secular or peculiar?

As I inspect Pavan's clothes this morning before he left for school, I notice a scratch mark on his nose, near his forehead.

'What happened? You scratched a mosquito bite?' I ask.

'No.' The look on his face says he wants to say something.

I wait.

'A boy in the school said that if you scratch the forehead, you will see Hanuman.'

'What non-sense! Papa, did you hear that? He scratched his forehead to see Hanuman!'

As I make his paranthas, I hear papa patiently explaining him why he should never hurt his body for any reasons, with mixed feelings.

I remember an image of Hanuman stuck on the mirror, in the house we have just moved from. Suddenly, I feel regret for having left it there.

'And we are Arya samajis. We dont worship gods.' Prayas is saying.

'Arya samajis who never do havan are only so in name.' I retort.

'Ok, so?'

'He can chose to give a face to God if he wants to.' I say.

'Of-course he can. But without hurting his body.'

'Yes. Without hurting his body.'

Much after he has left for school, I look at this image, where Hanuman proves his love for Ram by tearing apart his chest to reveal the Lord literally residing within. I am horrified at the implications it can have on a kid.

But when I see he expression in his eyes, I am stunned by the simplicity and directness of the devotee.

I remember many years ago, in the days I used to frequent temples, a friend and I were staring at an image of hanuman in red. It was very beautiful.

'It is made of ram naam.' she said.

'what'

'this hanuman. the red line. look clearly. it is not a red line. it is written, not drawn. ram ram ram ram. everywhere. hanuman is made of ram, from ram. look at the micro.'

And i wonder where can we escape? If we are made of him, by him, in him, where can we escape?

Born to lead

'Ai, what all did you do in the gym today?' my ten year old boy asks me as we are having dinner.

'I just warmed up, then cycled, and then walked on the treadmill, that's it.'

'What? You didn't do the stepper?'
Pavan had come to the gym when we joined a few days ago, and was told that he is too young to join. But his fascination for the gadgets continues.

'I was too tired, Kiddo.'

'You should have done it at least for five minutes, no?'

'I was all alone, and hungry and missing you, so I just came home.'

'Can I come with you to the gym tomorrow?'

'Why?'

'To make sure you do all that you are supposed to.'

'And who will do your homework?'

'I will come back from playing by six, finish my homework by seven, then come to the gym with you. Please Ai? We can come back by eight and we even have time for a chess game with dinner!'

why do kids fall sick?

After a week of sleepless over a sick child nights, I wake up refreshed. Pavan is sleeping soundly, he has no fever either. As usual, he has thrown off the covers. I have to buy him warmer clothes to sleep in.

As I have my morning chai, I reflect. Why do kids fall sick? Because they seek attention. Hmm.

All right, I promise the little one. 'I will give you attention. More than what you ask for. More than I can give. Just get well. Make the doc stop giving you those strong medicines.

He wakes up around nine.
'Whats the plan for the day, Mom?' he asks.

'Whatever you want, darling. Today I am all yours. We can go boating, we can go..

'What do you mean, today I am all yours?'

'It means today is your day. We do whatever you want to do. I wont say no to anything you ask for.'

'Anything?' he asks.

'Anything under the sun, beyond the moon ...'

'Can I have my gullak money to spend on whatever I want to buy?'

'Yup.'

'Yipppeee!'

He danced around for a bit then stopped. He ventured to test the waters.

'Ai, can I wipe my nose on your kurta?' he asked me, his nose full of muck.

'Well. I might not like that, but I cant say no to you for anything today.'

'I can do anything?'

'Yup.'

'You wont scold me at all?' he couldn't believe his luck.

'Does a servant scold his master? Today I am all yours. At your beck and call. You can ask me to do anything you want.'

He took a moment to digest this.

'Today you are all mine? And tomorrow?'

'Tomorrow you can be all mine.'

'And how will it be when I am all yours?'

'Well, I might ask you to make tea for me again and again and you cant say no, even if you want to go and play.'

'I will be yours on Saturday. No, Sunday. Come here! I want to wipe my nose.'

As he played with the ball, he gave me instructions for the day.

'You are not going to touch the computer.'

'Done.'

'You will play carom with me.
Without cheating.
You will give me a bath.
I will wear whatever clothes I want.
Even when I am going out to play.
You will bring down water for me and my friends when we get thirsty.'

'Anything else, Sir?'

'You don't have to call me Sir, Ok?'

'Ok Shona.'

After the daily visit to the doc, we went shopping.

'Ai, how much does a salwar kurta cost?' he asked.

'I don't want more salwar kurtas. I already have materials that need to be stitched.'

'How much does it cost to stitch one?'

'Not much. Two hundred.'

'Only two hundred? Ok, I will pay the tailor.'

'Hey, thanks buddy. Mighty sweet of you. But this is supposed to be your day, no? Lets buy something for you.'

'For me we will buy this coconut water.'

We shared a coconut water.

Then we came home and the brat did something he never does without much haggling and drama. He opened his English homework and asked me to help him.

'How come?' I asked him.

'Today you cant shout at me if I do something wrong. So I might as well get it over with.' he said.

He then offered to plant the plants in their pots. Both of us sat in the balcony and played with the mud. He didn't even go to play. Both of us got soaked in affection.

As I write this, I reflect, why do kids fall sick? Because we seek attention?

the silence talks

Its a beautiful night. Three of us are walking back home through the back lanes. There is hardly any traffic, the air is balmy. The boy keeps yapping. Papa is tired, and he is quiet. I am tired of balancing the act.

'You know, Pavan, you have to learn to let others talk sometimes. If you talk continuously, it is called hogging the space.'

'What is hogging?'

'Eating it all up by yourself.'

'How hogging? Everyone can talk.'

'If everyone talks, no-one will listen. See, there is a thing called silence. All of us have a right to it. In fact, it is our only right. And it is the most beautiful, the most vast gift God has given us.'

'Ya?'

'Ya.'

We walk two steps.

Before he can talk, I make the offer. 'You wanna try using it? This right of silence?'

'Ya.'

'Then just listen. Listen to all the different sounds of the night. We will all be very quiet. Later you can tell me which sounds you heard. Ok?'

'Ok'.

We walk silently. Papa's flipflops flip and flop. Pavans sandals tut tut. I am barefoot. But my skirt rustles, ever so softly.

An ambulance hoots in the distance. Pavan's eyes glow with the recognition of the sound. I signal to him to tell me later, a finger on my lips. A bird chirps. Pavan stops to 'hear' the direction, a finger on his smiling lips.

Papa holds my hand. Pavan holds my other hand.

As we turn into our street, the power is cut off. Silence and darkness embrace lovingly and kiss long and slow. They are meeting after such a long long time. In fact, in this country they are meeting for the first time.

Innocence

After QMP, I have ventured to teach Maths to my kid.

'How much is the bill, Pavan?'

'Rs 110.'

'110? How? Whats the breakup?'

'Rs, 57 for the sandwich and Rs 41 for the coffee.'

'57 + 41 = 110?'

'No. Total is 98! They are charging 12 bucks extra! This is cheating! Shall I go and tell them?'

'No, darling. The 12 bucks is for Tax.'

'What is Tax?'

As usual, I am dumbfounded at his question. As usual, he helps me out.

'Oh, I know! Tax is the sauce!'

GGGGrrrrreat ideas

'Ai, Can I have a cub?'

I am dumbfounded.

'No?' he helps me out.

I nod.

'Why, not?' he asks.

I still cant answer.

'Because the police will catch us?' he helps me again.

I nod.

'But I want a cub Ai. Why cant we keep a cub?'

'It will become a Lion and eat us all.' I offer.

'But I want only a cub. I don't want a Lion.'

'Even a cub has very sharp teeth, darling. If it nibbles your ear lovingly, your ear will come off!'

'You are lying! I want a cub! Ai! Can I have a cub?'

I try the oldest trick in the book. 'Ask Papa. He will get you a cub, I am sure of it. Just ask Papa! Go!'

'You also come!' he drags my chair to Papas room.

'Papa! I want a cub!'

'Whose cub? Tigers? Lions or a Cheetas?'

'I want a Tiger's cub!'

'Ok, done! Mama, go to Banerghata national park tomorrow and get a cub!'

innocence

After QMP, I have ventured to teach Maths to my kid.

'How much is the bill, Pavan?'

'Rs 110.'

'110? How? Whats the breakup?'

'Rs, 57 for the sandwich and Rs 41 for the coffee.'

'57 + 41 = 110?'

'No. Total is 98! They are charging 12 bucks extra! This is cheating! Shall I go and tell them?'

'No, darling. The 12 bucks is for Tax.'

'What is Tax?'

As usual, I am at a loss for words. As usual, he helps me out.

'Oh, I know! Tax is the sauce!'

My boy is no 1

After all these years of 'learn for fun, and We don't care for your rank' ideology that I seriously believed in, when my son came first in the science exhibition at school, I had tears in my eyes.

He made a temple with thermo-col in which the Lord Ganesh has a light and a fan that can be switched on and off! It took us three days of experimentation, four lights, four batteries, five sheets of thermo-col, a switch and a motor to finally arrive at the temple.

The execution was done mostly by Thomas Uncle, but the idea and the force behind the endeavor was Pavdu's! I am so proud of him!

from head to the heart

I ask him to read out from his science book. He takes ten minutes to figure out the first sentence. When he cant read out the word, he spells it out.
F I Z E D. he says. I move away from the gas stove and look at his book, upside down.
'Its FIXED. This is X, Pavan, not Z. How can you forget your ABC?'

'I don't have practice, Ai.'

I leave the kitchen and sit with him in the balcony. I look at the sky and ask for inspiration. I want to say something that will make sense to him, and not vent my frustration.

'Look, kiddo. You don't need practice of ABC at your age. You just have to use your mind more sharply. You allow your mind to become very lazy, just when you are studying. Otherwise, your mind is so sharp. The same mind you have to use sharply when you study. Got it?'

'The same mind?' he wants to make sure.

'Yes, its the same mind.'

Next day, we are going to a friends house on the scooter. I don't want to take the main road, and he claims to know the inside route.

'Turn this way', he slaps my left shoulder.

'Now say the same thing without touching me.' I tell him, slowing down.

'Turn left.' he says.

'Correct. You got it.' I say.

'Ai, this is the same mind that I have to use when I study, no?'

'Yes, baba. Same to same.'

Later , we are trying to figure out how to use the Charkha, a gift from his grandfather, from Ahmedabad.

'How come there is no instruction manual with it?' my friend asks.

'The instruction manual is in our genes. Our father of the nation has done it long enough. We just have to get in the zone, I guess.' I say.

It takes us three days of trail and error, zonal and otherwise, to get the spindle to move with the wheel. We still don't know how to get the cotton to become thread, but both of us are thrilled with our progress.

'Ai, this is the same mind that I need to use in my studies, no?'

'Yes, Tukru, same to same.' I am not too sure I like this mind talk. I don't want to be accused of being an intellectual, ever. I wonder how to get him back in the heart, where he belongs.

Its bedtime. He is too exited to sleep.

'Ai, give me a healing, sing me a song, and tell me a story.' I do the first two, for the story I call Papa.

Papa tells him a quick, half minute story and runs back to his comp.

'I want a longer story.' he cribs.

'Look, I am too tired. Besides, I have to finsih the blog. Why dont you tell yourself a nice long story?'

'Good idea. With the same mind which I am to use in my studies?'

'Yes, darling. Just remember one thing. There is but one mind. In everyone. In everything. Its for all of us to use, whenever we need it.'

As I type in these words, his legs are playing with the pillow, balancing it md air. I wonder if he is daydreaming, and I try to remember what I daydreamed of at almost nine?

This is Pavan on the pradakshina road, in front of the Mountain, sitting down to pat a stray dog.

And this is a close up of them closer.

The car is alive

Once there was a car. And another car. They lived together.

They had a race. One cars colour- was red, another ones was blue.

And the red colour car won. Then they went to a beach. They had lot of fun. Then they went to see a movie. It was boring. One day they had a fight.

Both got hurt. Then they said to each ather sorry.

Then they had lot of fun.

by Pavan Abhinav

(almost nine)

-

Essay on Independence day

Pavan (eight) had an older friend (ten) to help him write the essay. I sat next to them quietly as the friend dictated the entire essay to him, word by word, letter by letter.

'Independence day is the day India got freedom from the British Rule. Great personalities like Mahatma Gandhi, Subhash Chandra Bose and Jawaharlal Nehru fought bravely for the Independence day. . . .'

'Very good. Now Pavan, write down one last sentence on your own, without his help. It has to come from your own mind.' I instructed the boy.

What he wrote brought tears to my eyes.

'When India got Independence, all Indians were very happy.'

friendship band wrapped up in a kiss

'Ai, can I have some money to buy friendship bands?' My little one gets me my purse.

'Depends. Do I get one too?'

'Of course. You are also my friend only.' I get a kiss.

'Here's twenty bucks.'

'Thank you, Ai.' And out of the house he runs.

Three and half minutes later, he is back again.

'Ai, I got only seven friendship bands. If any are left, I will give you also one, Ok?' I get another kiss.

And the prattle of the feet takes him out of sight.

Happy friendship day, all of you. I forward one kiss out to the blogosphere, one I keep for myself.

Creative use of creative writing

It was Pavan's day today. We started with getting up late, then Alu Paranthas for breakfast, and then home made Pani puri for lunch!

Since morning, he didn't say even once, 'Take this off!'

In the evening when we sat down to study, I asked him to open his rough notebook and write an essay on the happy and the sad things that happened this week.

His teacher has told me to overlook his spellings, just let him write whatever he wants. An alternative way to learn a language by letting him do creative writing. So he asked me the spelling of almost all the words and I patiently repeated them, letter by letter.

'In last week I was happy in Swami Nithyanandas ashram. I was happy when we played under the water and the water was falling from a great height. I also liked to play under the banyan tree and when I met swamiji he was very kind. When the swami touched me on the forehead and I closed my eyes.'

This took about twenty five minutes. Then he couldn't think of what to write about the sad part.
'I felt sad when we didn't go to Esteem Mall last week.' he said.

'But we had Pizza at Domino's didn't we?' I reminded him.

'Yes.' he agreed that the purpose of Esteem Mall was partly fulfilled.

'Try to remember.' I prodded.

'No, Ai, there is nothing sad that happened last week.' he said.

'I want that in writing.' I said, looking the other way so he couldn't see the smile on my face.

'I did not feel sad about anything last week.' he wrote.

Honest to God, children are so so sweet.

I am pasting below Pavan's favorite song, from his favorite movie, Fanaa.

half grown teeth also bite

hard, and they can even leave marks on the skin. I am talking of my eight year old angel. After a long time, the little fellow screamed, cried, hit me and bit me. Thank God his front teeth are still half grown, or he would surely have drawn blood.

Yup, he had a reason. We were at the dentist and the doc put an awful contraption inside his mouth and cemented it to his teeth. Something about correcting his lower jaw. Something which Pavan will thank me later in life for, for he will get a girlfriend, he might even become a star. ;)

'Take it off! Take it off!' Pavadu screams, oblivious to everyone looking.

'Get him out of here. You can come back after an hour to pay up. But please take him out. He will calm down after an hour.'

An hour? Oh God. How will I mange him all alone for an hour in this state? (Papa is out of town. And I have forgotten my cell at home.)

'Take it off now! Ai! I will take it out with a knife! I will!' he screams, hitting me again and again, tears streaming down his face.

'And don't let him pull it out. Mothers have suggested to me that I use Fewikwik because they are fed up with coming again and again for a re fit.' The doc has the nerve to joke with me at a time like this.

I hold his hand to prevent him from pulling it out and he bites, and I scream louder than him. Momentarily shocked, both of us make a hasty exit. Another half hour of crying ensues outside the doctor's clinic.

'I am not going with this thing in my mouth. Tell that doctor to take this off. It hurts. Its awful. My teeth are covered up. I cant swallow. I cant eat.'

'Look, I don't like this contraption too. It looks quite yukky. Tell you what. Lets go to a restaurant, and we will order a pavbhaji (his favorite). If you can eat it, good. If you cant eat it, then I will myself tell the doctor to take it off. You think I can take it if my child cant eat? Hmm? You think I will allow anyone to stop you from eating?'

He is a fairly logical boy and he saw the reasoning. Besides, he was hungry.

After two pavbhaji's (ok, so I ate from his plate), the desision to 'take it off' is postponed till tomorrow. He is not going to school till we either get this doctor to take it off, or we go elsewhere.

On the way back, he got a toy plane, a movie CD, a new sweater, and lots of kisses.

And me? I get to listen and see the charming Ghulam Ali to sooth my frayed nerves. Wonder if his mom ever bore his bite marks?

all the money in my bank

Yesterday I did something I shouldn't have. I went out of the house to buy veggies. I don't remember taking my cell along, so I cant say I shouldn't have done that. I don't remember talking on it, holding it at all. I certainly don't remember keeping it in with the spinach or the brinjals or the carrots for company.

But that is what must have happened, for the constant companion is gone missing, believed dead. After hunting for it till the lights went out, I sent an sms to it,

"Whoever finds this phone, please return it to this address xxx. I will give you Rs.500. Thank you. May God bless you."

(Don't laugh, this has worked once. My sweet considerate neighbor in Ahemedabad had added, 'I am in great difficulty. Please help me.' And I found the mobile in my scooter the next day!)

My sister told me to send the same sms in Hindi, and in Kannad. But I was too heartbroken to make the effort.

I mourned all night. Then a sweet little voice called me this morning, that opened my heart to bliss. He said,

'Ai, when I come to Bangalore, we will take out all the money in my bank account. And we will buy you a new phone, ok? '

Needless to add, the voice belonged to my sweetu kuttu bachhu.

the first splash

Tring tring. 'Hello, Mum'

'Guess where I am.'

'At the swimming pool?'

'Yup.'

'Pavan is in the water?'

'Yup. The first day.'

'Listen, Mum. The brat is not scared of water. And he doesn't know how to swim either. Its a dangerous combination. Put some fear into him. Please. Tell him he can drown. No, no. Dont tell him that. Tell the instructor that this boy is dangerous.' I babble, scared shit.

'Dont worry, darling, I am standing right beside him.'

Thankfully, Mum swims. I relax.

'Ok. What is he doing?' I ask.

'He is splashing water with his feet, holding the edge. The first step.'

'How sweet. How does he look? Take a photo no please.'

How I wish I was there with him. Inside the pool. Holding his wet slippery belly up. Yelling at him not to splash water in my face.

Imagine. Next I meet him, my kid will have learnt to swim! All thanks to mum.

a doctor in the making?

Was it just a few months ago that I mentioned to a friend that I would have preferred a girl to my brat? Because my little boy sometimes waves the angel wings and I better take note before I forget.

A few nights ago, I went to bed earlier than the boys, not feeling too well. After an hour, I yelled at hubby,
'I cant sleep. Come here and talk to me.'

Hubby sent the baccha, who was watching Madagascar on my comp, to put me to sleep.

'You cant sleep? I will play the flute for you.' he said sweetly.

For two three minutes I endured air currents blowing into my ear as Pavdu played the flute sitting on Papas pillow. I was so touched that I didn't have the heart to tell him to move the flute away from my face.

Then he lifted an eyelid to make sure I was asleep and bounded off back to his movie.

Yesterday we spent the day in Swami Nithyananda's ashram. As we passed the cow shed on the way to the temple, Pavan wanted to go meet the baby cow.

'Please Ai, lets go inside no.' The heavenly smell of gobar enticed me but I refused.

'I am telling you Ai, if you touch the bachada, all your pains will be over'.

'Really? Who told you that?'

'Nobody told me. I just understood.' he said. I laughed all the way to the temple, as he skiped along.

Behind the temple is a massive six hundred years old Baniyan tree, a place of intense healing and beauty. I hugged a branch and felt my heart beating rhythmically, in tune with the universe.

'Ai, excuse me please.' he interupted me.

'I will not excuse you. Please keep quiet here. Cant you see people are meditating?'

'That lady is touching the tree with her head. She is not meditating.' he pointed out.

'She is praying, which means she is talking to God. It aint easy to talk to God. We shouldnt disturb her. Got it?'

'Got it.'

He explored the place as I lay down under the tree, waves of bliss floating through my being.

'Ai, look at this leaf.' His face loomed below the green canopy.

'Mmm. Its very soft.'

'Eat it. It will cure your stomachache.'

'Who told you?'

'Tch. Noone told me, Ai. I understood. Now eat it. I have washed it clean.'

To shut him up, I ate the little thing. It didnt taste bad, the Baniyan leaf. If the tree is a healing energy , its leaves cant hurt, I reasoned. And the next half hour, the boy was busy collecting the fallen leaves and putting them in the bag. And left us to talk to God in relative silence.

a child adores in so many ways

From six years old to eight, Pavdu has grown quite a bit.

Two years ago, we had gone to the bookshop in a Mumbai mall, where we saw a fresh copy of 'Trust me', authored by my sister, who Pavan calls Latu maushi. He probably had no idea that many such copies existed in different bookshops, for when a customer wanted to buy the book, little Pavdu got very upset. He took the book out of the lady's hands and wouldn't give it to anyone.

'But Latu maushis's photo is on the book.' he asserted.

'True. And if you could read, my name is also on it.' Latu maushi told him, trying to hide how pleased she was that he was so possessive of her book.

Somehow we managed to get him out of the shop and let the customer buy the book.

And now, he is not just wise, he has become smart.
Every morning, when he goes to school, he puts one copy of my book, 'A Grasshooper's Pilgrimage' in his school bag and sells them to his teachers!

And he can read where his name is written in the book!

That he doesn't bring back any money doesn't bother me. That is the next step, hole hole ho jayega.

Ramchand Pakistani

I watched this film yesterday evening, after leaving the kid playing in the park. Halfway through the film, I couldn't stand the separation from my baby anymore. I went back to the park and got him back home. We watched the rest of the film together, and that wasn't so bad.

'It's based on a true life story.' I told him.

So take this as a warning. Don't watch this film without your baccha nearby. You might suffer anxiety pangs.

And after we watched the last half of the film together, Pavan wanted to see the beginning (naturally) .

'Ok. I will show you till he crosses the border, ok?'

'Ok'.

And we saw again how the eight year old boy has a tiff with his mother over a cup of tea, and walks off in a huff across the Indo-Pak border.

His father, seeing him walk toward the dangerous no man's land, follows him, and they both are caught, questioned, and imprisoned in an Indian jail.

The mother has no idea whether they are dead or alive. They are a hindu family in Pakistan, belonging to the harijan community, and have no clout, not even to make a police complaint.

And the Indian jail imprisons a child of eight along with his father for four, long years.

'So the lesson of the story is not to fight with your mother over small things, right?' the boy volunteers, as I am trying to get him to talk his thoughts about movies.

'No, tukru, the lesson of the film is not to cross the border without a valid visa.' I say.

'Oh. What is a visa?'

'An official permission to enter a country.'

After the kid went to bed, I thought about his interpretation and realized that it was not really off the mark. Most big fights start small, don't they? And big separations begin with small incidences.

After the four years, when they are finally released from the Indian prison, (sorry, I am giving away the ending), the boy is released first, with no hope that the father will be out, and no knowledge of the mother, whether she is still alive.

And Ramchand has to make the back-journey to his village alone, just as he had left four years ago, alone.

And then another thought struck me; the similarity between Pavan's response to Ramchands trauma. Since the whole fight began for a full cup of tea, till date, Ramchand does not drink tea anymore. An eight year old boy gives up his favorite drink out of guilt and fear.

But what was this film really about? My grandmother, a freedom fighter, used to proudly say that we are a constitution that has a judicial system based on a basic premise. Being, if ninety nine culprits go scot free, it is ok. But not a single innocent should ever be punished.

This ratio has reversed, and so help us God.

Here is a beautiful song from the film.



Brilliant performances, evocative landscapes, and an even pace, which is a big achievement for a first film. The austerity, the minimum dialogue, is a style that comes back once every ten years. It's almost worth the wait.

Jumbo is a hit.

So you don't watch cartoon fillums?

But you must watch Jumbo. It is compulsory. Understand, there is no option.

Jumbo is not a cartoon fillum. It is an art fillum. Rather, it is very highly artistic fillum.

Isme action hai, emotion hai, drama hai!

There is Haathi mera Saathi, a sad story of a baby blue elephant, where papa is missing. Mama with eyelashes is there. She tickles Jumbo till he goes lotepote, and tells him to forget Papa! Papa gone. I here. We here. But Jumbo, he leaves a sleeping Mama to find Papa.

Nice story, no? Meaning, story is there. Something is happening.

Best are the dialogues, and better is the dialogue delivery!

There is comedian, a kabutar, who sounds like apna regular what's his name yaar? he is very regular, you will start laughing on his voice only, no need to understand meaning. And if you dont laugh, how will the brat ever understand a joke?

Jumbo is blue and Sonia? She is pink.

And the vilian? Is Insaan, and he is pronounced like Shaitaan! I told you the dialogue delivery is super, didn't I?

But all Insaans are not Shaitaan, as Jumbo will soon discover, in his 'quest' to find Papa. And the battle scenes? Classic. Reminded me of Ben Hur, those elephants and the wooden logs.

Some visuals are sooo romantic, you will never ever forget. Like the white kabutarni who comes directly from the moon to bring 'sandesa' of Papa to Jumbo. Ok, maybe I am not being completely honest, but yaar, please understand, I also have a little creative liscence no?

After all, I saw this entire two hours long fillum with bacchaa who didnt blink once even.

The problem with watching a film with a serious viewer : One can neither whistle nor gossip nor distract. If only I wasnt a film wali at heart, I would have exercised control and forced him to stop at Interval. But tell me, folks, have you ever walked out of a super dooper hit film in the interval and not hung your head in shame?

If I cant teach him English, at least let me teach him to appreciate good cinema. And this aint no back handed compliment. I mean every single word. Jumbo is mast. A must watch.

Here is the trailor. At least watch it, even if you dont have sound on your comps, you miserable people.