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Rooms Without Doors

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The monsoon had just begun to retreat from Pune, leaving behind a city washed clean but heavy with memory. Raindrops still clung to Gulmohar trees like forgotten tears, and the air carried the scent of wet earth. Seventy-nine year old Bhaskar Padhye, stepped out of the car slowly, his kurta slightly creased from the drive, his eyes scanning the entrance of the Matruvan Assisted Living Centre in Kothrud. He wore a pale blue Nehru jacket over his white cotton kurta, a nod to the elegance he once carried as a renowned urban planner in the 1970s till late 90’s . His forty eight year old daughter, Anjali, adjusted her dupatta and held his elbow gently. “Welcome home, Baba,” she said in a soft  but rehearsed  voice. Bhaskar looked at her, puzzled. “Ah! Y ou must be the receptionist. please show us in.” Anjali froze. “No, Baba. I’m Anjali. Your daughter.” Bhaskar smiled faintly, then turned toward the building. “Ah, yes. Off course. Off course. Anjali. Tagore’s all-time gr...
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Tujh Ko Dariyadili Ki Qasam Saaqiya

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 On one of my daily walks, I happened to listen to Jatin-Lalit’s composition from Yes Boss – Ek Din Aap Hum Ko Yoon Mil Jaayenge – penned by Javed Akhtar and sung by Kumar Sanu and Alka Yagnik. Here’s the link - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HHgVlMrkloQ The tune of the first line sounded similar to an old Jagjit-Chitra Singh ghazal - Tujhko Dariyadili Ki Kasam Saaqiya. If I am not mistaken, this ghazal was from the early eighties. Then I was in my teens and had dismissed it as yet another “philosophical song” by Jagjit. But the song (ghazal) stayed with me. Decades later when I “listened” to it once again, it was revelation for me. Also remember this is a Ghazal, not a Nazm. A Ghazal is made up of a number of independent couplets (Sher’s), while a Nazm is on a specific topic or mood. This ghazal written by Sabaa Afghani has several layers and facets – love for the beloved, for self and for the Almighty. For a heart that’s deep in love, this ghazal can sound like a request m...
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Shadows and Lights

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The auditorium lights in Shanmukhanand Hall felt blinding as I walked up to the stage when the anchor announced, " Maharashtra State Award for Best Director-Documentary goes to Falguni Prabhudesai".  I had put my complete energy in this film on migrant workers in Hadapsar, and the applause echoed like a tide crashing against the walls. I smiled, but inside my chest there was a storm of gratitude, disbelief, and a quiet ache. Is this the moment he will finally look at me not just as his daughter, but as an artist? I thought as I looked at my father, the greatest film director this state produced - Lalit Prabhudesai, sitting in the front row, his face unreadable as always. But it was not always like this... I often think of my childhood as a long corridor in our huge bungalow on Prabhat Road, lined with doors that never opened. Behind each door was my father, immersed in his films, his scripts, his endless discussions with colleagues. By the time I was born he was already f...
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