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Indian Express
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
My Father and I: Writers on books and bonding
'Some of my most cherished memories are of the family trips we took together to Nainital, Nepal, Mussoorie, Pachmarhi, Jabalpur and other places.' These were not just holidays, but deeply anchoring experiences: 'Travelling with him and my mother, discovering new places, and just being together as a family gave me a deep sense of security and joy.' That sense lingers still: 'Even now, those memories evoke a warm nostalgia and a quiet smile.' Former diplomat and author Vikas Swarup with his father Vinod Swarup. (Source: Express Photo) As years pass, so too does the curiosity deepen about who our parents were before they became our parents. 'I often wonder what he was like as a young man, before life happened. We never really had that kind of conversation, and I wish we had.' But timing, always elusive: 'He turns 90 this year, but I doubt he would want to have that kind of conversation now!' He suggests two that resonate. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini — 'which captures the silences and complexities in father-son relationships.' And The Road by Cormac McCarthy — 'though bleak in tone, is a haunting meditation on the bond between a father and son.' (Vikas Swarup, former diplomat; author of Slumdog Millionaire, The Accidental Apprentice, Six Suspects; host of the podcast Diplomatic Dispatch) On a favorite memory: 'Let me show you some photographs, each one encrypted with voices and stories,' she writes. 'Old black and white photographs of my parents and me, held in place by neat cardboard corners in the stiff black pages of a vintage family album. My father, mother and me. In the active periphery of my childhood there were aunts and uncles and grandmother, each one a strong presence. But the nucleus of my world was the three of us.' She remembers a summer evening when she was three and a half, and seized by a sudden desire to become a 'Sahib'. 'Not a memsahib but a Sahib. Maybe inspired by a picture in some book my father read out to me… In the absence of a tail-coat I demanded my green winter frock-coat and in default of the fitted breeches I shrieked for my green woollen dungarees with the red embroidered squirrel on its chest-flap.' The trouble was — it was June. 'These were winter clothes, packed away with dried neem leaves and camphor balls in the heavy metal trunk, and the timing of my impassioned fantasy had fallen on a hot June evening!' Her mother tried to resist. 'My mother threatened me with a slap, several slaps and imminent hammering but I gritted my teeth and persisted.' Then came her father: 'That long-suffering man of imagination, came to my rescue and reasoned: 'The child is deeply involved in some creative make-believe. We must not shatter it. Take out the woollen clothes and dress her.'' 'So, hatted and booted, in thick woollen clothes, swaying a stick, a child walked down the Colonelgunj road… and into the triangular park! My Dad walked with me with a very straight face, fully co-operating with my inner life. We must have made a curious spectacle that hot June evening… I remember taking a turn or two round the park before the heat and oppression of my heavy woollen clothes put my fantasy to flight.' 'How can I ever retrieve my father in words? A lot of people who knew him used the word 'genius'… Musician, mathematician, physicist, linguist, philosopher, educationist. He was all these things… I am in no position to measure him. He was my father, playmate, refuge, counselor.' She remembers how he let her scrawl on walls, pile toys on his bed, sketch elephants, and hold captured flies in his palm before gently releasing them. 'His very first sentence, on seeing me a few minutes after I was born, was: 'This daughter is more to me than seven sons can be to their fathers. And I shall teach her seven languages.'' She reflects now: 'The one thing I wish I could tell my father (who passed away in 1990) is: Dad, it hasn't been an easy life for me but I discovered that I had hidden reserves of strength in me, thanks to the depth of security you provided me as a child.' 'Off-hand I can recall To Kill A Mockingbird.' (Neelum Saran Gour, author of 'Sikandar Chowk Park', 'Virtual Realities', and 'Messrs Dickens, Doyle and Wodehouse Pvt. Ltd.') 'As a child, I had a deep fascination for trains. I must have been three or four years old at the time. My father would take me to the Ghatsila railway station just to look at trains and listen to their piercing whistles. We used to go up on the foot overbridge and see trains passing beneath. When an engine honked loudly, I used to be so frightened I would grab my father's hand and hold it tightly.' The railway station then was still cloaked in colonial-era architecture — 'that sturdy structure of bricks and lime' — but to the young Sowvendra, 'this just added to my sense of wonder and awe, and my father was my companion in this adventure.' 'I come from a space where fathers are still figures of authority. Everything that fathers say are correct. We don't usually oppose them. So to think that I would have something to say to my father is quite unlikely.' And yet, he offers: 'Perhaps, only an apology for the disappointments I may have caused him and to tell him how much having him as my father has meant to me.' The Small-Town Sea by Anees Salim. 'This is a favourite of mine. I will recommend it to everyone but my father though.' (Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar, author of The Mysterious Ailment of Rupi Baskey, The Adivasi Will Not Dance, and Jwala Kumar and the Gift of Fire) 'My father and I have always loved furniture-gazing in vintage shops.' It began in childhood in Calcutta — 'in the auction houses in Park Street or Russell Street or in the dingy but incredible shops of Gopalnagar near New Alipore.' Their shared passion was less about purchasing and more about the romance of discovering: 'Our budgets seldom matched our vision. (Of course, for my father, the true joy was uncovering a jewel from a dump. A set of nested tables that turned out to be rosewood: the shopkeeper did not change the original price he'd quoted as a salaam to my father.)' Later, in Delhi, this father-daughter ritual continued. 'He and I have worn out the soles of our shoes in and around MG Road and Amar Colony. There was one memorable trip to the land of Punjabi Baroque, Keerti Nagar, though we didn't buy.' Their ultimate favourite? 'Sharma Farms in Chhatarpur.' But even when purchases were made, they weren't necessarily practical: 'Our desires have always exceeded the sizes of the homes we have to furnish at any given moment. And sometimes our purchases end up giving off a whiff of grandiosity which is perhaps a little comic.' Still, the act is rich with meaning. 'Baba and I have filled mansions without owning them — and had robust disagreements about the placement of pieces in said mansions (for instance, where would one place the gorgeous corner piece with the four giant flying cherubs, in the most fine-grained of mahogany?).' 'It is glorious. It is mad. It is a regular weekday afternoon jaunt. We are pros after all; we won't go to any of these places on the weekend, when people who want to buy furniture (not dreams) come.' 'My husband hopes that our daughter will do the same with him in Defence Expo one (Devapriya Roy, author of Indira; The Vague Woman's Handbook; Friends from College, and The Heat and Dust Project) 'My father, Pran Chopra — eminent journalist, super intelligent mind.' For much of her life, he remained emotionally reserved, and their relationship, tinged with distance. 'He was always reserved about his emotions and I was a bit formal with him.' But in the twilight of his life, a profound reversal occurred, not just in memory, but in relationship. 'Towards his last days, as that intellect wore away with age related dementia, he began to think of me as his mother and talked of his childhood, his love of me, the comfort I gave him.' In that final unraveling of mind, there was a gift of connection. 'He passed away in my arms, his head in my lap.' 'Oh dad, I loved you so. I hope you knew the comfort that you gave me.' (Paro Anand, author of Like Smoke, Nomad's Land, Being Gandhi, and I'm Not Butter Chicken; recipient of the Sahitya Akademi Bal Sahitya Puruskar) 'My father passed, unexpectedly, when I was barely ten.' What remained was the ache of absence, softened only by fragments of memory: 'He was a very good humored man and my parents were very much in love. So his death tore us up. I can still feel the void.' The grief was early and searing, leaving her trying to hold on to something real. 'I remember trying to keep my eyes fixed on his feet throughout the time his body was kept in our house before the cremation, hoping that the sight would be etched in my mind forever that way.' In the years that followed, her longing became layered with speculation, of what might have been. 'It is hard to grow up without a father. I know that I probably would have disagreed with him when I grew up on many important things but I wish I had both my parents.' She offers a metaphor for the kind of nurture lost: 'Growing up with loving adults caring for you — and in our context those are mostly your biological parents — is like a sapling sprouting. By the time the sprout is ready to grow, the skin has to soften. Maybe my father would have softened by the time I was ready to leave.' (J Devika, historian, feminist, translator; author of Engendering Individuals and Kulasthreeyum Chanthappennum Undaayathengine?) Aishwarya Khosla is a journalist currently serving as Deputy Copy Editor at The Indian Express. Her writings examine the interplay of culture, identity, and politics. She began her career at the Hindustan Times, where she covered books, theatre, culture, and the Punjabi diaspora. Her editorial expertise spans the Jammu and Kashmir, Himachal Pradesh, Chandigarh, Punjab and Online desks. She was the recipient of the The Nehru Fellowship in Politics and Elections, where she studied political campaigns, policy research, political strategy and communications for a year. She pens The Indian Express newsletter, Meanwhile, Back Home. Write to her at or You can follow her on Instagram: @ink_and_ideology, and X: @KhoslaAishwarya. ... Read More
Indian Express
07-05-2025
- Politics
- Indian Express
‘My father's soul must be at peace now': In Dombivali, a Pahalgam victim's son says he's satisfied with Operation Sindoor
'Baba ki atma ko ab shanti mili hogi (my father's soul must be at peace now),' says Harshal, the 21-year-old son of Dombivali resident Sanjay Laxman Lele, who was gunned down in the Pahalgam terror attack last month. Harshal criticised the April 22 attack that claimed 26 lives and praised the Indian government's decision to launch Operation Sindoor and target terrorist infrastructure at nine sites in Pakistan and Pakistan-occupied Kashmir. Harshal's father, Sanjay, and two of his cousins, Hemant Joshi and Atul Mone, were touring Jammu and Kashmir along with their families when the Pahalgam terror attack took place. All three were killed in the attack. Harshal Sanjay Lele (Express Photo) 'One of my uncles had urged them to allow us to leave. But they showed no mercy and shot him dead. Similarly, my other uncle and my father were killed,' said Harshal, seated in his house at Vijayshree Cooperative Housing Society in Dombivali (West). Harshal, who had also sustained a minor bullet injury on his finger, said, 'Yesterday night I got to know about the air strike on terror camps. We are happy…the souls of my father, two uncles and all the deceased can now rest in peace. Families of the deceased are happy and satisfied with this action. We have also got support from the political parties.' 'We are happy and satisfied. More such actions should take place. Like this, 1,000 terrorists should be killed, and they should be destroyed completely,' an emotional and angry Harshal said. Atul's wife, Anushka, said she was thankful to the Indian government. 'The souls of the three deceased would have found peace. The government should end terrorism at its roots,' she said. Daughter Richa added, 'We are happy that Indians have taken such action so quickly.' Reacting to Operation Sindoor, Hemant's wife, Monica, said emotionally, 'We respect the action taken by the government. My family is in grief. We cannot say much at this stage, but we are satisfied with the action and respect it.' Hemant and Monica had gone to Kashmir for a tour with their son, Dhruv, 16. Jayant Bhave (Express Photo) Hemant's father-in-law, Jayant Bhave, also praised the 'appropriate' action. 'We were waiting for this action. I believe this is a true tribute to the three people who lost their lives. This action will definitely help in reducing terrorism,' Bhave said. Three brothers were shot point-blank Maternal cousins Atul Mone, Sanjay Lele and Hemant Joshi and their families had left Dombivali for Kashmir on April 20. They first went to Ahmedabad by train and took a flight to Kashmir from there. Atul was travelling with his wife Anushka, 35, and daughter Richa, 18. Sanjay was with his wife Kavita, 46, and son Harshal, 21, and Hemant, 46, was travelling with his wife, Monica, 44, and son, Dhruv, 16. Richa Mone and Anushka Mone (Express Photo) According to Atul's kin, the terrorists shot him in the stomach, Sanjay in his head and Hemant in his chest. After their bodies were brought to Dombivali from Kashmir, thousands of people gathered to pay respects to them and support the families. Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis and MP Shrikant Shinde also paid their respects. Later, a funeral procession was carried out, and the last rites were performed at a crematorium in Dombivali (East).
Indian Express
04-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
From Pune to Aragam: terror survivor returns to lead Kashmir's first ‘book and poetry village'
Aragam, a tribal village located 70 km from Srinagar in Bandipora district, has become Kashmir's first 'book and poetry village', where over 70 households have dedicated spaces for books. This project, which started in March last year, will now be managed by Manzoor Rather, who had come to Pune after witnessing his father's killing by militants. Manzoor Rather's return to his homeland comes at a time when many are leaving Jammu and Kashmir following the Pahalgam terror attack in search of safety. On October 5, 1998, while three-year-old Rather sat in his father's lap at the dinner table, a group of militants stormed their home in Ajas Bazipora village and killed his father. Aragam, a tribal village located 70 km from Srinagar in Bandipora district. (Express Photo) 'I could've been killed if my father hadn't thrown me away. Following this incident, my grandmother took me to Aragam, where I studied till Class 1. Then, with the help of the Sarhad NGO, I completed my schooling and graduation from the Sarhad Institute in Pune. And recently did my master's in English literature from the Azam campus,' he said. While in Pune, Rather discovered his passion for freestyle dance. He is now a professional choreographer who has worked in Marathi films and was the lead in the title track of Marathi movies like Redu and others. Despite achieving financial stability and settling in Pune with his wife, Rather felt a pull toward his native place. 'I was not content with life overall, as my people in Kashmir are still in search of education and economic opportunities, and I was thinking of doing something for them for many years. After seeing Mushtaq Khoja, a Kashmiri local who started Sarhad Public School in Dardpora village in Kupwara district, which now helps over 250 students study there, my resolve for Aragam strengthened. There I will teach my dance skills to help the budding artists, and connecting with residents there will enhance the cultural exchange which I have gained over the years,' he added. This project, which started in March last year, will now be managed by Manzoor Rather, who had come to Pune after witnessing his father's killing by militants. (Express Photo) Speaking to The Indian Express, Sanjay Nahar, founder of Sarhad, said, 'The Aragam project was implemented in March last year through the collaborative efforts of the Bandipora district administration, our NGO, and Siraj Khan, who initiated the groundwork and was inspired by Bhilar village in Mahabaleshwar. Currently, it has an open library, with over 3,000 books of different genres, which have been distributed to over seventy households and include contributions from the Maharashtra government's Marathi language department.' Sarhad is also planning to start a UPSC guidance centre at Aragam. 'With specialised study materials and civil services exam guidance sessions, our effort will be to help increase the representation of candidates from Jammu and Kashmir in central services,' explained Rather. Rather also aims to develop community-based tourism through homestays. 'This will be beneficial for tourists and locals as well, as economic opportunities will be created for residents while tourists can get a firsthand experience of local Kashmiri culture, which often gets missed in hotel stays. Scaling this initiative with an educational component will keep the youth engaged and divert their attention away from militant activities,' he added.
Indian Express
04-05-2025
- General
- Indian Express
‘War leads only to destruction': Life inside a Punjab village surrounded by Pakistan and a river
With just 918 residents, Muhar Jamsher is a tiny yet resilient village in Punjab's Fazilka district. Its unique and sensitive geographical location sets it apart — Pakistan surrounds it on three sides and the Sutlej River on the fourth. The village residents live in constant uncertainty, sometimes due to devastating floods and at other times because of border tensions. The last major flood in this village occurred in 2003. It has 703 registered voters and around 1,400 acres of fertile land, owned by around 30 to 35 families. The primary crops grown are wheat and paddy. 'We are safe because the Army and the BSF are here to protect us,' said Veer Sing (Express Photo) After the wheat harvest this year, a few families have sown green moong, while others have kept their fields vacant, preparing for the paddy season in June. Those who have planted moong plan to sow basmati in July. Around 200 of these 1,400 acres are behind barbed wire, where farming is done in restricted hours in the presence of Kisan Guards of the Border Security Force (BSF). 'We know there is tension at the borders, but we are staying strong,' said Veer Singh, husband of village sarpanch Paramjeet Kaur in the wake of the India-Pakistan diplomatic standoff following the Pahalgam terror attack in which 26 people were killed. 'Our forefathers witnessed the wars of 1965 and 1971. I'm 41 now and faintly remember the Kargil war. Wars are not as simple as portrayed on TV or social media. Sitting on the frontline, we know the destruction war brings,' said Veer, whose words echo the quiet resilience of this border village, where life continues under the shadow of conflict. Jagga Singh and Makhan Singh, two elderly brothers in their late 70s, live in a house near the barbed wire fencing. From their home, one can see a Pakistani checkpost across the border and even hear the azan from a nearby mosque on the other side. Jagga Singh's son Chhanka Singh said, 'We still hear the azan every day. Sometimes, they announce news like someone's death from the village across. They also seem to live peacefully now. Their houses looked abandoned earlier, but now even that side is turning green and has better-built homes.' Pappu Singh, in his late 30s, fondly known in the village as 'Pappu doctor' for his knowledge of local medicines, recalled the 1971 war: 'Our elders told us that during that time, few men stayed in the village while women and children were sent out. The sound of bombs echoed all around.' The village elders remember how Pakistani forces ran over 28 villages in Fazilka district during the 1971 war. Residents received Rs 500 per acre per year as compensation for two years, but when the land was returned 18 months later, it was riddled with landmines that the Army had to clear, making farming nearly impossible. Similar problems occurred during the 1965 war and the 1999 Kargil conflict. Village residents still have made the land fertile through their hard work, they said. 'War leads only to destruction,' said another villager. 'Now, in the age of nuclear weapons, the consequences can be unimaginable. Even in February 2019, after the Pulwama attack, there were talks of war. The same fear arose after Pahalgam recently. But constant talk of war achieves nothing.' A high-security bridge on the Sutlej River now connects the village to the outside world. It was built about five-seven years ago. Before that, a boat or a temporary army bridge was the only way out. At the BSF post, outsiders must deposit their Aadhaar cards before entry and collect them while leaving. 'But this bridge is not wide enough. Only one tractor can cross at a time,' Pappu said. 'It is a sensitive zone, and we don't even take pictures on the bridge,' he added. Despite challenges, the village is progressing. According to the 2011 Census, the literacy rate was around 47 per cent, but Veer Singh proudly noted, 'Now, children are eager to study. Many of our boys are in the Army, and boys and girls are government teachers. Times are changing.' After the wheat harvest this year, a few families have sown green moong, while others have kept their fields vacant (Express Photo) Kewal Singh, a former member of the panchayat, said,' My nephew is in CRPF now… Who else can understand the importance of guarding our borders… Now children are studying, and they want a progressive Punjab.' Currently, villagers report no noticeable increase in military activity. However, sources indicate that the Army has started cleaning bunkers. Workers from the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (MGNREGA) have been hired from nearby villages, such as Muhar Jamsher and Muhar Khewaby, to assist with the cleaning efforts, as reported by locals. While there have been occasional patrols by BSF and Army officials, no information has been communicated to the residents.. 'We are safe because the Army and the BSF are here to protect us,' said Veer Singh. 'Their posts are always active — war or no war.' His voice grew firm with pride as he added, 'Jung de maidan toh Punjabi kade nahi darde…Desh de naal khare haan…fauj di poori madad karange je koi halaat bane taan (Punjabis never fear the battlefield…we stand with the nation… And will fully support the Army if the situation demand
Indian Express
28-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
In Pune, how red dots and elephants are leading the way into memories
The work, Red Dot, is intended to stir an intimate memory of every woman who comes across it. It has emerged from a personal experience of artist Minal Parkhi – of her first period when her mother gave her a folded cloth to use. Red Dot recreates the impression of blood stains on the cloth, except that the recurring patterns in the work are made using cow dung and red thread. Red Dot is a part of the exhibition, Thassa: The Mark of Being, at Monalisa Kalagram in Pune till May 14. Parkhi, who completed her art diploma from Abhinav Kala Mahavidyalaya, is moved by a deep motivation for almost every aspect of work. The cow dung that is a common medium can be traced not only to Parkhi's childhood in Induri village near Talegaon, where her family lived in 'mitti ka ghar' and used cow dung on the floors, but also to gender politics. 'It is always the women who work with cow dung, whether it is related to rituals or the work of making cow dung cakes. I thought that cow dung was an appropriate medium to depict the experiences of women,' says Parkhi. Parkhi, who completed her art diploma from Abhinav Kala Mahavidyalaya, is moved by a deep motivation for almost every aspect of work. (Express Photo) The other notable influence is the elephant made from colourful waste cloth. Parkhi goes back to the Covid-19 years when she and her husband returned from Dubai, where they had been staying, to India. Surrounded by the fear of the global pandemic, when just trying to stay alive and safe became of paramount importance, Parkhi wondered if it wasn't possible to make art beyond the demands of acrylic and canvas. She noticed that the neighbourhood tailoring shop routinely burnt or discarded large bags of waste clothes. These became her medium, and an elephant form took shape. It's a work that has kept growing and acquired meanings. 'I like the impression of weight that an elephant conveys. It is an apt symbolism of the burden of waste that the planet is enduring. When we get a suit stitched, do we bother about the waste that we generate?' she says. The medium of using waste and sustainable elements, including cow dung, has become her message. An installation shows two women forms, once again made from rags, sitting together, their featureless faces surveying each other. One of the women is nude, the other covered in colours of waste fabric. 'The nude figure represents a woman from a red light area while the other is from a 'good family'. It is strange how women judge each other,' says the artist. There is a third chair as well that is empty. It is an item that almost every family has – something that was once used by a deceased person and holds their memories. Parkhi's way of working verges on the meditative, where she is driven by impulses rather than conscious thoughts. 'I get a lot of feedback that the works stir feelings in the viewers,' she says.
