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About rajuwilk

I am a writer by passion but a surgeon by profession.

VD’s Grandfather!

VD’s Grandfather
I had a friend who was more popularly known by his initial ‘VD’ (These initials also stand for ‘Venereal Disease). This was quite an appropriate name as most of the time had a disheveled appearance, hair unkempt and clothes crumpled. He was also fond of smoking a joint once in while so he was also known as ‘Weeds’.
His Grandfather was the retired Director General of the Police of Tamil Nadu. Now VD claimed he smoked joints even in his Grandfather’s place, usually in the bathroom. Our reaction was “VD how stupid! A policeman will be able to recognize the smell of a joint and your Grandfather was no ordinary Cop”. VD was under the delusion that his Grandfather didn’t even know he smoked!
Now I had to go to Madras for some work and VD invited me to his Grandfather’s place. The old man had a massive bungalow in Kelly in Madras. There were couple of other houses in the compound. The inside of the house had a central drawing room with all the rooms surrounding it. So all the rooms in the house opened into the drawing room. The bedrooms had attached bathrooms which had a door opening outside to allow the sweepers to clean them. This was quite a typical old British design. VD introduced me to his Grandfather, telling the old man how intelligent and religious I was he also added in private that I being his senior would be very useful in furthering his career. Then he popped the question to the old man, “can my friend stay for dinner and overnight?” The old man reacted. “how can I feed an unexpected guest, no your friend should leave after some time”. Well then VD took me to his bedroom we sat there for some time then we left via the drawing room. The old man had his bed in the drawing room. I bade farewell to the old man. Then VD took me around the house and back into his bedroom via the bathroom entrance. VD’s cousin who lived upstairs also joined us and we poured out some drinks and had a party. Meanwhile the old man would intermittently shout, “Bambi (he was know by that name to his family) what is happening? VD would go reassure is Grandfather that it was only his cousin and him talking. Now it became dinner time so VD’s cousin and I volunteered to get some Chinese food from a nearby restaurant. So we left via the bathroom exit. While we were away VD decided to have a joint in the bathroom so he closed the door after that he went off to sleep. When we returned with the food we found ourselves locked out and through the window we could see VD fast asleep. We were faced with the problem of waking him up without waking up the old man but VD was dead to the world. So we tried to dislodge the bolt of the door. It so happened that the bolt gave away with a noise which woke up both VD and the old man. We ducked in the bushes in the darkness. When the old man was pacified by VD the party restarted. This time the old man was really suspicious and instead of shouting got up from his bed took a torch and shuffled towards the bedroom. I immediately hid in the bathroom the old man after inspecting the bedroom came into the bathroom. I hid flush against the wall next to the door. The beam of the torch caught my feet then traced my form upwards, “What are you doing here?” said the old man, “Come sleep near me and he took me to the drawing room and made me lie down on a sofa near his bed. VD meanwhile started arguing with his Grandfather saying, because you did not allow him to stay we had to resort to this. The old man calmly replied, “you are drunk now we will discuss it in the morning”. The next morning I got up had breakfast with the old man apologized to him which he accepted graciously and I returned to my hostel.

An attempt to define love!

Any writer worth his salt has written on love, however it still remain a poorly understood subject. I thought I would try my hand at this subject and see whether I could shed some light on it. Touring the cool climes of Himchal I bump into a lot of honeymooners and young couples and it makes me think. Love is a very difficult emotion to describe. The Oxford Dictionary has these definitions:1. An intense feeling of great affection for someone. 2. A great romantic or sexual attachment to someone. 3. A great interest or pleasure in something. It is also used loosely as a catch phrase for all relationships. There can be parental love, marital love, filial love, sibling love and love in friendship. These forms of love are usually  practical in nature and though emotions do have a role they do not dominate. Finally what is most talked about and tomes have been written about, is the romantic attachment between a young couple. Everyone likes a story of young love (maybe not the moral police objecting to couples in amorous positions in our public gardens). Open the  page 3 of our newspapers and you will read the love and times of the rich, famous and beautiful. A lot of us enter marriage by way of the ‘in-love’ (some of us arranged then ‘in-love’) experience. We meet or are introduced to someone whose physical characteristics and personality trait creates enough electrical shock in us, to trigger our ‘love alert’ system. The bells go off, and we attempt to get to know the person. The first step towards knowing maybe sharing a cup of tea and samosa in the college canteen or tapari or a controlled date under supervision of our elders. We believe true love exist as shown in movies, as written in ‘romance novels’ like Mills & and Boons. The question comes into our mind, “could this warm, tingly feeling and sweet pain in my chest which I have whenever I am with that person be the ‘real’ thing?”  At its peak, the in-love experience is euphoric. The couple  are emotionally obsessed with each other. They go to sleep thinking of one another. When they rise, that person is the first thought on their minds. They long to be together. Spending time together is like playing in the anteroom of heaven. Unfortunately nothing last forever including the eternality of the in-love experience. According Dr. Gary Chapman, a marriage councillor,  studies conducted on the in-love phenomenon showed that the average life of a romantic obsession is two years. If it is a secretive love affair, it may last a little longer (the honeymoon period). In order to continue to maintain an emotional connect with your partner Dr. Chapman suggests the following 5 steps. 1. Words of affirmation:- Mark Twain once said, “I can live for two months on a good compliment. “Things should not be taken for granted. If your wife has cooked a good meal then she should be told so. If you feel she is looking good in a dress, speak out.  Constant encouragement and appreciation should be there. Something we did naturally in the honeymoon days.  2. Quality time:- You maybe a good provider and earn a lot of money but what is the use for that if you dont enjoy it together. Quality time means giving someone your undivided attention. Not spending the night out with the boys. 3. Receiving gifts:- Gifts are a visual symbol of love. A gift is something she can hold in her hand and say, “look he was thinking of me,” or “he remembered me.” Gifts may not be expensive just symbolic of your love. 4. Acts of service:- Doing things you know your spouse would like you to do. You seek to please her, to express your love for her by doing things for her. It may as simple as helping her out in her household chores. 5. Physical touch:- This is the most powerful vehicle for communicating marital love. For some individuals it is the primary love language. Without it they feel unloved. It could be a simple caress, a hug or a kiss to communicate you still care for her. These have been described as the emotional language of love. Try communicating in this language and you will notice a difference. 

Close Encounters of the Bollywood kind!

Close Encounters of the Bollywood kind
In my younger days I was ‘star struck’ like all of us. We equate film stars to celestial beings. However the truth is far removed. Let me rewind to circa 1978, I was in my first year MBBS and holidaying in Bombay with relatives (the city was known by that name then). My sister is a very versatile person, she had started her career in an ad agency then went onto dabble in Film Journalism. She had joined the Indian Express group and her first posting was in their film supplement Screen. She had quite an exciting time interviewing film personalities and used to tell us stories about the various stars she interviewed. One day it was an interview with Neetu Singh who was then the reigning Bollywood Queen (BTW it was not known as Bollywood in those days). The current generation know her merely as Ranbir Kapoor’s mother. Then another day it was an interview with Amjad Khan who was famous for his role as Gabbar Singh in Sholay.
I being as ‘star struck’ as everybody else asked her whether it was possible for me to meet some of these celestial beings. She said “Sure! I have been invited to screen villain Ranjeet’s wedding you can accompany me.” Mr. Ranjeet was the reigning Hindi film villain. He must have done the maximum rape scenes on screen. The scenes consisted of tearing of sleeves followed by shoulder squeezing and with the heroine screaming “ Chhod de mujhe kaminay!” This was invariably the cue for the Hero to play spoilt sport and burst in with the predictable invectives, “Kuttay! Kaminay! Tera khoon pee jaoonga.” Recently I saw him in a small comical role in Housefull 2, where he is the ‘the-rapist’.
He was marrying his long time live in girlfriend and the reception was at his Juhu Bungalow. My sister assured me that the whole of Bollywood would be attending and in one night I could view an entire galaxy of stars.
Those were simpler times when people were more trusting and terrorism had not reared it’s ugly head in India. You only heard about terrorist acts in the middle east. Security was not a big thing as it is now. We caught a local train upto Bandra Station and took a taxi to the venue, which was his house in Juhu. The reception was held in the lawn of his house, that would be unheard of in these days of conspicuous consumption where a wedding reception is held in a five star hotel with all the trappings of wealth. Ranjeet and his bride were at the gate to personally greet the guests. His bride wore a blue saree and a departure from tradition wore silver jewellery. My sister explained later that this was a new trend, which unfortunately never caught on. My sister had done couple of interviews with Ranjeet so he knew her. She introduced me to him and he greeted me warmly with a vigorous hand shake and a back slap, like a long lost friend. He told me to make myself at home, make sure I eat well and also to look after my sister. As you can well imagine I was fairly taken aback, never expected to be greeted which such warmth. I had expected the stars to be aloof and cold. We entered the lawn. The drawing room of the house had large French windows which were laid open allowing the party guest to spill out from the drawing room into the lawn. I spotted Rekha in traditional attire. She was wearing a cream Kanjeevaram saree with a heavy border and gold jewellery. Her hair had a single braid and a large red bindi on her forehead. Outside in the lawn was standing Sanjay Dutt, this was just before his first movie Rocky was released. He was more famous as being the son of Sunil and Nargis Dutt.
At that time Sanju baba looked like a ‘chota baba’. Full head of hair cut in the prevailing fashion of those days to cover the ears. He was formally dressed in an off white suit and was talking to Simi Garewal. I edged a little closer to them to overhear their conversation, “So when I we going to see you on the silver screen?” asked Simi in her British accented English. Baba mumbled a reply which was not audible to me perhaps because he does mumble and his back was turned to me. Meanwhile there was a stir in the crowd and I looked to see what was happening, there strode in all alone, the Big B himself Mr. Amitabh Bacchan. Though he was not known as the Big B in those days, he was at the pinnacle of his career with Manmohan Desai movies like Amar, Akhbar Anthony being superhits. As you can imagine the entire focus of attention of crowd shifted to Mr. Bacchan. He firmly ensconced himself in a corner of the lawn and remained aloof. Some small kids approached him with a request for an autograph which he ignored. He was the only star who behaved in the stereotyped manner of a star.
I would have continued to observe Mr. Bacchan but my sister caught me and told me “I would like you to meet someone.” And lo and behold that someone turned out to be Amjad Khan, famous for his role as Gabbar Singh. Mr. Khan was wearing a white Pathan suit and had a cigarette burning in his hand. He turned out to be a far cry from the evil persona he portrayed on the screen. In contrast he was very friendly and very jovial, constantly cracking jokes with us. Meanwhile the party was warming up and people were tanking up on the booze. An inebriated individual stumbled by Mr. Khan and bumped accidentally into him. Mr. Khan turned around with a dirty look but the individual was oblivious to the world. Mr. Khan turned back to us and remarked, “I love well mannered people” in shades of Gabbar Singh style. Mr. Khan himself was a teetotaller.
Then the call of nature took me on a quest for the toilet. I asked a hired help for the directions. He pointed to a door in the house. I opened the door and walked in, it was a den which had a music system and a collection of cassette tapes (wonder if my younger readers know what those were). The room was done up in Filmy style as a faux gufa. The walls consisted of grey fake granite boulders as also was the roof. At the end of the room was the toilet .
Once relieved I picked up a plate and joined the buffet que. While serving myself I felt a sharp poke on my back, turning around I found an individual who was slightly inebriated and very familiar. He had inadvertently poked his plate on my back and was blissfully oblivious. I looked carefully at his familiar face and then realized that the individual was another Bollywood baddy, Mr. Prem Chopra!
Now was time to return back home me and my sister stood outside looking for a taxi. Just then a white Ambassador drives up to us and on the passenger side is seated Mr. Amjad Khan. He tells us to hop on behind and he will drop us to the nearest taxi stand. He apologized for the humbleness of his ride as his Mercedez had gone for repairs. He kept us amused all throughout the ride with his humour though I was so much in awe of ridding in his car that I could not laugh or even pay attention. We came to a parked taxi with the driver sleeping and his feet sticking out of the window. Our car came and stopped next to the taxi, Mr. Khan who was sitting on the passenger side in front tickled the driver’s toes and who got up startled and was further startled to see Mr. Khan. We said our good byes and took the taxi to Bandra station.
At the end of this encounter I realized that the Bollywood stars far from being celestial beings are people like you and me. The after all have risen from our ranks, they have their insecurities, vanities, they also jostle at the buffet table and get inebriated. After that I have never seeked another star.

From gropers to rapist!

From gropers to rapist!
Delhi has come into the public eye recently and has been given the title ‘Rape capital’ of India. Whether it deserves this title or not is a moot point, there may be more deserving places in the hinterland, far removed from the public eye. But Delhi didn’t morph over night into an unsafe place for women, it has been evolving over a period of time. The apathy of the authorities can be fully blamed for this sorry state of affairs.
In the late eighties and early nineties I was doing my MS in Ludhiana, I used to frequent Delhi almost every month, visiting my friend Amitava Biswas ‘Bisoo’ who was studying in AIIMS. In those days it was the ‘Grope capital’.  Groping was rampant, especially in the public transport system, the buses. Like in every metropolis these overcrowded, bursting at the seams buses were rich hunting grounds for the gropers. Those hapless members of the fairer sex who were forced to use the public transport system had to put up with the indignity of being pawed. The co passengers were either mute spectators or appeared leeringly amused.
Then on the streets these perpetrators had honed this into a fine art. Me and my friend were once walking through a tony residential neighbourhood and were witnesses to this scene. A car was parked along the side walk and across the road two perpetrators were on a bicycle and waiting expectantly. One was on the saddle and the other seated sideways on the front bar. They were waiting and watching like hawks for a hapless victim. They did not have to wait for long for soon along came a young lady striding purposefully towards her destination. She was walking along the side walk but once she reached the park car, she had two options. Either to climb on the pavement and walk around the car from the pavement xc or walk around the car on the street side. She opted for the latter option easier option not realising the danger. As soon as she began to go around the car on the street side the two perpetrators got galvanised into action. They swerved in an arch across the road towards the victim. The one seated on the bar had his paws flaying all around. The timing was perfect so that the victim was squeezed between the car and the approaching bicycle. She however had the presence of mind turn towards the car exposing only her back. With nothing substantial to paw, the perpetrators swerved their bicycle back to across the road. The onlookers had a laugh, whether they were laughing at the victim or the
perpetrators it was difficult to tell. The victim nonchalantly walked on as if nothing had happened. This must have been pretty common place in this urban jungle.
The authorities should have taken stern steps to deter such behaviour, this naturally emboldened perpetrators like these to graduate from gropers to rapist and Delhi’s decline to being the ‘rape capital’ today.