Forever Young & Free!!

This is July again, and therefore, Simi’s birth-month. Caught up in my own life, I had completely forgotten about the significance of this month until only a few days back. Simi would not have approved – either of how so full-of-activities our lives have become or, of how easily we seem to gloss over the importance of relationships. As I look at my own unorganized life, I recall the words of Sissy Spacek playing Loretta Lynn in the film ‘Coal Miner's Daughter’ as she gazes over an expectant audience and says; “Things is moving too fast in my life...they always have….. Patsy always told me 'Lil girl, you gotta run your own life', but my life...it's a'runnin' me."

I feel that way a lot these days, and I am sure it is not a good feeling to have. So, I shall hunker down here and attempt to talk of Simi again. Our existence perpetually throws us onto paths of newer experiences and fresh acquaintances; it becomes difficult to recall our past ties and hark upon the memories of days gone by. So it is through my own words and borrowing the words of our batch-mates that I shall essay another pen-picture of my dear friend.

You come across this character in many a movie – the loud, absolutely energetic guy or girl who exults in the present, laughs off worries and starts waltzing at the slightest sound of a trumpet. While doing so, this character of course, teaches the others in the movie (most of them inevitably complicated and too caught up in life’s little problems) a thing or two about living. As movie characters go, this guy or girl is nearly omnipresent in all narratives, sometimes passing off as the protagonist’s best buddy, or a bubbly parent or sometimes even as a stranger from a chance encounter. In real life however, such characters are very, very difficult to come across – life instead chooses to burden us with acquaintances more reminiscent of the afore-mentioned complicated and calculative kind. So, it is a classic case of real not following reel. So, it is with some amount of self-pleasure I declare that my life has been populated by atleast one sample of this rare breed. This blog calls Simi the ‘the confetti girl’ not without reason; so many of us were desirous of being like her. Geetika our batch-mate announced this in the testimonial that she wrote for Simi in our year-book. Another batch-mate Aman, unabashedly credits her with changing the way he lived his life. All our batch-mates were thrown onto the wondrously shining path of Simi for only little less than a year and yet she has managed to cast her unique magical perspective onto our minds even within such short a time.

It is in very recent times that I have unearthed yet another realisation about Simi that pains me slightly in my more unaware moments, but is a secret source of glee in my more contemplative thoughts. Since I have left IMI – that wonderful place which remains and shall remain the harbinger and old steward of so many full memories -   I have loved and lost, have fell and rose, have started and discarded so much that the signs of all those times have left their mark upon me. Similarly, when I see my friends, I see them as they actually are today – some are happy, some are not so happy – but every one of us manifests the toll that time has taken upon us. But when I think about Simi, I still see her in that green top of hers, and always with that smile on her face. She looks so young!

As we go on through life, we will inevitably be marked and scarred with the passage of time. But Simi will always be that beatific, smiling angel which she was and still is. Perennially grinning, making friends everywhere she goes and cocking a snook at life’s complexities with a mischievous glint in her eyes – we shall always see Simi in this wondrous light.

Says the confetti girl, “Have some candy!”

It is just chance that this is July - the birth month for Simi, the “confetti girl” - and it was on the 1^st day of this month that I happened to see the animated film ‘Wreck It Ralph’. Just a few minutes into Wreck It Ralph, I was drawn into the familiar tale of how characters even as those as far-removed from us as the pixilated people from video game are moved by the all-too human emotions of an alienated sense of duty, rejection, isolation, and the cycle of impulsive, ill-advised actions which sometimes precipitate when it is the very nature of the duty which causes that seclusion.

As plots go, this film does not break new ground. We have after all, seen how outcast and misunderstood characters like the hunchback Igor in Igor (2008), the villainous Megamind in the eponymous Megamind (2010) and not to forget, that lovable green monster Shrek, all strive to escape from the caricatured roles which someone else has scripted for them, in order to gain just that little bit of love, acceptance and friendship which has always been denied. Yet it is not the plot itself which delighted me, but the imaginatively-written characters which populate the arcade-style video games, the humour, and the poignancy and honesty in feelings which often laced such humour. This film follows Ralph – a ham-fisted bulldozer of a man in a game called ‘Fix It Felix’ who is forever fated to rain down blows on an apartment building (Niceland) and terrorise its residents, an unhappy state which the handyman Felix soon remedies with the help of his magical golden hammer. Every successful game of ‘Fix It Felix’ concludes with the same fixture – Felix gets feted and awarded with a medal for a job well done while the residents unceremoniously throw Ralph down from the terrace to a muddy puddle on the ground below. To add insult to injury, Ralph is left to dwell in the neighbouring dump from where he sees the colourful and happy lives of the Niceland’s residents. It is this sad state of things that Ralph seeks to turn around.

Ralph quickly comes to the conclusion (erroneous!) that what he lacks is a gold medal just like Felix, which would propel him into the high league. And so starts his journey to a game ‘Hero’s Duty’ which awards a gold medal to its victorious warriors, and onto an ill-managed starship crash into a racing game called ‘Sugar Rush’ with a candy landscape and an absolutely saccharine little girl, Vanellope (voiced so endearingly by Sarah Silverman). It is the chemistry between the mischievous little Vanellope and the grumpy Ralph which is the highlight. In an obvious parallel with Ralph’s own state, Vanellope who is characterised as a game glitch is the resident outcast in ‘Sugar Rush’, mocked and left friendless by her own kind. In a predictable journey fighting vile cybugs and racing impossibly candy-coloured cars through an impossibly candy-themed racecourse and discovering the inherent spirit of friendship between them and a new sense of self-worth, we are treated to some insightful ideas.

It is these insights which bring me now to the life of our beloved friend, Simi. In a world where so many of us seem ill at ease with who we seem to be inside, and the struggles which we put up to re-define ourselves in a bid to win acceptance and love, Simi was the exception. Just like Sarah’s plummy-voiced Vanellope, Simi too conveyed that sweet naughtiness and that bold spirit to boot, of a girl who has her sights set high borne up by a sure sense of identity.

Whether it is Fix It Felix or Wreck It Ralph, I realise that just as we are defined by the jobs we do, we are also marked in a far deeper sense by the values we live by and the love and friendship we are able to share. Just like a zombie character in the game says, “Labels do not make you happy. Good, bad... you must love you.”

Here is wishing you a very happy coming birthday, Simi!

CineM Review: The Secret Garden (1993)

"How does your garden grow?"

Watching ‘The Secret Garden’ made me realise a few things about children. Firstly, that their world though appearing carefree, is just as serious as ours, inhabited as it is also by the more‘adult-like’ emotions of rejection, coercion, belief and finally redemption. Secondly, we as children make the best friendships and though they may not necessarily last a lifetime, that innocence and feeling of something special may last a whole lifetime. And these childhood friendships are not as hard to establish either – sometimes even a shared secret or joy in playing a mutual game suffices to create that wonderful bond. Lastly, children possess a single-minded ability to make up their own ideas and stick to them with a great finality. ‘The Secret Garden’ explores this complex world of children with an understanding and a delicacy which is startling.

This film directed by Agnieszka Holland who has earlier made the children-themed ‘Europa Europa’ and ‘Olivier Olivier’, has adapted the screenplay from Frances Hodgson Burnett's 1911 novel of the same title. The author who had herself led a chequered life, had written a host of romantic and children books. Though the ‘The Secret Garden’ was relatively unheralded during the author’s lifetime, it has subsequently emerged as one the classic English books ever written for children, and the film by staying true to the book, does ample justice to the ideals prescribed therein.

As stories meant for children go, ‘The Secret Garden’ too throws its characters onto a path of vicissitudes, discovery and triumph. Orphaned in India, young Mary Lennox (played to perfection by Kate Maberly) comes to live with her uncle in his rambling estate, Misselthwaite Manor. This estate is also home to a vague sense of disquiet and a human entourage comprising of a cherub of a housemaid, Martha (acted endearingly by Laura Crossley), her Huckleberry-esque brother named Dickon (Andrew Knott), and a strict and forbidding housekeeper Mrs. Medlock (Maggie Smith). Set in the moors of Yorkshire, the estate also houses a secret garden which belonged to Mary’s aunt (her mother’s twin sister), whose death has plunged her uncle and everything in Misselthwaite Manor into a pall of relentless gloom. Mary’s grey and massive room in the grey and massive manor is swathed with intricate and heavy-looking tapestries – the whole look seemingly consistent with a house that can only be home to dour-looking adults, and no children.

Mary manages to splash her own burst of individual energy when she makes a series of strange discoveries, starting with a secret passageway in the manor leading to her dead aunt’s secluded room, a tentative friendship with a trilling robin who leads her into her aunt’s garden, now locked away and running wild and finally, her cousin Colin (Heydon Prowse) who is proclaimed too frail and lives like a condemned person, secreted in some gloomy room with barricaded windows inside that massive house. With these discoveries in that seemingly distant house, Mary proceeds to blaze a child-like path of joyful effort, honest intentions, clear-speak and simple love which goes around in a circle, enveloping the entire household in a new bond of life.

Kate Maberly who had earlier acted in a series of BBC productions brings in a petulant but lovable streak into the character; observe her diminutive jaw stuck out in moments of impetuous anger, the bitterness in her words when she spits them in the face of un-understanding adult supervision, and the smile in her eyes when she gets her way. Mary when she starts out is not very dissimilar to the cantankerous, almost infuriatingly stubborn Colin who is wedded to the belief that he is facing imminent death. As the smart and articulate Mary first aided by the simple country boy skills of Dickon sets out to bring the long-neglected garden alive, and then accompanied by the till-now reclusive cousin continues her incursions into the joyousness and freshness of a new spring now shining upon Misselthwaithe, we witness a transformation. And this transformation is all around – from the bare, weed-overgrown garden now bristling with a colourful bloom of flowers, to the new-found health and vigour in Colin, and the blossoming of the goodness that lies inside Mary’s heart.

This film succeeds at numerous levels; the first obvious mark for me was the superlative acting by all the characters, in particular the young ensemble of Mary, Martha, Dickon and Colin, and finally Mrs. Medlock. Exchanges between children are always fascinating, underlined as they are by their simple joys, tantrums and fears. There is in particular one exchange between the determined Mary and clamorous Colin, when she confronts her cousin with her unfailing belief in his good health borne out of the simple common sense which children do possess. Colin protests and creates a scene, twitching his lips at Mary’s stern rebukes and at last, capitulates. There is another moment in the film when the 3 children gather around a bonfire and circle it in a sort of trance-like surrender, mumbling inanities but calling out for a miracle with a simple but deep fervor which compels even an attending adult to participate in the unlikely voodoo dance. There is also another delightful moment on a swing when Mary and Dickon exchange a glance (is it the first awakening of something greater than just friendship??) of something significant but as yet, indecipherable.

The film also succeeds in capturing other moments of beauty (great cinematography by Roger Deakins). Since I love flowers and gardens, the time-lapse photography of blooming flowers rising up from the ground under the love and care of Mary & Co. was particularly mesmerising. In a film with so many deft touches, the allegory of the secret garden barred and neglected and then, brought back to life by the tender hands of the young children stands tall and unshakeable. In a sense, our lives are also disconcerting similar.

This is a film about the magic which is nothing but irresolute belief in positiveness, and about children. Just like a dear friend of mine who recently got a wonderful opportunity to interact with kids and bring together a great skit by harnessing the resourcefulness and the innate grace of young children, I too have immense belief in the powers that lie hidden inside their immense throbbing hearts.

CineM’s Verdict:

‘Can I have a glass of Barfi, please?’

Having sat through the nearly 3 hours of the sweet choco-drop that is Barfi!, we came out of the multiplex. It was the late night show and by the time we came out, it was almost midnight. My throat was parched. The food and drinks counter at the plex had long closed; I went over to the restroom in the hope of atleast rinsing my dry mouth with some fresh water. Alas, the faucet was unwilling to part with even a single drop! The housekeeping guy (helpfully) informed that the water had run out and maintenance would not run up any more water till the next morning.

So, bracing myself for an extended thirsty spell till I reached home, I desultorily started down the dark stairs. In the ground floor of the shopping complex where the plex is located, there’s an outlet of ‘Pizza Hut’ which had an important-looking big sign of ‘CLOSED’ dangling from its door handle. Through the glass façade, I saw that everything inside was dark; there was a single light still on in what I suspected, was the galley cabinet. Against the urgent voice inside which was chiding me with ‘Roon, you’re hopeless! Can’t you see they’re closed?’ I started towards the glass door. It was locked (what did I expect?!), but as I was rattling the handle ineffectually, I saw someone inside. It was a young guy, dressed in a waiter’s outfit, and looking at me quizzically. Having recently observed Ranbir’s pantomimes in Barfi! I immediately raised a cupped hand to my lips, making a drinking motion.

I must have made myself very clear (a la the perfect mime artist!!) cos the guy came up to the door, graciously opening it. I came up with an urgent-sounding ‘Do you have some water?’ and he bade me in. I went up to the galley counter, observed as he took out a tall glass in which Pizza Hut typically serves mocktails and other drinks, put it under a water jar, and poured out a heavenly-looking glassful of sparkling water. He came up to the counter holding the glass and asked, “Sir, would you like some ice?” ICE!! I was delightfully stumped, mumbled out a ‘No thanks, this’ll do perfectly”, and gulped down the glassful in two shakes of a duck’s tail. He took the now-empty glass and was starting to pour out another one. I declined and thanked him effusively for his kind generosity.

Simple joys abound – one just has to look around, maybe rattle a few doors…. and yes, go to the movies!

[This post has been tagged under the 'The Confetti Girl Series']

"Luk ahead dat is where ur future lies"

It is a peculiar ability of the ‘happy souls’ that they can let life sit very lightly upon their shoulders, and accept stuff as they materialise, with a certain easy grace which while seemingly a second nature for them is a hard act to follow for the rest of us. Happy souls may be generally thought of as only living in the present  – living in the moment today and/or not burdening themselves with the possibilities of the coming tomorrow. Vivre au present is good but it does not entail throwing away your responsibilities and cares to achieve this. The thinker Ralph Emerson says, “We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles” and that is perhaps, a very ineffective way of living.

When I was in school I came across this English idiom ‘the wood for the trees’. This is used to refer to someone who cannot see the wood for the trees cos they get so caught up in small details that they fail to understand the bigger picture. While the rest of us are so engrossed in the act of thinking and focused on the object of our thoughts, happy souls characteristically are able to happily assimilate the larger scope of life and live it out accordingly. While we wallow in and contend with stuff past and present, the happy soul not only lightly wafts through the same stuff but also acts upon and looks ahead to where our future lies.

I wish I too can develop this same lightness of spirit, and the capability to unfocus from the petty problems of yesterday and today to joyously welcome tomorrow.

EPILOGUE

Yesterday I was mock-wrestling with Bhumon the charm-kid (read more about him in Infinite Mischief) and he was expectedly getting the worse of it. Panting and tired he finally bade me to stop.  He collected his breath and told me with mirthful seriousness in his eyes, “Roon da, when I become bigger tomorrow, you will not be able to lift me off with the same ease.” Saying this, he laughed and ran off. A very good reason that, for looking forward to the future. That started me off thinking about some possible reasons for my own. 

[ "Simran 'Luk ahead dat is where ur future lies'" is the profile name for Simi in Orkut]

Magic in dough

As we turn into one of the busier lanes of Lajpat Nagar, we catch sight of this sign in neon lights proudly proclaiming ‘Shiv Dhaba – We Serve 36 Types of Paranthas’. It was my early days in Delhi then and so, I marveled at this seemingly unbelievable declaration. Back home in Assam, paranthas are a frugal affair with a thin round apologetic-looking specimen surrounded by a (mostly) watery concoction of lentils and aloo. In Delhi which for me, is the parantha capital of the country, the parantha is not just dough, it is a boisterous, aroma-filled way of life. Trust the Delhites to turn around anything and make it a celebration!!

My initial snobbish reaction towards paranthas has turned into a great liking for this magical piece of dough. Stuffed paranthas or just the plain parantha, the happy parantha swimming around in its own pool of melted butter, the busy-looking parantha which comes accompanied with a full attendance of sabzi, dal, pickle, onion rings, dahi et al – I have met them all in Delhi. Delhi was also the place where I got introduced to the more elaborate and regal-sounding eastern cousin – the Mughlai Parantha which is stuffed with beaten egg and keema (minced meat).

This liking started innocuously enough and like all good things in life, took its own time in blossoming fully. I liked only the plain parantha at first, and then I started preferring the stuffed ones. I looked down upon those dunking their paranthas in quarter-makkhan (1/4^th of a 100 gm stick of Amul butter) thinking to myself ‘look at these poor calorie freaks’ until I myself started doing the same with every single order. Later during my post-graduate days where there was a long line of small eateries behind our college dishing out paranthas of every description, I used to derive great pleasure from simply reading out their parantha-filled menu cards. Just look at these, I told myself, they have Aloo paranthas – Aloo-piyaz paranthas – Gobi (cauliflower) paranthas – Gajar (carrot) paranthas - Mooli (radish) paranthas – Paneer (cottage cheese) paranthas – Andaa (egg)  paranthas – Chicken paranthas – Keema paranthas. In Delhi you might be forgiven for believing that every conceivable veggie after getting chopped, boiled or masticated finds itself stuffed inside a parantha.

If one thinks that fascination for the delights of this heavens-fried flat bread is confined to the northern part of the country, then the southern cousin ‘parotta’ provides ample gastronomic evidence to the contrary. Some of the tiny Mangalorean eateries in Mumbai offer the crisply-fried and layered parotta endemic to south India. I found these perfect and spent many an evening tearing off succulent pieces of the parotta and dunking them in the coconut- and tamarind-flavoured rassa (curry) provided gratis and even with omelettes.

Sometime later in Kerala I had the opportunity to savour their local parotta which is fluffier cos the dough is prepared with egg, thus making the bread rise more. This parotta I found, was quite scrumptious when paired off with a side-dish of the local fiery mutton or chicken curry.

I feel that the parantha is demonstrably the most gracious of hosts. Whether you are pouring out a piping Mangalorean rassa next to it or lining its insides with fenugreek or even cashew, the parantha welcomes with alacrity everything that we Indians, see fit to embellish it with. 

Sufi-aana

I find the following words from the Sufi song ‘Iktara’ (the male solo version from ‘Wake Up Sid’) particularly affecting:

“…..Beeti Raat Baasi Baasi Padi Hai Sirahane

Band Darwaza Dekhe Lauti Hai Subah…..”

Which translated into English would roughly say,” The spent pillow is the only remnant of a restless night; Morning comes only to retrace its steps when it sees the door closed.”

I suppose it is these heart-aching sentiments of restlessness and loss as felt in that vision of the sleep-lorn pillow and that door tightly clasped shut, which evoke this affection. Good poetry succeeds with a simplicity in words and a vividness in images, in ensnaring the mind and oftentimes, the heart too.

The words of the Sufi poets strung together along like so many pearls, in praise of the Lord and complete surrender of the self in His love, have this innate quality of being profound while being extremely simple. The pantheon of the great Sufi poets that is Hafez, Rumi, Yunus Emre and so many others, have bequeathed mankind a wealth of wisdom and truths in the form of lyrics. Sufi poetry makes extensive use of parables, allegories and metaphors and while all poetry is at some level always an expression of the self, Sufi poets just as Sufism, often expound upon a heightened experience with the spiritual. An encounter of the kind I guess, which gives rise to intense epiphanies of the soul.

I found it bewildering when I first read Sufi poetry cos it spoke of a love for God so intense, so personal, so passionate. My orientation towards that same spiritual being was always one of fear (when I was a kid), sometimes augmented with great supplication (at exam times), later on replaced by a sense of enquiry and supplanted in periods of personal turmoil, with deep disbelief. Disparate from typical fear and insecurity, Sufism provides a refreshingly simple and bold approach. Sufism and Sufi poetry very uncharacteristically accord the same love to God which you or I would accord to a dearly beloved – replete with yearning and intense desires. Sample these lines by Yunus Emre:

“Your love has wrested me away from me,
You're the one I need, you're the one I crave.
Day and night I burn, gripped by agony,
You're the one I need, you're the one I crave.”

For whomsoever these words may seem to be addressed to at first glance, these lines actually form a conversation between the Soul (who is pining away) and the Creator (the object of desire); it is a symbolic dialogue between the murid (disciple) and his Murshid (Master or God).

Shorn of all embellishments and forged with a rare purity, Sufism is in its essence, just the soul, and about laying it unencumbered with material dualities and connecting with the Divine. A very simple message in all this is: let your soul be enslaved by the love of God and you will be emancipated of impurities. As Hafez of Shiraz the most popular Persian poet, proudly proclaims, “I am the slave of love, I am free of both worlds.”

For the Sufi I guess, mornings tiptoe in with an easy liquid grace after a restful night's sleep on a content pillow, for in his house the door is always open.

Marigolds for Eyes

In little bits and many ways, Simi embodies the guileless and impeccant attitude of a child-like mind. Like I mentioned before, she imbibes an utterly simple mechanism to realise the good and the bad around, without having to resort to duplicity, verbal calisthenics and the rest of that sum total which I suppose, we call ‘worldliness’. No wonder then, that Simi likes wholesome, good-natured and fun films ; films like ‘Jumanji’, ‘Notting Hill’, ‘Baby’s Day Out’, the ‘Home Alone’ series  and so many of Shah Rukh’s ventures. A necessary ingredient when one has a predilection for the kind of films which I just mentioned above is I am pretty sure, a sense of wonderment. Wonder is a precious gift, and too many films now attempt to discover it through cacophony; the trend today seems to create wonder not in the story or in its characters, but in digitally-enhanced sequences.

Anyway, Simi it seems gravitates towards wholesome entertainment in films – a dash of romance, light touches of fantasy, just the appropriate dollop of adventure, canvasses of colourful ecstasy, and loads and loads of comedy. Films which serve this delectable assortment are generally classified as ‘family’. While we are discussing ‘family movies’, I wish to de-bunk 2 myths. A children’s film is not always a family film, neither is an animated one. Now that we have established what a family movie is ‘not’, let us move forward to what it ‘may be’.

A simple rule of thumb for this definition, may be what Roger Ebert prescribes. He says, “A children’s film is a movie at which adults are bored. A family movie is a movie at which, if its good, nobody’s bored.” So, a family film is positioned to appeal not only to a younger audience but to a wide range of viewers. Family films seek to traverse this apparently-disjoint spectrum through an unique balance of story-boarding and humour which oozes sly wit and an edginess, while still remaining universal in appeal.

                                                   

Family films explore universal themes – if ‘E.T.’ is about an unlikely friendship, the ‘The Railway Children’ speaks about dignity in adversity while ‘Fly Away Home’ explores among other things, the sometimes-tenuous bond between child and parent. Family films are wonderful exponents for love too; in ‘Up (2009)’, the tender romance between a reticent Carl and a tomboyish Ellie first sparks and then takes wings with absolutely no spoken words, and on the magical canvas of a lilting score by Michael Giacchino.  

While it is true that so many avant garde family films are actually animated or seem targeted towards the young or the young-at-heart, it is apparent (but not why exactly, to me atleast) that where the story involves children and their immediate setting (parents, teachers, the neighbourhood bully, the reclusive but kind-hearted old neighbour et al), the magic that appears through the child’s eyes and his uncertain place in the world of obtuse-looking adults somehow are easily relateable to most of us too.

I would like to borrow Ebert’s words in his review of ‘E.T.’ to underscore the purport of family films. He says, “This movie made my heart glad. It is filled with innocence, hope, and good cheer. It is also wickedly funny and exciting as hell. This is a movie that you can grow up with and grow old with, and it won't let you down.” It is a moment of intense epiphany for me when I realise that these are just the words I would use to describe Simi. This wonderous touch of gladness, fun, excitement, good-naturedness and timelessness was Simi’s touch too.

Hasta mañana, Simi!  

Always The Confetti Girl

Her name in the rolls came at 18…or was it 19? She wore mostly cheerful-looking, bright-coloured clothes to college, in fact, I think she favoured a bright, fluorescent green top often. I realise now that I know so little about her then, that it is only by concentrating on the slight details that I can describe her.  So, Jassimran Kaur’s roll no. is 18 or 19 in our MBA batch; she has this la-de-da air about her that I must say is infectious; she starts coming in for classes I guess, 2 or 3 weeks after the session began. She does not take much time in making friends.

In fact, when I squint and try hard to remember stuff about her, all I come up with are pretty random, inconsequential-appearing stuff. Like that time our batch goes for an outbound trip to the hills where we undertake all kinds of activities in groups and pairs. We go rock-climbing on a cliff face where the climber wearing safety harness belts, ascends using precarious holds, while another person on the ground (belayer) holds a rope attached to the climber’s safety, anchoring him. Well, when it is Simi’s (that’s Jassimran) turn to climb up, I am her belayer. As Simi climbs up, I have to slowly feed out the rope and if she gets stuck at any point, I have to hold the rope fast. And Simi does not make the task any easier. She flings her legs wildly, cries out for assistance repeatedly, loudly protests about the utter stupidity of the task just like most of us (all this while still on her way up), but reaches the top somehow. Finally, it seems to me.

Another time, we are seated next to each other in a test. I must have spent half the time on my paper and the other half assisting Simi with hers. Every so often, Simi looks up, softly whispers in my direction, and then I would look up too and whisper back the answer to her. Simi typically does not have many of the answers for the test but how does anyone refuse Simi?

While we are discussing Simi, the subject of her seemingly indecipherable name makes for a delightful side-story. Most of us in the batch are acquainted with the name ‘Simran’ (well, someone who has seen DDLJ knows anyway, but then who among us has not seen DDLJ?!), but Jassimran?? In the beginning I guess, some of us call her ‘Simran’ and a few even tease her with ‘Just-Simran’. Added to all these, faculty members develop a particular ability to pronounce her name in hilarious tongue-twisting individual versions. Finally, when it seems that her name could not further morph, someone comes up with ‘Simi’; or maybe it is she herself who puts an end to all the name-changing. And Simi is how she’s known now. I did not care to understand what ‘Jassimran’ actually meant then, but with a little effort now, I am delighted to miraculously (it seems) discover how that unique name, that mystical-sounding nomenclature fits her to a T. Jassimran is a Sikh name, etymologically derived from ‘Jas’ meaning praise or glory, and ‘Simran’ meaning ‘realisation of the highest truth and purpose in one’s life’ or alternatively ‘rememberance through deliberation, meditation and realisation’. So, Jassimran simply explained, is the glorious commitment of the consciousness to the higher spiritual, awakened and self-aware state.

The thing about Simi which I realise fully now (well, I grasped the tip of this even back then) is that she’s one of them. You do not meet too many of them (I have befriended exactly 3) cos simply, they are not around much. Yes, they are individuals but they exist within such a wonderous space encompassing individuality, freedom and the amazingly prescient ability to realise almost, the entirety of the universe around them, that when they are with you, you unknowingly exult in their glow but when they are not there, you long for that indefinable quality which you do not seem to get anywhere else. They are what you would call ‘happy souls’; happy not in that they do or say things which are self-appeasing but they believe in utterances and actions which are so much in harmony with the things around them. If all this sounds too dense, then I suppose it is my inadequacy which makes it seem so. For when I remember that happy and bright light which we used to call ‘Simi’, a simple and deep warmth of the touch of a singularly wonderful person is the first thing which I feel. And as time goes by, increasingly it is the only thing I feel and remember. And that is enough.

[Simi’s birthday comes on 22^nd July and in this month, CPq will explore the happiness and the little joys which I guess, Simi would have liked to share in]