The Rebelle blog

1998- what an amazing year! That was the year we moved to Mumbai. Everything was new for me. I remember my very first visit to Dr. Bhau Daji Lad Museum and meeting a painter there. She signed a photo of one of her paintings displayed in the gallery there. I was a wide-eyed 10- year old girl in awe of all the new sights in front of me. We also visited the Nehru Planetarium and Chowpatty on my first Mumbai visit. But, most of all, what I remember from that year is the introduction to some amazing kid movies I had the opportunity to see on TV. Earlier, before moving to Mumbai, I wasn't much interested in movies or TV and also, there was a limited access to DD programs.  Star Movies, I believe, broadcasted kid movies on Sundays. I watched The Parent Trap, Father of the Bride, Honey I shrunk the kids, Richie Rich on a Sunday movie marathon that spanned weeks. I vividly remember being glued to the TV set and still recall visuals of the light and colors from these movies. The s...

A cancelled lunch date led my feet astray to the book treasures on Flora Fountain. This happened on a busy Monday afternoon. I promised myself I wouldn't engage my eyes on books anymore after I ended up spending a whole lot more than I usually do. It feels like an addiction, something I can't let go off. While I am sure books will and should not be recognised as harmful addiction, I am painfully aware of the fact that splurging money on anything every time we see it is unhealthy. Of course, I know the psychology and the hard facts too, but buying books feels like conquering the access way to treasures of an inexpressible happy state of mind. When I was young, losing myself in the book world was not just for the introduction into the big wide unseen world but also for the love of imagination. I was fascinated with colours and story telling, had a thirst for adventure that seemed strangely missing in my childhood as it was so pronounced in Enid Blyton's books. I could n...

काही व्यक्तिरेखा चिरतरुण असतात आणि त्या सदैव जिवंत राहतात. माझ्या मनात चिरंतर घर करून राहिलेल्या काहींविषयी मी आज इथे लिहिणार आहे. साधारण अकरा वर्षांची असताना मी पहिल्यांदा चार्ल्स डिकन्स लिखित 'ऑलिव्हर ट्विस्ट' हि कादंबरी वाचली. माझ्याच वयाच्या असणाऱ्या एका अनाथ मुलाची ती कथा वाचताना नुसतेच माझे डोळे भरून आले नव्हते तर मी ढसाढसा रडले होते. त्याचे करुण डोळे मला सारखे माझ्या नजरेसमोर दिसायचे. जगात आपल्यासोबत आपली काळजी घेणारं कुणी नसलं कि किती हाल होतात आणि त्यातल्यात्यात एका धोकादायक वास्तविक जगात आपण एकटे असतो हि नुसती कल्पनाच किती भीतीदायक आहे. त्यामुळे ऑलिव्हर बद्दल वाचताना मी खूप संवेदनशील आणि हळवी झाले होते. मी किती सुखासीन आणि सुरक्षित आयुष्य जगत होते याचं मला भान आलं. माझ्या कोवळ्या मनाला अतिशय छेदून काढणारा तो क्षण होता. त्याच दरम्यान व्हिक्टर ह्युगो लिखित आणि साने गुरुजी अनुवादित 'ल मिझराब' हि कादंबरी 'दुःखी' ह्या नावाने मराठीत मी वाचली. लहान असताना आपले भावविश्व किती स्तिमित असते. हि कादंबरी १८६२ मध्ये प्रकाशित झाली होती. साने गुरुजी यांनी लहान म...

1996- This is the year I most vividly remember from my childhood. I was eight years old and had started acquiring a new taste for literature and visual mediums then. This was the year I remember having seen Thoda sa Aasmaan that starred Deepti Naval. She was a big name then. My parents were huge fans of her cinematic work and TV was generously allowed to be explored by kids like me by parents back then. The end credit shot of a wooden door with a white lattice was permanently etched in my eyes. Years later whenever I saw latticed windows and doors I always thought of Deepti Naval standing in solitude and frozen in time. I also clearly recall watching Swabhimaan and loved Svetlana. Don't know if it was the unusual sound of the name or I was just smitten by Kittu Gidwani! I did not read Russian Literature until I was ten, so, Svetlana charmed me for a long while. I remember watching YUG based on India's Freedom Struggle and its catchy title track ringed in my ears for a long...

कॅशिअस क्ले अर्थात मुहम्मद अली. लहान असतांना वडिलांनी ज्या व्यक्तींबद्दल अगदी भरभरून मला कहाण्या ऐकवल्या त्यात मुहम्मद अली फार वरच्या क्रमांकावर. वर्णभेद चळवळ आणि संघर्षाबद्दल मला खूप लहानपणीच वडिलांकडून बरंच काही ऐकायला मिळालं. जातिव्यवस्थेबद्दल जसं तसंच नेल्सन मंडेला तथा माल्कम एक्स यांच्याबद्दल, त्यांनी सुरु केलेल्या चळवळी, त्यांचा मानवी समानतेसाठी प्रदीर्घ लढा, सारं काही खूप लहान वयापासूनच ऐकत आले वडिलांकडून. काल मुहम्मद अली यांच्या निधनाची वार्ता ऐकल्यावर वाटलं आपण ह्या सर्व जगज्जेत्यांना अमर समजत रहातो. त्यांची कीर्ती अजरामर असतेच पण ते स्वतः  देखील, अशी भावना कुठेतरी खोल दडलेली असते आपल्यात. मला आठवतं जेव्हा मुहम्मद अलींच्या मुलीने, लैला अली हिने जागतिक मुष्टीयोद्धा स्पर्धा जिंकली होती, तेव्हा त्यांची प्रतिक्रिया एक अत्यंत अभिमानी वडील या भूमिकेतून टीव्ही वर मी ऐकली होती. ते बघून आपण सुद्धा आपल्या वडिलांना अभिमान वाटेल अशी कामगिरी करून दाखवण्याचा उत्साह माझ्यात संचारला होता. ते चेहऱ्यावरून मला कधीच एक मुष्टीयोद्धा वाटले नाहीत. एखाद्या मुष्टीयोद्ध्याची रागीट मुद्रा किंवा...

I was rummaging through some old stuff at home after a tedious week of last minute panic attacks and submissions (these two go hand in hand), that I came across an old copy of my Dad's books. As was my Dad's habit in the late 90's, the book was covered with a plain white sheet. I saw the book title written in neat lettering in blue ink and lots of pencil scribble on the cover. As I guessed it to be made by my younger sister who must've been a toddler then, I couldn't help smiling and opening the book to find more scribbling inside in blue ink. She must have got hold of the pen and unleashed her creativity on the inside pages. I wondered if my Dad ever saw this scribbling or not. And I felt extremely happy to have discovered something that belonged to my kid sister from her childhood. As I recall, she learnt everything pretty fast- walking, running, speaking and writing, too. So this scribble felt like a cherished piece of treasure. I remembered the walls of our dr...

As I have written here in so many posts, all my childhood memories with Daddy are beyond precious. Him and me shared very little time when I was young because he was posted in another city and me & my mother lived in another small town. He came home on weekends and those two days, Saturday & Sunday, were my days with him. I would accompany him everywhere, wherever he went. To the market, the artillery canteen, to the town on long scooter rides. We would deliberately go around faraway places and then he would stop the scooter by the road where hundreds of Gulmohar trees stood tall, way back in 1995-96, almost twenty years ago. Dad would make me sit on the scooter and pluck Gulmohar flowers or sometimes he allowed me to stand on the scooter seat and reach for a bent Gulmohar branch. We would then sit for a while watching the vehicles drive past on the road. Back then, vehicles were a few and the roads were often empty. I remember those breezy encounters on Hamara Bajaj towa...

Ruk Ruk Ricky Ricky rukta ja, tu baat jahaan ki sunta ja.......  I heard this song after all these years, and those beautiful memories of my mother playing a cassette titled 'Love Notes' by Lata came to me! I wonder how as a child I would listen to all these songs and feel them too. Other songs from the cassette included, Agar tum na hote, Mujhe aisa mila moti, Din pyar ke aayenge sajaniya, Zameen Aasmaan nahi milte. These songs are hardly ever heard on radio or TV anymore. But, they are evergreen with their music and lyrics. After watching Zindagi na milegi dobara recently, where there's a mention of Doordarshan and the simplicity of the 90's a thought crossed my mind. How we miss old days, old times and the simple life where everything was valued. When we shared clothes, toys, chocolates (which were few even then), crayons with our siblings and cousins! Meeting cousins twice a year and laughing like we never had, running up the terrace and throughout the colony...