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Excerpt

Ramblings of a Bandra Boy

Title: Ramblings of a Bandra Boy

Author: Joy Bimal Roy

(Excerpted from Ramblings of a Bandra Boy by Ratnottama Sengupta)

Joy Bimal Roy looks back at the many 21 Januarys, his birthday, that have dotted 70 calendars

On 6th February 1950 Baba and Nabendu Kaku arrived together in Bombay to work on Bombay Talkies’ Maa. I wasn’t born then, so I can only wonder if either of them, or their illustrious fellow travellers Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Asit Sen even imagined what a life changing experience that journey would be for each of them and, ultimately, for Indian Cinema.

This small but immensely talented and visionary team — Baba as director, Nabendu Kaku as screenplay writer and Hrishi Kaku as editor — created some of the best loved and most remembered classics of the golden ’50s and early ’60s: Do Bigha Zamin, Devdas, Madhumati, Sujata and Bandini.

When I was born on 21st January 1955, this team was already well established and feted in Bombay film industry. Co-incidentally (or perhaps not, because is there any such thing as coincidence?) six days after my birth, a daughter Ratnottama — Uttama to me — was born to Nabendu Kaku and Kanak Kakima in the same, Mandakini Nursing Home in Bandra. Uttama and I instinctively formed a bond which continues till today and seems to strengthen over the years. For me this became the link between our two families.

*

Some silly astrologer told my parents that they should not celebrate my first seven birthdays — else, ill-luck would befall me. So I grew up going to birthday parties of other children and wondering why I never had one.

That could explain why to date I hate my birthdays. It is a day of introspection and soul searching, assessing the past year of my life for gains and losses. No wonder I am more depressed than usual by the end of the day.

All that changed on my 40th birthday thanks to Sriram, my college classmate, and my sister, Aparajita, who was in Mumbai from Kolkata at that time. Together they conspired to have a small celebration at home. Sriram, ever generous, brought the champagne and glasses as well because he was not sure we had any.

Paradoxically it was possibly the worst time in our lives. We had lost the eviction suit our landlords had filed against us in the Small Causes Court, and had been given four months to vacate the premises, of which two months were already up. My birthday was on 21st January and three weeks after that, on 14th February, we were supposed to vacate our home of 46 years — unless we got a Writ Petition admitted in the High Court.

Plonk in the middle of this mess, the thought of celebrating my birthday had not even crossed my mind. But when Sriram entered holding the champagne bottle aloft like a trophy, along with his petite and demure wife Enakshi, and my classmates Divyakant and Ajay, their love and concern were so palpable that suddenly my spirit soared and I felt free as a bird. If I was blessed to have friends like them, Life couldn’t be so bad after all. 

It’s not that I celebrated every year after that but I was no longer traumatized on my birthdays.

*

The first birthday we celebrated after moving into our cottage was my 50th birthday. It doubled as a housewarming party, so it was a riotous affair. Everyone got high thanks to the ministrations of a bartender called Greenville and danced to blaring music like whirling dervishes. Our neighbours complained and the cops turned up. 

Not bad for someone who started out in life with no birthday celebrations at all, eh?

*

When my 60th birthday dawned I was not feeling particularly celebratory. But my sister was coming down, this time from Hyderabad, my niece from Dubai and my nephew from England, and I didn’t want to disappoint them.

Our home at that time was overrun with cats and the garden was a mess, so I looked for a more welcoming venue. The only place I could think of was Kekee Manzil, home to our old family friend Kekoo Gandhy, founder of Chemould, India’s first commercial Art Gallery — and his daughters Rashna, Behroz and Shireen. I asked hesitantly but they agreed enthusiastically and I will always be grateful for that.

Kekee Manzil is an elegant and gracious villa, a heritage structure overlooking the Arabian Sea at Bandstand. At one point of time the Gandhy family also owned the adjacent property which once went by the name of Ville Vienna and housed Baba’s mentor Nitin Bose — and now is famous as Mannat, owned by Shah Rukh Khan.

The venue was the hero on that evening filled with friends, food and fun, not me. Because I was feeling singularly ill at ease about my appearance.

I hadn’t had the time or the bandwidth to figure out what to wear for this milestone birthday, so I had to settle for the only new kurta I had. Unfortunately it looked like tent on me. To make matters worse I had burgeoned to 95 kilos, so I felt like a beached whale.

I made a mental resolution. I HAD to lose weight that year. But as they say, the way to hell is paved with good intentions. So my resolution remained just that — until months had gone by…

*

But before the year dovetailed into my 61st birthday, by sheer synchronicity I stumbled into the right dietician for me — and in eight months I lost 16 kg. Cereno, a trendy batch mate, told me about Zara and gave me a style tip for my hair. He said I would look much better if I had a very short haircut, like a crew cut. I didn’t like the idea of a crew cut but I realised I needed a makeover to go with my new clothes.

At the end of it all my reflection in the mirror was unrecognisable. A strange bald man looked back at me. My sister shrieked when she saw me but she was mollified by the favourable reaction of Cereno and other classmates.

The coup de grace was when a poker-faced Cereno borrowed my phone, fiddled with it, and handed it back to me saying he had put my profile on a dating app. “Just wait for five minutes,” he said, “and you’ll get your first hit.” Sure enough, after five minutes my phone went beep!

So in my 60th year I reinvented myself. Better late than never?

About the Book

Ramblings of a Bandra Boy is a compilation of Joy Bimal Roy’s posts on social media between 2017 and 2020. These slices of life “served without any extra seasoning or fancy garnish” as he puts it, have been described by Rachel Dwyer, professor of Indian Cultures and Cinema at SOAS, London, as jottings in kheror khata, the traditional cloth bound notebook that Satyajit Ray — and his father Sukumar Ray before him — used to pen down thoughts and visuals that are world’s treasure. It covers life in the glitzy Bandra where most of the Bollywood crowd resides… giving glimpses of real life of the giants peopling the cinema screens. 

About the Author

Joy Bimal Roy is the son of legendary Indian filmmaker, Bimal Roy, and one of India’s pioneer woman photographers, Manobina Roy. He started his filmmaking stint as an assistant director to Shyam Benegal.

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Read the author’s interview by clickling on this link

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL. 

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Conversation

Ramblings of Joy Bimal Roy

‘So what is it like being the son of Bimal Roy[1]?’ Ratnottama Sengupta asked the author of Ramblings of a Bandra Boy

Ratnottama Sengupta and Joy Bimal Roy. Photo Courtesy: Debashish Sengupta

Rambling, when used for writing – or speech – implies unmapped, confused or, at worst, inconsequential flow of thoughts. In another usage, the word applies to walking in the countryside for sheer pleasure. It is in this second sense that Joy Bimal Roy’s digitally published text, Ramblings of a Bandra Boy is a perfect match of form and content. For, its sweeping take hops from landscape to landscape and life to life of persons who have peopled the world of the author born in a typical Bandra household precisely 70 years ago.

Why typical Bandra household? Because Bandra – derived from the word bandar, meaning harbour – is the Queen of Mumbai’s suburbs. This pocket of history in the heart of the Financial Capital of India is also the home of VIPs, of Bollywood and of political variety too. As the time-weathered Bandra Fort overlooking the Arabian Sea vouches, Bandra predates the British ownership of the Seven Islands gifted to the Crown when Charles II married Princess Catherine of Portugal. Indeed, St Andrew’s Church, in existence since 1575, came up on the strength of Jesuit Priests who won over Koli fishermen winning Christians a stronghold in this part of coastal Maharashtra, much like in Goa.

In the 21st century, Bandra is where Mehboob Studios and Lilavati Hospital stand. Where the Bandra-Kurla Complex defines the dreams of the rich and the rising, overshadowing Asia’s biggest shanty town, Dharavi. And where the awe inspiring Bandra-Worli Sealink bridges the southern extreme of ‘Bombay’ with its ever growing ‘suburbs’.

But all through my lifetime, Bandra has been better recognised as the home of celebrities. Bollywood thespians, Dilip Kumar and Sunil Dutt, to Shah Rukh Khan and Salman Khan; art personalities, KK Hebbar to Kekoo Gandhy; actors, Rekha to Raakhee; directors, Nitin Bose and Hrishikesh Mukherjee, writer Gulzar and cricketer Sachin Tendulkar; umpteen fashion designers and models too have boasted 400050 as their Pincode.

Joy Bimal Roy’s Ramblings takes you on a multi-stop tour of this ‘port’ of India’s social fabric. For, as you skid from one story to another, in no predetermined chronology or thematic order, you get to meet his Yusuf Uncle (Dilip Kumar of Devdas[2] fame) and Bhoba Kaka (Ritwik Ghatak of Madhumati[3]fame), Lata Bai (Mangeshkar) and the Dutts — father Sunil and daughter Priya — who have represented North West Bombay in Parliament even as one member of that family slogged in a jail.

Take a quizzical look at Bollywood divas and peep at actors in their skin labouring on in a posh gym. Get a warm handshake with Shashi Kapoor and gift a sari to Sanjana. Riveting tales of travels to Lebanon, Beirut, Abu Dhabi, Greece, Switzerland, England, San Francisco and San Jose – they’re crowned by nuggets like “I delved into my sister’s recipe book… it has taken the place of Bhagvad Gita in my life” and “I do wish food wasn’t such an important feature in my life. Because it directly correlates to my expanding waistline.”

That’s not all. Here’s a reverential insight into what constituted Shyam Benegal’s greatness — and several irreverent accounts of the crème de la crème schools and colleges that have shaped the author who could have been a top notch contemporary artist, a charming singer, an enviable fashion designer, or an accoladed filmmaker.

Joy Bimal Roy chose not to be either of these. Instead, he stitched together Images of Kumbha Mela when he chanced upon the footage that were to be Bimal Roy’s last film. And he directed Remembering Bimal Roy [4]when his father’s birth centenary came around. He has mounted a series of world class exhibitions to showcase the photography of his mother, Manobina Roy, who, along with her twin Debalina Majumdar, was one of India’s earliest woman photo artist. And in her memory he has installed an imposing sculpture of two hands raised in prayer, ‘Requeim’, at the Bandstand promenade. He has got a road named after his venerable father. He has designed the career of musical talents like Alisha Chinai. He has up-cycled heritage saris and jewellery to support hospices. And he has been editing a newsletter chronicling the life of Bandra, the neighbourhood he was born in, grew up in, and continues to breathe life into.

Now Joy has given us Ramblings, a compilation of his posts on social media between 2017 and 2020. These slices of life “served without any extra seasoning or fancy garnish” as he puts it, have been described by Rachel Dwyer, professor of Indian Cultures and Cinema at SOAS[5], London, as jottings in kheror khata, the traditional cloth bound notebook that Satyajit Ray — and his father Sukumar Ray before him — used to pen down thoughts and visuals that are world’s treasure. In this exclusive, he converses about his book and his life.

What is your earliest memory of being the son of Bimal Roy? 

Finding out in school from classmates that my father was famous!

What is the strongest impression you retain of 8th January 1966 – the day Bimal Roy passed into eternity?

I remember hearing a song from the basti[6] behind our house while I was taking a bath. That song still haunts me. I wasn’t allowed into the living room where Baba’s body was kept, so I peered in through the slats of the back door of the living room. We lived in an old Parsi Bungalow where the wooden doors were 8 ft high and had moveable wooden shutters. The room was packed to capacity but there was pin drop silence. Time stood still. It hadn’t yet sunk in that I would never see Baba again.

Did you develop a deeper understanding of what Bimal Roy was, in the process of making Remembering Bimal Roy?

Absolutely. It was a cathartic and moving experience to hear the memories of people he had worked with over 60 years ago. Not only Tapan Sinha, who was with him in New Theatres; poet, lyricist, director Gulzar who had started as assistant in Bandini; Sharmistha Roy, daughter of his art director Sudhendu Roy; and his accountant Amrit Shah – even next generation personalities like Javed Akhtar and Ashutosh Gowarikar remembered him with so much love and respect that it brought tears to my eyes. I discovered anew that Baba was not only a superlative filmmaker but also a wonderful human being.

Did you likewise get to know Manobina Roy a little more through her photography?

Not really. I was fortunate to have her presence for 46 years of my life. So I grew up being photographed and seeing her photos. But it was only after her death that I discovered from a Bengali book called Chhobi Tola that she and her sister Debalina were two of the earliest known women photographers of India.

Has the insight into Bimal Roy films equipped you to be a responsible filmmaker? Or did you gain greater practical experience as an understudy/ through your interactions with Shyam Benegal, Girish Karnad[7], Basuda[8], and Hrishi Kaku[9]?

I had no interaction with Basuda and Girish in connection with film making. What I learned after watching the making of Chaitali[10] — the last film made under the banner of Bimal Roy Productions, nine years after Baba passed away — was how NOT to make a film. 

Whatever I learned about filmmaking was from watching Baba’s films and my work experience with Shyam Benegal.

I wouldn’t really describe myself as a ‘filmmaker’ after making one documentary on Baba. However it is true that I have very high standards and living up to them was a big responsibility. After all, I am my father’s son. He was a perfectionist and so am I. It took me six months to edit a one-hour film simply because I was striving to do the best possible job with the material I had in hand. 

Before you got into films you have ‘dabbled’ in fashion designing, worked with HMV[11],  and now you are a most absorbing and prolific writer. Personally, I have always admired your painting (which I seldom see you do now). And I know you have mesmerised your college events with your singing. Which of these is your natural calling?

All of them unfortunately, which is why I didn’t know which one I should follow. As a result I have been a ‘dabbler’ — to use your own word. You could accuse me of being a dilettante but as I said before, I have high standards. So whatever I did, it was with all my heart and soul. 

Tell me about the joys and woes of assisting Shyam Benegal.

 That is impossible to describe as one question in an interview. It would be an entire interview! You can, however, get some answers in my book.

Which of the film stars of Bimal Roy’s team have you been closest to?

None. Because I was not even eleven when Baba passed away. But we did keep in touch with Yusuf Uncle. He was incomparable.

What difference in the work culture or cinematic ethics have you noticed between these two legends? 

Baba and Shyam? I can only judge Baba from his films, but I worked with Shyam. It’s a difficult question to answer.

Please tell us about Uttama, Papri, Roopu, Sharmistha (Buri?), Aloka – essentially, about the extended Family of Bimal Roy?

That’s what all of them were and are: Family. One accepts and embraces them as they are.

What led you to the Ramblings which has been described as ‘social document of our times’?

My Facebook friends led me to Ramblings. They drove me mad demanding a book. I did it more to oblige them and make them stop making demands.

What next — cinema a la Bimal Roy — or books after Monobina Roy, who, besides being an ace photo artiste and a fabled cook, wrote Jato Door Tato Kachhe?[12]

A Bengali translation of Ramblings of a Bandra Boy

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[1] Bimal Roy (1909-1966) Legendary Film Director

[2] Hindi movie, 1955, Dileep Kumar (1922-2021) played the titular role

[3] Hindi movie, 1958, written by Ritwick Ghatak (1925-1976)

[4] Joy Bimal Roy lost his father filmmaker Bimal Roy when he was 11 years. Joy remembered very little of his father. ‘Remembering Bimal Roy’ made by Joy Bimal Roy is the search of a son for his father.

[5] School of Oriental and African Studies

[6] slum

[7] Girish Karnad (1938-2019) Actor, director, playwright

[8] Basu Bhattacharya (1934-1997), Film director

[9] Hrishikesh Mukherjee (1922-2006), Film Director

[10] 1975 movie directed by Hrishikesh Mukherjee

[11] His Master’s Voice, British music and entertainment retailer

[12] Distance draws us closer – translation from Bengali

Read the book excerpt by clickling on this link

Ratnottama Sengupta, formerly Arts Editor of  The Times of India, teaches mass communication and film appreciation, curates film festivals and art exhibitions, and translates and write books. She has been a member of CBFC, served on the National Film Awards jury and has herself won a National Award. 

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Travel

The Storied Past of Khiva

Narratives and photography by Gita Viswanath

Entrance to Khiva

If you thought time travel was only a captivating concept in science fiction or theoretical physics, try experiencing it in Khiva! Located in the heart of the Kyzylkum Desert in Uzbekistan is the ancient city of Khiva, declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1990.  With its immaculately preserved city walls and stunning monuments, Khiva transports visitors back in time to the days of the Silk Route and the prosperous empires of Central Asia. When five of us planned a trip to Uzbekistan, we knew we would encounter history in every nook and corner of this utterly enchanting country. However, to see it all preserved with so much care and thought was another experience all together. The credit for this goes to Uzbekistan’s first President, Islam Karimov, who took up the task of restoring monuments and returning to the Uzbeki people, their rich and layered history and multiculturalism after years of Soviet rule.

Our guide, Murat led us through this treasure trove of history and architectural marvels with a quiet, thoroughly knowledgeable air. We set out after a hearty breakfast at Zarafshon Boutique Hotel, conveniently located within the walls of the Itchan Kala (Inner City), to walk for the next four hours through its mesmerizing, labyrinthine streets that reverberate with the sounds of a folklore ensemble’s traditional music, tourists’ chatter, guides’ narrations, and shopkeepers’ entreaties to buy their wares.

A city that goes back over two millennia, Khiva was one of the oases along the Silk Route. The Silk Route, an ancient network of trade routes connecting the East and West, spanning thousands of miles across Asia, resulted in the exchange of goods, ideas, faiths and convictions that ultimately transformed and defined history in a way that has an impact to this day. Ever since, Khiva thrived as a centre of trade, commerce, and cultural exchange. It became an important city in the region, famous for its wealth, power, and architectural splendor.

The skyline of Khiva is defined by its walls, reminiscent of Jaisalmer in Rajasthan. Itchan Kala, enclosed inside magnificent mud-brick walls, packed with straw, dates back to the 10th century. Within these walls lie architectural marvels, including the Kalta Minor Minaret, Toshhovli Palace, the Muhammad Amin Khan Madrassah, and the Juma Mosque.

Kalta Minor minaret

The incomplete Kalta Minor, with its arresting turquoise minaret towers over us at 45 meters. Soon, the colour turquoise became so omnipresent in our photo gallery that we needed to use Google Lens to distinguish one from another! Muhammad Amin Bahadur Khan, the Khan of the Khiva Khanate intended the minaret to be the largest and tallest in the Muslim world at 80 meters, exceeding the height of the 73-meter Qutb Minar in Delhi. According to the historian, Mulla Olim Maxdum Hoji, the Khan could not have his way due to his untimely death in a battle near Sarakhs in 1855. Twelve of the sixteen verses inscribed on the minaret are those of Muhammad Riza Ogahi, a poet from Khiva, who was witness to its construction. The writings were pulled down during the Soviet regime, only to be restored after Uzbekistan’s independence. There is a belief that criminals were dragged up to the top of the minaret and thrown down, although there is no historical evidence to support this. It remains a tale told by the guides to tourists who go, “Oh nooooo!”

Tosholvi Palace

Moving on to the Toshhovli Palace, which means ‘Stone House’, we were captivated by the decoration comprising ceramic tiles, carved stone and wood. Built by Alla Khuli Bahadur Khan between 1832 and 1841, it has more than 150 rooms with nine courtyards. The high ceilings of the rooms are designed to keep the place cool in the summer months of this desert region.

Known for his impatience, Allah Khuli insisted that the royal architect, Usto Nur Mohammed Tajikhan, build the palace in three years. When the architect nervously said that it would not be possible, he was impaled and Kalender Khivaki took over along with the famous tile decorator, Abdullah Jin. It took eight years and the labour of nearly a thousand slaves to complete this structure that we, today as tourists, gape at in complete awe. The unfading colours of the glazed tiles owe their lasting quality to a technique called “ishkor,” mastered by the craftsmen of another era.

Embedded within the intricate tile work of the Toshhovli Palace is the hilarious story of how Allah Khuli picked a woman from his harem for each night. The region is known for its large pomegranates, with juicy seeds as red as rubies and Khuli is supposed to have flung one fruit into the quarters of the woman he desired. The fall of a pomegranate through the window, then, alerted the woman! Murat and the five of us had a hearty laugh and one of us even wondered aloud, ‘what if he didn’t have good aim,’ or ‘what if the window was closed!’ Murat shrugged his shoulders, a tad embarrassed.

The austere and monastic, yet splendid wood carved pillars and roof of the Juma Mosque stands as a contrast to the rich colour palettes of the other monuments. According to the Arabian geographer Al-Mukaddasy, the Juma Mosque was constructed in the tenth century. This one-storey brick building with a flat roof was rebuilt over the ruins in 1788 with 25 of its 212 pillars, made of black elm wood, recovered from the original structure. The roof has small openings to let in the light.

Beyond its architectural majesty, Khiva resounds as a living testament to the cultural heritage and traditions of Uzbekistan. In its stark brown desert landscape, the colours of Khiva’s monuments, ceramics and hats stand out in a sharp and endearing contrast. To this day, the bazaars of Khiva are filled with artisans who continue to practice traditional crafts such as carpet weaving, pottery, and silk embroidery, preserving age-old techniques and skills passed down through generations. The great artistic legacy lives on in the silent monuments staring down at you as well as in the bustling bazaars with warm, hospitable people who are especially partial to Indian tourists given their adoration of Bollywood films. In fact, fans of Hindi films, of which there are aplenty in Uzbekistan, rattle off names of stars ranging from Raj Kapoor to Shah Rukh Khan! Parts of the Hindi action film, Yeh Mohabbat Hai (This is love, 2002), directed by Umesh Mehra were shot in Khiva!

The rumble in the belly with all the walking we did brought us back rudely into the moment and we headed straight to a restaurant recommended by Murat.  Food is such an integral part of travel and we did full justice to the spread that consisted of fresh salads, bread called non, straight out of the wood-fired ovens, and the ubiquitous lamb. As Khiva continues to enthrall travellers, it remains a guiding light of history, culture, and heritage in the heart of the Uzbekistan desert. It remains a mute witness to a borderless world of yore.

Gita Viswanath is the author of two novels – Twice it Happened (2019) and A Journey Gone Wrong (2022), , a non-fiction book, The‘Nation’ in War: A Study of Military Literature and Hindi War Cinema (2014), and a children’s book, Chidiya (Bird, 2018). Her short films: “Family Across the Atlantic” and “Safezonerz” are available on YouTube.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International