Sunday, February 14, 2010

Haveli Haider Quli, My Name is Khan and other stories…

Haveli Haider Quli…

On the 1st of January this year, as Delhi woke up to that chilly morning, I was more than excited in anticipation of the day that was to be. For later that day, I was to visit my maternal grandmother’s ancestral house in Chandni Chowk in Purani Dilli. Though I had been to Delhi many times before, for some reason or the other I could never visit that old house in Haveli Haider Quli, the birthplace of my grandmother (Naniji). Like most girls in those days, Naniji got married off at a very early age and left Chandni Chowk and Delhi to be a homemaker for Nanaji.

The people who live in that house today are the descendants of Naniji’s elder brother. My mom had already informed mamaji (Naniji’s nephew and mom’s cousin) that I wanted to pay them a visit. So, as the cycle rikshaw went past the Lal Qila, the Parathewaali Gali and the age old sweetmeat shops- some of them have been in existence since 18th century- on its way to the Fathepuri Masjid, I could feel Goosebumps at the back of my neck.

Mamaji had been waiting for me at the junction in front of the Fatehpuri Masjid. Given his striking resemblance to my mom’s brothers, I had no difficulty in identifying him. Very soon, I walked into Haveli Haider Quli. And hopefully, somewhere up in the heavens, Naniji was beaming with joy…


























The Marathon…

Even when I’m on a vacation, I make it point to give every Sunday morning what it deserves most…sound sleep. Nevertheless, the morning of Sunday, the 17th of January saw me walking up and down the platform at the Bombay Central Station, as I waited for the next train to Victoria Terminus, the starting point of what was to be the Dream Run. Soon, I found myself wading through a sea of people who had gathered for the event. Thankfully, the Dream Run didn’t involve much running. I would prefer to call it a parade, and what a parade it was! I've been in Bombay for more than a year now, and I can say this with any amount of confidence that the Dream Run was one of the best experiences I’ve had here.

Watching my cousin, Sunny, play bass guitar for his band, as we went pass Jazz by the Bay, was the icing on the cake.

























































My Name is Khan …

I had not seen this guy in such high spirits before. I am talking about this lad, who happens to be a partner at the law firm I work for. This Friday evening, he was on his way to watch My Name is Khan, when our paths crossed. As the lift took us down, my sadness was growing in proportion to his happiness. You’ve guessed it right. We didn’t have tickets. However, thanks to the same guy and another colleague, a couple of phone calls later, the tickets were - believe it or not- delivered to us.

Soon, we were standing in a queue, which started at the Regal theatre and ended somewhere around CafĂ© Mondegar. I had seen such queues before. The Upper Stalls of theaters in the Hindi heartland I hail from usually welcome Shah Rukh’s movies with even longer queues. Fortunately or unfortunately I never had to stand in any of them. Never did I know that I’ll do the honours in Shah Rukh’s city. Just to clarify, the queue we were standing in was for getting inside the theatre and not for buying tickets.

Nice movie. By the way, have you guys seen Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man? I bet Shah Rukh has.

Art Attack…

This catchy phrase was used for promotion of the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival this year. Really liked it. The phrase, I mean.