Posted on: May 13, 2008 - 2:53 am
Prateeksha, Mumbai, May 13, 2008 12:07 am
Its the end of the day. And in the solitude of my room, my thoughts are back with you.
The morning started with spending time with the technicians from the bigadda server, understanding the intricacies of the functioning of the blog; how to copy photographs, how to bring in the Hindi text, how there are complaints from readers of their texts awaiting moderation and their anxiety whether their words will ever reach me.
There is no moderation in what is written to me. Yes, I believe some notices do appear, but eventually it all comes to me. Good, bad, abusive everything.
CNN-IBN wanted an interview, which I gave in both English and Hindi to their anchor Bhupendra Choubey. Nothing very exciting. The routine questions - politics, attacks, why the blog, why the anger, why this why that. I think some of our best performances come out when we do electronic media interviews. I mean in how many different ways can one answer the same questions.
I shall try and put this one up when I get a copy, just in case some of you missed it.
Over lunch my lawyers inform me that I won in the Supreme Court today. It was the matter of the UP advertisement and certain queries raised on its authenticity and the misinformation it purportedly carried. The UP Government had moved court and ordered an investigation as to the correctness of the advertisement. The Election Commission, headed by a bench of High Court judges ruled in my favor, for, the information contained had been obtained from the Ministry of Home Affairs and the NCRB ( National Crime Records Bureau ) and was authentic.
Not satisfied with this the same matter was filed under RTI ( Right to Information ) and there too the Commissioner dismissed the petition stating that the information was from the Central Government and on its site and moreover that Mr Bachchan was not a Government servant and could not be questioned under the RTI.
This matter was again challenged in the High Court and again it was summarily dismissed. The matter was then filed in the Honorable Supreme Court, the highest legal body of the nation and today, well, yesterday now since we are past midnight, the matter has been dismissed, finally.
So ‘UP may dam hai, kyunki jurm yaha kum hai’ is without fault. There are no lies here. The highest legal body has passed judgement on it.
Mr Salim Khan your accusation in the Marathi press against me on this issue was and is wrong and incorrect. I now await for you to inform me the names of my close associates or friends, who you have insinuated are giving me wrong advice.
Sanjay Leela Bhansali came over later in the evening to give me the final script for his next production ‘Chenab Gandhi’ and we talked about the film, its locations, the look, the cast and then went into nostalgia and ‘Black’.
‘Black’ was exceptional. Nothing we did on any particular day of the shooting was ever out of place. It was always the right nerve, the right expression, the right movement, almost as though it was pre ordained. And Sanjay went on waxing eloquent to his assistant, who will be directing ‘Chenab Gandhi’, how the climax of the film was shot. The old man and prosthetics used. The number of hours it took to put it on and then take it off. That poignant moment when the ‘teacher’ comes over to the ’student’ to acknowledge her accomplishment, her graduation.
And how they all sat a little distant from me during the shoot, for I had, according to them built an imaginary wall around me for that moment.
He was right. The idea of breaking into that customary dance by the teacher during moments of excitement, was mine. But how it would be executed I hadn’t the foggiest.
I had pulled up a chair against the wall of the set; my 4 plastic chairs put one into the other to give it height for my bad back and shut my eyes. I had an ipod in my hand and had put on the head phones over my head, not disturbing my wig and my cap, and listened. Listened to the music that came out in a soft drone into my ears.
I had lost my father. For 15 years I had struggled and fought to keep him well and healthy. Day and night I kept a vigil, interspersed with my hectic work schedules. He hated going to hospitals and whenever it would become unavoidable I remained with him, in the room, conducting my affairs from there. On occasions when I had to travel, it was like tearing myself away from him, worried throughout how he would be managed. Kept speaking to him twice a day, wrote to him a letter by fax every day and insisted that he write back the same day, just to keep his mind busy and for him to feel that he had not been left alone. I was in the middle of a world concert, a commitment I could never have come away from. So I worked over the week end in cities in the US, where the tour was and travelled back on the Monday to India to be with him and then get back in time for the shows. Thank God for the Concorde, it saved so much time for me. As he deteriorated I never shifted him from the house, he would have been miserable. I put up an Intensive Care Unit in his room, managed by nurses and doctors round the clock. He was slipping into a coma. The doctors labored furiously. I could sense that he did not have long to go. The staff and the servants wanted to come in and pay their last respects, some close friends and relatives gathered. Sitting on the chair by his side I never drew my eyes away. A lifetime flashed by. Dad in his army fatigues as a member of the University Training Core, the early morning baths in the Sangam at Allahabad where I was born and brought up, the ‘jhakis’ that he would take us to see during Dashehra walking through crowds of people, my accompanying him late during the nights for his numerous ‘kavi sammelans’ and to witness the euphoria that he created throughout the night with his fans and lovers of poetry; lakhs of them out in the open in the cold winter nights of North Indian cities in raptures over his recitation, his early morning walks that he would drag me along to, his teaching me the math tables and the fear of getting them wrong during those walks, his study, his books, his determined will power coming through in endless episodes, his words of wisdom, his anger at indiscipline, his happiness and joy over an impressive mark sheet…
And layer after layer, pages after pages of my time spent with him flowing by and the realization ‘I wish I could have spent more time with him’.
The monitors behave erratically. The doctors in hushed tones ‘it will happen soon now’. A young niece breaks into a sob. Someone puts a hand on my shoulder. I still stare at his face. They tell me to hold his hand, ‘be with him’. I sit unmoved. And then…
His body quivers..ever so gently..
The sound in the room changes. The monitor tone has switched from a beep to that ominous singular, much read about, much heard about, but never ever seen before, drone….
A tear falls without warning, out of one eye down the cheek. I blink and adjust the head phones over my ears. People move about in the room on the set. It is a hospital. I am in white. I am old, very old. An muffled instruction is heard. I move in measured steps towards my coartist, I go around her touching her graduation dress, now not able to control the flow and the pain of emotion and as I reach around her, look at her with admiration and gently move into my little dance of joy.
It is the climax of ‘Black’ !
Sanjay leaves soon after and I remain with so many flashes.
I have to leave for a function at the Marriott. Shivji, Pt Shiv Kumar Sharma that great santoor master has asked me release the album of his son. Shivji and Yashji had come together for the music of ‘Silsila’. We talked of those times and that one magical night in Delhi, during the shooting of the film, when three greats, Pt Shiv Kumar Sharma on santoor, Pt Hari Prasad Chaurasia on the bansuri and that bundle of energy, Ustad Zakir Hussain on the tabla, had played for us in our Hotel room in what I believe to be the finest impromtu performance I have ever heard in my life.
The record to be released is by Rahul, Shivji’s talented son, a fusion of modern music with the traditional santoor that now Rahul plays so dexterously. Its called ‘Confluence’. Quite apt. For me though it is the confluence of not just the music of two different styles, but the confluence of two traditions. The tradition of the upbringing of Rahul and the imparting of his illustrious father’s talent to him. In todays day and age when the new generation drifts unconsciously away, how wonderful to see our culture and ethos being transferred from one generation on to the next, with the same respect and order enjoyed by our ancestors.
Its the end of the day. And the solitude of my room. And my thoughts remain with you -
Good Night
Amitabh Bachchan
June 26th, 2008 at 2:54 pm
Hi Amitabh Sir,
Good Afternoon,
World knows U a big star, but still there are few people, who doesn’t know you. because of illiteracy in our country. U did a lot for ur kids & ur carrier, Can u tell me , what u have done or going to do for this kind of people,for their education , health & their carrier.
Any way, take care of ur health Kajrere Kajrare Naina.
Best wishes
Always cheers
Pushp
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June 13th, 2008 at 11:57 pm
u have amazing personality
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June 12th, 2008 at 9:06 am
Hi webmaster!
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June 11th, 2008 at 3:49 pm
Dear Sir ,
Pranam
We the people of bengal would definitely want to hear from you about Kolkata, about Bengalees, about JAYA KAKIMA…and about your struggling days at Kolkata…with some Bengali words from you….thats a short request.
Hope you will accept.
With Regards
Ankita Mondal
Bardhamman, West Bengal
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