the only woman in crew had the privilege of staying in suite. Boys left her after they all had dinner in her room after saying goodnight.
She took a shower, changed into slacks and a long T-shirt, her night dress during traveling. As she opened her handbag to take out lip balm from it, she saw Rajinder’s unread letters looking at her. She was tired but she felt the compulsion to read those and took them out. As she was half way through the first letter, there was a knock on her door. It was Ranjan. He had come to see if she was all right and needed something. She thanked him and sent him back. He wanted to linger on but she was so lost in her own world that she failed to notice anything amiss. She politely asked to be left alone. He left with a disappointed air about him.
She had hardly gone through first letter and was about to open the second one when she heard another knock. She did not get up from the chair she was sitting on, she had not bolted door from inside after Ranjan had left. So she simply asked the person to come in. She was surprised to see Amar this time. He walked in and sat in front of her on the bed. Front room of the suite still had plates and leftover food from their dinner. Staff of the hotel had left for the day, receptionist had told Mehar that it will be cleared only in the morning. She had no choice but to bear the smell of the food through the night.
Amar began to talk about next day's shoot. They discussed it at length including Mehar's ptoc and other details. When this discussion was over she waited for him to leave. Instead he wanted to know if she wanted some coffee. She reminded him that at this hour of the night they will not be served any. In the room too there was no provisions to make any. He again asked her if she was comfortable with the room and was she able to take a good shower. She again assured him that she was very comfortable with everything and that she had the best possible room in this small town. It seemed to her that he wanted to talk more with her.
They had met three days back for the first time and up till now all that had been communicated between them was the professional talk. She felt that he wanted to be closer to her on personal level. She did not mind that but she was sleepy and moreover she wanted to read Rajinder's letters. She felt that she must at least know about his problems and write a reply to him whenever she found time to. For that she had to read his letters first. All this while when she was talking with Amar, she had kept them on a table by her side. Suddenly Amar noticed those and said, “oh! the love letters. Who are they from? Hubby dear or your lover boy Giriraj?”
She was stunned. She did not know that her personal life was known to anyone besides Colonel Arora. But in she was for many more such shocks now. She realized that the word spread like wildfire. Her surprised look made Amar explain that Giriraj's cousin from Lucknow, Meghnath Tiwari who worked for Mr. Suri had been in Delhi office a day before they had to leave for this shoot. During their conversation this information popped out of him. Amar did not tell her what more they talked about her but she felt uncomfortable. Amar after sensing this changed the subject.
He wanted to know more about her personal life, her education, hobbies, likes, dislikes and she kept answering him. Suddenly she felt something dawn on her. She became aware of his feelings towards her. Mehar in general was quite receptive of people's desires and views. At this moment it came to her in a flash that Amar was there for he wanted more than just plain simple talk with her. This put her off within a moment. She felt him coming close to her, touching her, though all this while he was still posted to his place, sitting on bed, looking at her and talking. She stopped responding to him. This sent the message and he got up.
He hurriedly said good night, left adding that she should bolt the inner bedroom from inside. She too got up from the chair, bolted that door and without a further look towards Rajinder’s letters went to bed. As she lay waiting for sleep to claim her she felt very lonely. She thought of Giriraj and wondered what he would be doing at this hour. He must have joined his new job by now. She wished he got his break in the field he wanted to with so much of passion. Thinking of him, listening to his husky voice and feeling his lips on hers she was soon fast asleep.
Next day they reached the temple quite early in the morning. As they were able to reach in time they got good footage of morning aartee. It was a very colorful as well as devotional affair. Devotees were standing in a queue to have darshan of inner chambers. As far as she could see there were people of all ages, visibly tired, feet swollen, bandaged, sun tanned faces, yet their eyes shone with joy from the task accomplished successfully. Many of them had been coming there for many years, year after year. They would be coming there in future too with the same devotion and faith in their hearts.
It was a highly spiritual experience for Mehar. Once inside the inner chambers she felt at peace with herself. She forgot of all that was going on inside her. She sat there for a few minutes and
watched Amar, Ranjan and Raju taking shots. She realized how fragile human emotions were. Now at this instant she did not feel any negative emotions towards Amar or Ranjan. Though in the morning when she had come out of her room and met them in the reception area, she had been thinking about their last night's behavior and felt a bitter taste in her mouth. She was shaken by their obvious conclusion from the knowledge of her personal life. Both of them had thought to take liberties with her. Sitting here right now, in this divine presence, rich aromas of agarbatees, prashad made of pure ghee filled her with peace and faith in herself.
She realized that what she was going through was a phase in her life and she would have to bear it with faith in herself and Almighty. She felt the need to read Rajinder's letters and reply to him and try to understand once again what there was in store for her with this man who was her legally wedded husband.
Amar beckoned her to come out as they had fixed the camera for priest’s interview. She got up with a final bow towards the deity and prepared herself to shoot questions to the priest, whose family had been serving at this shrine for many generations. He did talk about all that which she already knew and had written in her write up for this story. But she knew she would need these bites to insert during editing of the story so gave him ample time to say whatever he wanted to. Later she made this a practice to let the person say as much as they wanted to during recorded interviews. For many times she would get valuable information without asking many questions and interviewee too would feel good about her. They appreciated this fact that she did not interfere when they were speaking their mind and heart out. A little bit of caution and patience made her win many hearts during this profession, which she continued to pursue for many years. There were many lessons, which she learnt on her first shoot schedule and remembered for the rest of her life. Lessons of life and lessons of professions he had chosen to follow.
They came out of shrine. As they reached the pond there were more surprises for them in store. This was a sight right out of a Bollywood village fair. A huge riot of colors. Temporary stalls in tents, filled with colorful glass beads, bells for cattle, gilt and silver jewelry, glass bangles, sacks of red chilies, turmeric, dried ginger, jaggery, jars of pickles, embroidered ghaghra cholees, vessels made of brass and steel, big and small, photo shops. One bhujia stall set by one lone man all the way from Bikaner, a snack made of “moth”
flour, a locally grown lentil. On account of underground saltish water of Bikaner it has a distinct taste and flavor to it. The man was not frying bhujia here, as he claimed that if made with any other water than Bikaner's, it loses its distinctiveness. There were people everywhere. On stalls, buying, eating, testing, tasting, on small merry go rounds, strolling, running, sitting, standing.
While walking through this maze of people and shops, Mehar stumbled upon one woman heavily pregnant. Her head uncovered, very uncommon for any woman from this region, her heavy belly half hidden behind her thin odhanee, her lehenga soiled at the hem and her feet bare, she was obviously in pain. Mehar looked at her feet and was shocked to see them bandaged. This meant that she too had reached Ramdevera walking on foot. This was shocking for Mehar. When she looked at her face she could not resist herself asking her this. The woman looked back at her with her eyes swelled with tears of pain and helplessness.
Amar by this time had focused his lens on her, she covered her face with her veil as soon as she realized this. Her husband, a tall well built man of about thirty years of age came and stood by her. She further covered herself more. Now all that camera’s lens could capture was a yellow and red bundle of a woman. Mehar felt very sorry for this woman as well as for a picture opportunity they had missed on. She asked the woman softly if she was okay with walking on foot to reach the shrine in her present condition. She tried hard to get answer from her but the woman only nodded in affirmation. Now her husband took the cue and answered on her behalf.
He said, “She has come to seek blessings for my well being.”
Mehar felt the need to probe further. She asked, “but you seem to be all right, healthy and in good shape.”
He laughed and said,“Yes, she had taken good care of me when I was ill. I had typhoid and she really took very good care of me. Now when I am fine and fit we have come on foot to pay our tributes to Babaji.”
Mehar could not help asking, “but she is in the family way. She does not look fit enough to undergo such a tedious exercise.”
The man did not like her comment. He took the woman by her arm and drove her away. Mehar for a second felt that woman was unwilling to move but it was just for a fleeting moment and she
could not decide whether it was unwillingness on her part or just the fatigue deep inside her which forbade her to move quickly.
Mehar could not get her mind rid of this incident. She kept thinking of this for many days to come. Amar sensed her anguish and assured her that this part will not be edited out of the story. Whatever little he had been able to shoot, will be kept for people to see.
They moved further and reached the poolside. She could hear melodious singing above the din of multitudes spread along its banks. It was afternoon by this time. Many of them were gathered around small fires cooking their midday meals. There were women, men of all ages and children of all sizes. Amar set his camera around one such makeshift kitchen. When Mehar had a closer look she was pleased to see them cooking baatee son a sheet of coals made with cow dung. Tossing and turning baatees with sticks picked up from the trees around. Daal, a mixture of five lentils was boiling away to a frothy finish on a side burner made of bricks and mud. She loved this aroma of baking flour and remembered days when she was in school and their driver would make daal, batees and choorma at the back of the garden of their government house. She, her mother and driver's family would feast on them.
Now here many such fires were burning all around. A large groups of folk singers singing in the middle of the ground caught their attention. Amar went that way, taking shots as he moved, Ranjan running after him attached to him by the chord of audio recorder held in his arms. Mehar joked a day before that this seemed as if he is attached to Amar with an umbilical chord, this came back to her and she smiled. As she too followed them, she could smell aroma of pachmel daal and pure ghee. Daal which accompanied baatee invariably is a mixture of five lentils, always available in any Indian kitchen in the country. Batees as soon they were baked are taken out of the coals, shredded of ash, soaked in a big bowl of ghee and taken out to be served with daal. Some of these batees are left in another bowl of ghee to allow them to soak completely and then they are broken into powder form, sieved and mixed with more ghee and powdered sugar to make choorma. This is considered the most delicious part of this feast.
Later busy with this shoot running around with the boys, listening to bhajans sung in thick Rajasthani accent accompanied by
local musical instruments, she could hardly distinguish besides one local rough version of violin and drums, she was lost in their music. This was semi classical folk, deep throated and well rehearsed as these singers were professionals. They sang at fairs, temples, weddings and other functions. This has been a tradition with them for many centuries. There were many tribes in Rajasthan who had embraced this tradition for many generations and were so committed that their children took to music from the day they could utter an aalaap (the first note of musical chords).
After shooting people having a dip in sacred pond, preparing and eating their food, singing and other mundane activities, Mehar decided to record her ptoc here. She did that and this time in spite of the multitude around her she was left alone. No curious onlookers were there to divert her attention. This she attributed to their tiredness as well as seriousness of the tasks they were busy with, bathing and taking the grim as well as sins off themselves.
The crew too was tired and famished by now. They decided to call it a day and began packing up. Amar discussed with Mehar to decide that shoot for this story was over. They would proceed for their next story the next morning. Mehar had one more story up her sleeve form that region. It was based in a small town on their way back, Flaudi. There were newspapers reports of people especially children having blackened teeth because of abundance of fluoride in ground water used in that area. This was a localized story. She felt that it will not take them more than four or five hours to shoot it. Flaudi was close to Pokhran. Mehar knew that they will be able to shoot during early noon hours. They will be able to begin their return journey towards Bikaner by late afternoon and will be home by dinner time.
They returned to their hotel for a late lunch. This time Mehar decided that they have it in the restaurant downstairs. Boys were still eating when she finished her meal, told them that she wanted to take rest before they assemble in Amar's room to watch footage of the last two days. She did not wait for their reply, got up and left immediately.
Tired and full of dust, first thing she entered her room was to take her clothes off and take a good shower. Being a resident of Rajasthan especially for the last many years in Bikaner, she had come to realize that best antidote from the discomfort arising out of
Dust and sweat is a good cool or hot shower, depending upon the temperature of the day. This being a comparatively hot day, she was comfortable with normally lukewarm water from the water tank of hotel warmed by the sun during daytime. She dressed herself fully, lay down on bed and was soon fast asleep.
It was almost an hour before she woke up from her early evening slumber, totally lost and thirsty. She got up from the bed with a start and helped herself to a glass of water. It was cool but a little salty as in this area potable water mostly came from underground sources. The sweet water of Indira Gandhi Canal is mixed with it, but still its taste remains salty to a certain extent. They claim that this water is good for stomach, helps in quick digestion and help eradicate many stomach disorders. She felt the need to have some tea. While she made the call for it, she remembered to watch the footage and asked for tea in Amar's room.
It took them about three hours to go through these, by that time dinner had arrived. She returned to her room. After changing into night clothes, she decided to finish her pending task of reading Rajinder's letters. In spite of being a fast reader it took her more than half an hour to read three of his letters. His handwriting was not bad, problem was with the language. She had to read many sentences at least three or four times to understand the message he wanted to convey. He always insisted on writing in English, knowing very well himself that he was not very proficient in it. After she had gone through all of those she took out her letter pad from her carry along bag and sat down to write. It was middle of the night. There was silence all around and not a soul to disturb her. But she found difficult to concentrate.
She was at a loss as to what to write to him. He had explained his problems at hospital there, his problems at his apartment, cooking, finding other things etc., exorbitant prices of vegetables. Mehar smiled. For here he never shopped for provisions for the household, obviously he was not aware of prices of such commodities. She felt his comparing them with the prices here to be out of context. She wanted to write all this...The facts. But she knew this would annoy him. She could tolerate his annoyance too but he had this habit of conveying his displeasure to her parents simultaneously and this worried her. Her father never paid much attention but her mother always expressed her uneasiness in strong
words. She would reprimand her and in the same breath curse Rajinder for being immature and insensitive.
She tried to play safe and wrote nice things. She tried to offer suggestions to his interrogatives. It ran across one and a half large sheets. She read it once, folded, put in the envelope and kept in her bag to be posted from Bikaner once she reached there. Finally she took a sigh of relief and lay down to sleep. They had to leave early next morning for their shoot.
It was around nine in the morning when they reached the government school to find kids who had blackened teeth according to newspaper reports. But when they asked children to open their mouths to show their teeth, they had a surprise in store, not a pleasant one. There were no signs of any such disease. Most of the children had healthy shining teeth, though one shade paler. Mehar was happy that there was no disease and sad that they had no story to shoot. She felt cheated by the newspaper reports. They went to the government hospital to find that doctor whose reference was given in that report. They came to know that particular dentist had been transferred to some other town. They were unable to locate any person mentioned in the report. This was first shock for Mehar in this field, whereas both Amar and Ranjan were unmoved. They had been through these kind of situations earlier too. They took it in their stride.
They kept searching, finding people, tracing tracks of that newspaper reporter but all came to a naught. Finally around late afternoon, they met a school teacher who told them that there were traces of fluorosis in a few children. They were given treatment with her help and were now cured. She did not know where they lived. They took her interview. Then decided to leave that town. Disappointed after the previous day’s triumph of a beautifully shot story,they began their journey back to Bikaner.
Now as they sat and tried to relax in car as the return journey for Bikaner began, Raju made them aware that they had not had their lunch so far. It was already half past five. They decided to stop somewhere around eight and have dinner instead. As they drove they talked about the shoot. Everyone was satisfied with this trip despite the fact that one story was lost. Mehar felt at ease and looked forward to reaching Bikaner. They still had to shoot for three more stories in three different neighboring towns. Mehar ha done
more story up her sleeve. She decided to discuss it later as she still had to make some confirmations before divulging it's details.
They stopped at a clean looking dhaba for an early dinner. Driver was visibly tired. He asked Mehar if he could use her shawl kept in the car. He spread that over himself, even before Mehar could think about his request and react in any way he was snoring away to glory. They sat down on charpoys and ordered for food. She was visibly disturbed by driver's behavior, as she was not used to sharing her clothing with anyone. But now she had no choice. She was thinking of her next step, she was contemplating giving away this shawl to the driver but that too was tough. This was gifted to her by her mother recently and Surjit was sure to ask her about it if she did not see that for long. She had no other option but to get it dry-cleaned, keep it in her wardrobe till she forgot about it being used by someone and then use it.
They reached Bikaner around midnight. Mehar was dropped at her home. They decided to leave for Nagaur, a small town on the way to Jodhpur about one hundred kilometers away from Bikaner, around ten the next morning. She immediately went to her bedroom and was surprised to see two more heavy envelopes from Rajinder lying at her bedside. She decided to read those next morning. But next morning arrived with Ranjit and his demand for her to be with him. It being a Sunday he was at home. She spent whatever little time she had with him and left home with those two letters in her carrier bag. She gave unstamped envelope to her father. He assured her that it would be posted the next day.
Now they were on the way to Nagaur. The name of Nagaur finds mention even in the Mahabharat. This kingdom of Ahichhatrapur which Arjuna is said to have conquered and subsequently offered to his Guru Dronacharya, was perhaps some of the area of the Nagaur district. The foundation of city dates back to fourth century BC. Nagas originally ruled over this place and about 7th century on wards the Chauhans became the over lords of Nagaurandit was included in Sapadalaksha. Nagaur city was at the center of Muslim invasion from central Asia. The Nagaur fort is famous for historical significance.
The town had a densely populated old mohalla of iron smiths who came here from Multan, now in Pakistan. They were brought here by erstwhile king of this city to build canons and guns to save
his kingdom from Mughal invasion. These iron smiths were two Muslim brothers. They came and settled down here. Later more of their clan joined them. Soon a locality was established. This place is like any other small town of olden times, narrow lanes, large hearted people with conservative ways, negligible presence of women on the streets.
They reached Nagaur during late afternoon, when streets were abuzz with boisterous activity of school children returning from school. Tired, dust covered dried up faces wearing crumpled uniforms, at the same time full of joy. Life for children never ceases to be amazing. Whatever be the problems at school, scoldings of teachers, pressure to finish the home work, notes of complaints written by teachers to be shown to parents. Children still manage to smile, laugh aloud and play through all oddities. Mehar always loved to see these hordes of school children returning from school playing around on their way back. As they entered the town this scene captured her attention.
They asked some passers-by and reached their destination shortly. Entrance to the mohalla was a narrow street. They stopped there to take out equipment. Raju set tripod to mount the camera. Within seconds news of their arrival spread like wildfire. Soon the main street was abuzz with activity. Mehar decided to collect her bites before members of association arrived with the result remarks and grievances of general workers if any became doctored. This she had learned from her few days' experiences. It generally happened while shooting such small scale industry stories that association's office bearers more or less tried to keep their differences among themselves to be hidden. In this process many of the facts remained untouched, sometimes it affected the core of the story. They recorded a few bites, then began to shoot those streets. Exteriors of small works shops set in front rooms of almost all homes of this locality.
One remarkable discovery Mehar made here was that almost all the manual work done at these workshops was performed by women. Men only worked as carriers or porters or dealers. In fact women were the backbones of this small scale industry. They made scissors, pliers, clippers and many such tools as ordered to them. And these were of fairly fine quality.
She made it a point to record bites of many of these women who were busy during their siesta time in these workshops. She found both Amar and Ranjan to be busy with their work, she decided to venture further into this locality to find more about them and off she went. She was soon followed by a group of giggling children who after finding her to be friendly took her to the house of the president of their association. He had been given information about arrival of the crew. A tall man with an authoritative air he was all ready to be interviewed in his sparkling kurta pyjama. After seeing everyone else's soiled clothes with iron dust and oil this sight of him in his clean office was a welcome change for Mehar. She sat down to gather his side of the story and as usual heard many complaints about callous attitude of the government towards their plight. She listened patiently and asked him for an interview on camera. He willingly agreed.
With the president and his companions in tow she began her return journey towards crew where she had left them. She had no idea how much time had passed since then and absolutely no clue about how they were going to react to her sudden disappearance. As she turned the final bend of the street before coming face to face with Amar, she heard him shouting loudly to someone, “you, son of a bitch! Go call some policeman. Don't you people have a police chowkee nearby?”
He wanted to contact the police. He looked at her with such scornful eyes that she cringed inwards. Here was another lesson for her to learn. She was supposed to be in contact with crew at all times. Her leaving them without informing about her whereabouts in a strange place was unacceptable. She was reprimanded collectively, she took that in her stride sportingly and the matter was closed. But later at night lying down in her bed she thought about this episode and felt that she was at fault. She had been away for a full one hour. Those narrow streets and strange people, she did not know anyone there. She knew she had to be careful. Trusting is good but thinking of your own safety too is a desirable quality which she felt she must have in greater extent for the kind of profession she had chosen to be in was sure to throw many such situations in her way.
As she closed her eyes tired and exhausted after the day's work, traveling. and this episode, she thought of Giriraj and a smile came to her. She was soon fast asleep. She had no time or energy to open
Rajinder's letters and read them. Replying to those while working these days seemed a difficult preposition to her. Next morning they got up early and left for Bikaner.
There she had to shoot for another story. Profile of a man, born with almost no limbs. But a man worth his salt. A man who would sing folk songs for his living, wrote with the stumps he had on the name of feet and walked with locally made leather boots crafted by the only cobbler of his tiny village. A nondescript village on the outskirts of Bikaner. This was the last story they had to shoot and once they reached their subject, she knew it would not take more than two hours to shoot him. But reaching him proved to be such a task, Mehar would never forget.
Mehar came to know about Laxman Ram during a casual talk with a colleague at local radio station. Rajeev Sharma had broadcast his folk songs in his program me for rural folks. He was all praises for this remarkable man. Mehar, while looking for stories for Pehchaan suddenly remembered that. She thought that it might make a very interesting, inspiring and visually rich story. Laxman as he was talked about was physically challenged blessed with a jovial disposition he sang and even composed lyrics of some of his songs, so obviously he had a poetic bent of mind. She asked Rajindra Sharma about his address. He obliged willingly. So Laxman Ram was their next story.
Just after an early shower and breakfast the crew started for Laxman Ram’s village. Within an hour they reached the landmark from where they had to venture inside tough terrain of Thar desert. A village to which they were to be taken through a road made of mud. It had rained two days back. That was the saving grace. Sand on the road was not that dry as to make their vehicle's tires skid, at the same time they were spared the onslaught of dust in their hair, face, eyes, mouth and clothes. Mehar was most worried about that. In spite of living in Bikaner for many years she still hated feel of dust all over her, especially between teeth and on hair.
Mr. Sharma had been kind, as they reached this point, they were met by two local youths ready to escort them to the village. They hopped in the front seat of car and adjusted themselves with Raju. Grumbling Raju's protests unheard of, they descended from highway to join a kuchcha road. Soon all was surrounded by dust and all of them were having a very rough ride. Amar as he always did,
complained in a few words, then decided to be silent till they reached the village. Ranjan kept commenting, enjoying every jump, turn and twist their car took. Raju's grumblings soon turned to a friendly banter between three youth on the front seat. Mehar covered her head and face with her dupatta trying to save herself from all kinds of assaults, verbal as well as sand.
They reached the village in about twenty minutes to be disappointed. Laxman had gone to his maternal grandmother's village previous night for he was invited to perform during a wedding that week. Amar swore under his breath, Ranjan chuckled loudly, Raju unaffected busied himself comparing goats here with goats in his village in Uttar Pradesh. Mehar asked Laxman Ram's mother about whereabouts of that village. She tried to explain but before Mehar could make out something, the two youths came forward. They told her that they knew the village, it was half an hour's drive from there. They were willing to accompany them there. So wasting no more time further they all hopped in the car and began next part of their journey to find Laxman Ram.
As they moved forward in the same fashion, Mehar knew next few days will remind all of them about this journey and she smiled within. Oblivious of all this three youths in the front seat were the ones enjoying it most.
At every bend on the road Raju would ask them, “aa gaya? (has it arrived?)”
In unison the two would shout back, “abhee naheen, das minute baad. (not now, after ten minutes)”
Before Mehar knew this became a game. Now at every bend three voices called out aloud, “aa gaya?”
And five voices shouted back, “abhee naheen, das minute baad.”
Soon Mehar too joined them. They forgot how much time it took them to reach, or how much dust got into their lungs or how much of it settled down on their hair and clothes. When they reached that village where they finally found Laxman Ram, they were a group of shouting and laughing youths, all in splits.
Laxman Ram was sitting on a charpoy eating his lunch. A shy man of about thirty years of age. As Mehar looked at his limbs she felt her heart reach out to him but a look at his face was very reassuring. He looked a very confident man, a man who despite
being acutely aware of his shortcomings knew his worth too. He greeted them without getting up from his post and continued eating. Mehar liked his self-confidence. He asked them if they too wanted to share food with him and once declined did not ask again. Mehar found him to be a worldly wise man, who knew his manners as well as the ways of others' lives and respect for their feelings. He finished his meal. Someone helped him wash his stumps and face. Now he was ready to face them.
Mehar began to tell him about herself, he interrupted her saying that he knew her and also about the purpose they had come for. He was a regular visitor to radio station and had seen Mehar there. Last week too he was there when Mr. Sharma had told him about this shoot, he was mentally prepared for it. Amar was already on his job, taking shots of Laxman as he talked and walked around perched on his boots almost stitched to his stumps. He was completely comfortable with camera, not even once looked at it and went about doing whatever he intended to do. A perfect subject for a beautiful profile.
After a while when he sat down tired, to take some rest, Raju attached a lapel to his vest and Ranjan checked audio levels without interrupting him even once. Laxman had such an easy air about him, every one was mesmerized. Mehar began to shoot her questions at him and he answered all of them articulately. His Hindi was as good as his Marvaree. He turned out to be quite an articulate person. Soon Mehar had asked all she wanted to and then she came to one final question which she was hesitant but she felt that his profile would be incomplete without addressing to it.
After deliberating her words carefully she finally asked, “when are you going to marry? Have you received any proposals so far?”
He blushed like any young man and did not answer. His brother answered on his part. He meant to say that Laxman can take care of himself with the help of his mother. He does not want anyone else to bother for him. But since his mother too is getting older by the day, he needs someone of his age to be with him. He does not want to get married, hence they have not forced him. There had been a couple of proposals for him which they might think about.
Whereas Laxman denied all that and said categorically that he will never marry and there is no such proposal in his knowledge. Mehar did not probe further. She asked him to sing for camera a folk
song she always liked. This song was about a young man whose friends were all married but he was still single. He asked his parent when would they find a bride for him?
He blushed again but after a little coaxing he sang that. Now as the shot was over Mehar went inside a room, combed her hair, applied some lipstick to look presentable and was ready for her ptoc. She stood in front of the whole clan of Laxman Ram talking and congratulating him on coming on television. With them in the background Amar recorded her ptoc. It was pack up time. They were given a fond goodbye. Ranjan saw a camel standing outside their gate and wanted to ride it. They stopped. Ranjan was helped atop it but he slipped, half of his body dangling down he held on to the hoof of the camel, was able to hurl himself up and able to ride for a few meters. Finally with hearty laughter all around they headed for Bikaner.
That night when she lay down on her bed Mehar noticed she had changed quite a lot during past one month. Every time she thought of something, she would try to visualize it in her mind and try to analyze if it was visually rich enough to be shot. She laughed to herself. She felt herself happy and contented. She felt that what she had been looking for, what she always wanted to have had come to her finally. She was sure that she was not going to leave this for anybody's whimsical thoughts or ideas. Even if that person was her husband. This reminded her of his letters still lying in her hand bag, not opened yet. She thought of Giriraj and slept blissfully till the early morning chirping of sparrows outside her window woke her. Neem was as fresh as ever and seemed to be beckoning her to come out and share her thoughts with it.
She got up, pulled a housecoat over her shoulders and came out of the house. Sitting on a wrought iron chair beneath her friendly neem tree she began to ponder over her life. She had learned to become answerable to herself but still she had many unanswered questions to attend to. She knew this would take her a long time to do that but at the same time she was certain that she was capable of doing it. She had learned to stumble and fall while walking on this path called life. She had learned to lose and win while playing this gamble called life. She had now decided not to give up without giving it a thorough trial.
That early morning sitting here and savoring company of this tree she decided to dust off her heart, soothe her wounded soul and begin to live fully with a smile pasted on her face again. She repeated her decision that she will listen to her heart, her conscious and will take her own decisions. This time again her witness was the same neem tree but this time the darkness of that unknown path had been replaced by this early morning pale yellow light, weak at the onset but gaining strength with every passing moment and turning white and warm and then hot.
She got up to see that orange ball half risen out of those sand dunes beyond the campus of Dungar college on the side of her house. She could see firing range from this place in side her boundary wall. This early she could make out silhouettes of NCC cadets practicing with their air rifles. She knew many of the shots will miss their targets but she also knew that as these cadets spent more time and concentrated more on this art, they would meet their targets more often and precisely.
She could hear those faint thuds, she knew her own targets would be met, one day she too will be able to grow her morsel from the toil of her own individual efforts. She will be able to sustain herself. But she did not know by that time that the emotional fall outs o such an existence were quite heavy to bear. She was ready to face anything and that was sure to take her a long way,
This she knew.
