Headstart

I belong to that secret fraternity of early risers. Those that are up and about and whizzing around like apes on amphetamines, much, much before the heavy blanket of sleep is peeled away from the eyes and forms of those who’ve been blessed with the luxury of long lie-ins.

I think we’re secret not because we have illusions that we’re on par with the Free Masons in a closed-door-society kind of a way;  not even because we’ve not filed our tax returns. What we do while the shadows are still lingering stubbornly is not as exciting as a long, luxuriating lie-in, a tousled bed-head or the sleep-drenched voice of a late riser that makes your hair stand on end with a sexy frisson. It’s because it’s unexcitingly routine.

We’re the preppers, the backroom boys, the drum rollers who are on stand-by for the headline makers, who when they do wake up, will be fronting the show that we prepped. And we’d be lucky if we even got a quick rolling credit.

And so when you see your freshly showered colleague walk into the office with a cloud of soap aromas mixed with the still-diffusing middle notes of Acqua di Gio Armani or your stick-thin cubicle partner who proudly places her skyscraper lunch box with separate storeys of alfalfa sprouts for elevenses, the perfect mix of carbs-protein-dairy-salad-fruit-and-dandelion-tea for lunch, (all adding up to less than 500 calories), and a multi-grain sandwich for the witching hour of 5.00 pm, know this. He/she has a prepper, someone who primes the day while he/she is oblivious to that shadowy band of daybreak between 5.00 a.m and 6.30 a.m. as much as most people are unaware of what 3.00 a.m.looks like.

We’re the ones that make sure no sugar bowls are empty, that spoons are found when spoons are required, not forks, not knives, not skewers, screwdrivers, pens, crochet needles or a million other things that hide in jars marked `spoons’. Did someone switch on the geyser? Did someone pump the water into the overhead tank? Who raced to the door like a comet whooshing across the sky to catch the newspaper tossed by the newspaper boy before it landed on the porch, left wet from the rains last night? Who turned off the water sump tank tap, but sadly not before it overflowed, clogged the garden and left one foot of standing water? Who squelched into the muddy waters, fished out the long wiry stick from that corner in the garden, behind the tulsi plant which no one else knows about and unclogged the drainage spout? Who discovered at 4.30 in the morning that the cooking gas cylinder was empty and no one had mentioned it last night?  Who waylaid the milkman to remind him about the extra packet of milk he has to deliver every Wednesday, before he cycled off into the morning mists…

I’m not quite sure when and how and who inducted us into this society of early risers. This much I can tell you: it must have been under coercion or when I was under the influence of sleep; and sleep is the only anesthetizing process I’ve been under, since my tonsillectomy. And now, even sleep is a privilege, handed out like candy to a diabetic, extremely rarely.

Us early birds could be shrouded in mystery, but sadly none of us talk about it that way, or at all.  I think the last person who gushed about early mornings was John Donne and I think there was a mistress involved. I can’t go into raptures about that time of day, because, really who has the time. Meanwhile our secret society has saved the world, even before it knew it was in danger, and much before the sun had swiped in his card.

More doodles. Medium: Paint. Yes, there's a program for that.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. 

Sepia-tinted memories: Yasmeen Premji

 Sepia-tinted memories

 Yasmeen Premji gives Society a brief glimpse into her life as a newly-minted author

At her book launch, teeming with people spilling out of the Oak Room at the Park Hotel in Bangalore, Yasmeen Premji declares that she does not read modern literature; that she reads very little because she reads very slowly. She says this and much more in what one learns through the course of the evening is her unique style of speaking – straight bat, honest and at times self-deprecating. When I tell her that not many writers would make that admission, she says simply,  ``I have no agenda.’’ Yasmeen Premji wife of Azim Premji, Chairman Wipro Limited, one of India’s iconic businessmen and amongst the richest people in the world, adds, ``I took 20 years to write this book and I have written this chiefly for myself. I love writing. And if someone finds joy in reading it, then it’s gratifying. ’’

A few days later, we meet Yasmeen at the Azim Premji Foundation office at the Wipro campus. Azim Premji, whose net worth is estimated to be about $ 15 billion, has contributed $2 billion to the Foundation which focuses on education. The Foundation building is tucked away in the rear of the facility, bordered by tall eucalyptus trees. It almost looks like it’s situated in the clearing of a small forest. The veiled entrance perhaps says it all for the philanthropist-tycoon’s family, whose personal life is strictly that, with the gleaming façade of the Wipro Technologies building left to take up all the attention. While Azim Premji is resolutely private and rarely seen outside the boardroom, Yasmeen has often been sighted at art shows.

 The Premjis rarely talk of their personal life. They’re neither known for their pious posturings nor extravagant affectation. The import of this family’s quiet power and influence can only be deduced by the hulking presence of a Quick Reaction Team vehicle parked at the entrance of Wipro’s HQ with a group of menacing-looking guards in black gear. My research material on her is scanty apart from what appears on the blurb of her book. A Google search yields nothing but short reports of her book launch, all very recent. It’s then left to us to piece together something about the author from the anecdotes of her friends and family and some eaves-dropping.

``She’s a natural,’’ we hear Azim Premji say to his sons Rishad and Tariq, as they see Yasmeen chat and smile with friends who have lined up to get their signed copies of Days of Gold and Sepia.

Girish Karnad who launched Yasmeen’s book in Bangalore is an old college friend. In his introduction he shared that everybody was in love with Yasmeen at St Xavier’s, Bombay, adding wistfully that they weren’t in the same class.  Now that she is also Mrs Premji, Karnad said he only introduced her by her first name, since many of his friends are cash-strapped NGOs and he felt protective towards her because of her surname.

Yasmeen is no recluse. During our interview she talks of her friends, (and she seems to have many), and what they have said of her book. Some were privy to reading her transcript. A former colleague from when she was the Assistant Editor at Inside Outside, and the only person who could decipher her writing, has helped to transcribe her draft. ``I think her move to Bangalore was a sign that I should finally write my book. I write with a pencil and a lot of it has faded over the years.’’ In an admission that left the audience at her book launch in splits, and is sure to go into IT lore, Yasmeen declared that she did not use a computer to write, preferring pencil and paper instead.

  

As she speaks and our photographer starts taking pictures, she requests that the photographer doesn’t shoot while we talk. ``Having my photos taken makes me edgy. All this PR stuff is not my scene at all,’’ she says. But then, having worked for a design magazine as an assistant editor, Yasmeen knows the demands of a journalist’s job and relents graciously.

We meet on August 15, a day when India is on a flash back to the past. Much like Yasmeen’s book, Days of Gold and Sepia, which weaves stories of ordinary people from 1857 to roughly 1947.  Her book is sweeping in its scope as its narrative spans 90 years in pre-Independence India, following the central character Lalljee Lakha and his journey from an orphan to an influential and wealthy `Cotton King’, and a host of characters who Lalljee meets along the way.

``I’ve always wanted to write ever since I was a little girl. I wrote short stories and my story was first published when I was 17 and in college.’’ I never gave it much thought, she says, about writing a book, but recalls growing up with family stories told by her mother. ``I also heard a lot of stories from my mother-in-law. They came from a generation of oral story-telling, that was still a remnant of that generation, although they were both literate. There’s a magic about story telling. A computer or a book is inanimate. In the right setting, story-telling can be mesmeric.’’

As an aside she says she wrote these stories since her sons Rishad and Tariq refused to hear their mother’s stories, much like how she tried to avoid listening to her mother read out from books. ``I was the youngest and when I was at home, my mother would read out passages from books for me. She was ``married off’’ and could not finish her SSC. But she continued to read on her own at home. She read history, biographies, philosophy, literature...and made me listen to some too. On my eighth birthday, she gave me a book and a dictionary and told me to find out the meaning of a word I did not know and write it down in the book. Of course I didn’t do it for long...’’ she laughs.

It was when her father died 20 years ago that Yasmeen says she was convinced she had to sit down and put together all the stories of her childhood. ``That’s when I conceived the character of Lalljee Lakha. I didn’t want to write just the stories but weave them together with characters. I always knew that the period between 1857 and 1957 was the time I wanted to place the characters. I wanted to write about Bombay because this was the generation when people came to Bombay to make their fortunes. I also wanted to bring in tid bits of history. This is not a historical book, it is a fictional account of what India must have been like at that time. I’ve made it inclusive by bringing in people from different places, language, religions, freedom fighters, maharajas...’’

Yasmeen admits her book is about the extraordinary lives of ordinary people. Yet she writes with an uncanny insight into her characters, with a certain precision that can’t be contested. She says demurely, ``That’s a surprise to me. I suppose one notices things when one lives this long.’’

In Yasmeen’s book there ’s a compassionate tone that you can’t miss, a certain kindness, a generosity of spirit and love that extends beyond the immediate family. She says she picked up these cues from her grandmother’s house which was a large one with many rooms, and to a  six-year-old the house seemed gigantic. ``I remember seeing all these people in her house. I didn’t know who they were apart from my immediate family. The house was there for everybody who needed it. Everybody found shelter. Old people, orphans, people down on their luck... they all fitted it there and lived with grace. That was how it was in those times, ‘’ she recalls.

``I’m not going to use the word `gentler’ in describing that time. My son pointed out that I had already used it three times at the book launch. Most people look at the past as a better time. It’s remembrance gives you pleasure. We often tend to blur out the negatives from the past.  I did not want villains in my book. I don’t like villains. I believe heroes have their limits too.’’

Yasmeen admits to writing without any structure at first, and writing just for the love of it and because she had a story to tell. ``I wrote when I felt like it, when I was moved. When the editors became involved, I was sternly put in place if I digressed into side characters (and there are many in the book.) I was told that everyone is only interested in my central character Lalljee. Editors keep a strong eye on you. I had written a lovely story about this character called masi who appears in the book. It was a tragic story about how she was married off when she was a very young girl to a widower with 11 children. She later has an affair with her step son. A young editor who was working on the book told me `Everyone has a dukhi masi in India. We don’t want this masi story,’ ’’ laughs Yasmeen.

Yasmeen’s book is peopled with characters who sometimes get a page to themselves or a just a para or two, but who leave a memory trace nonetheless.  How did she think of names for so many people? ``At first I used names from my family. But when I finished the book I couldn’t think of changing them.’’ There’s even a character called Hashim whose family is in the edible oil business we point out and she laughs.

 Inspired as it is by the stories told by two women who she was greatly influenced by, Yasmeen’s book has flashes of strong, resilient women.  ``Yes, some of my female characters were strong within their spheres. They were taught to accept everything and expect nothing. You dealt with your lot. I remember being told when I would play at home, `You had better behave. What will your mother-in-law think?’ It was a social reality that we grew up with. Our training was different. We learnt a lot at home. We were not sent off to various classes as children these days are.’’

A lot of people have told her, she says, that Days of Gold and Sepia would make a great film. ``I don’t know. This book was clearly written for me, I wanted to write it. There was no agenda at all. No worries about how many copies it would sell. I wrote it for family, friends and people whose opinion I value. When I was stuck, I would try to visualise the scene, conversations... I don’t know how other authors do it. ‘’

She recalls one of her editors telling her, `` `Can’t you do anything about the writing, it’s so archaic.’ Then she said, `oh I guess that’s your style.’  ’’ laughs Yasmeen.

Some may say the writing is archaic but the topics are certainly not. Through her characters, Yasmeen explores ideas of widow re-marriage, women who pursued education, a father who treats his daughters as he would his son... ``There is even a cross dresser, but that I would have borrowed from this generation. The last scene will come as a bit of a shocker to her readers and without giving away too many details, Yasmeen says, ``Thoda tho mirch chahiye. When you look at people you think they have everything. But as is the case with Lalljee, what he really wanted he did not have.’’

Of the Bombay that she has detailed in the book and the Mumbai that it is today, Yasmeen says, ``You always see anything as you want to see it. You take your mind with you. People change, generations change. You have to accept it. There was a kindness, a generosity in those times. I think it’s still there, hidden in the corners.’’

Yasmeen says that no one in her family knew she was writing a book. ``I didn’t think I had to announce I was writing a book. Half the world is writing a book. So until it was signed, sealed and delivered, I did not announce it. Although I must say, my husband asked me once, when he used to see me sitting at the computer during the last stage of edits, `What are you doing?’ I just brushed it aside saying I was compiling the stories lying in the drawer.  When the book was done, he read it, his first novel in years. My sons are thrilled that their friends like the book. I was sure no one under 60 would like this book. Although I cut nearly 150 pages of the book, I was sure people would still find it heavy. If you don’t take yourself too seriously it’s easy to edit your own stories.’’

Yasmeen is also aware that as a writer one does not stop with finishing the manuscript but has to sell the book too. ``I was told that they (publishers) are creating a Facebook page for my book. I’m not on Facebook and I don’t even know how to open it. I have no desire to be there. May be it’ll come to me someday... I didn’t know how to use e-mail till a year ago. Now with a book, I see it’s useful. ‘’

A favourite line in the book which Yasmeen fought to keep was: `` ``What do we really know of those we think we know.’  I feel we are so quick to have our prejudices without really knowing what the true story is. This was the only rule in my house while growing up. Never be judgemental. I never heard my mother say an unkind word about anybody. If it was something negative, she would not say anything. She led by example. After my father died, she decided that two generations had gone by, and told us stories about our great grandfathers and their families. She believed it was no longer gossip, but history, ‘’ says Yasmeen.

In the few weeks that she’s handled media, she says she not going to fall into the trap of giving answers to questions like what would you like the reader to take-away from this book. ``While writing this book, there was a lesson for me – whatever you do, there is a chance of reprieve. I believe in absolution. ’’

I ask her if there is any character in the book which bears any resemblance to her. None, she says.  Aren’t first books supposed to be almost autobiographical, I ask. ``Don’t believe everything they tell you,’’ she smiles.

Finally I ask her what else does she do besides writing, and she says, ``Well, not very much I’m afraid. It sounds terrible to say, I know. I don’t know where my life goes, but it goes very quickly. I can’t point out to anything specific that I do do that I consider useful work. I’ve designed and built this building (the Azim PremjiFoundation building), if that helps. I realise that you don’t have to be an architect to design and build something. Learning comes from different sources - book, courses… ’’ I’ve designed a couple of buildings.

As we leave the office and I switch off the lights, I get an approving smile from Yasmeen. ``I thought I was the only one switching off lights. I go to people’s houses and see that lights are on even during the day. I go around switching them off,’’ she says, emphatically.

After the photo shoot, we see Yasmeen walk away, treading her way between the trees, an enigma again.

THE END.

(This article appeared in Society magazine in September 2012)

Shekhar Kapur: Ageless genius

Ageless genius

 Shekhar Kapur on his new venture Qyuki, on life, love and creativity.

Shekhar Kapur has aged. And I’m crushed. But the yesteryear Digjam model, the romantic hero of the TV series Udaan, the bearded director of legendary films like Elizabeth, Masoom and Bandit Queen and the sapiosexual hero of my teenage years is still one of the sharpest minds we have around. Thank god, genius is ageless. The crinkly smile is still there. So is the high-wattage charm as is the slow, smoky drawl as he weaves his magic with words, imagery and insights. In Bangalore, Kapur is visiting the Qyuki office, peopled with young, bright employees working on his and AR Rahman’s vision of a social networking platform for creative expression. Tyres double up as seating in the reception and auto-rickshaws are retrofitted to become tables and shelves. A four-wheeled cart becomes the base of a conference table where we engage in an hour-long discussion.

When Kapur hears I’m from Society, he fires a volley of questions. ``Who is the owner? Nari Hira? How is he?’’ Shekhar has an anecdote about my boss and says he will narrate it only on the condition that I write about it. But before waiting for me to accept the condition he starts, ``I was seeing Shabana (Azmi) in those days and Stardust was always writing about Shabana dating a Chartered Accountant. When I made Masoom, there were two lines in the film which I still remember to this day, which were said by a very rich woman. You know that certain kind of rich woman… When asked if she reads Stardust she says, `Yes, but I read it only in the bathroom, not in front of everyone.’ I had to remove those lines when my producer told me Nari Hira had bought the rights to sell the film overseas. He told me if there was anyone who could sell the film overseas, it was him,’’ he smiles.

``Nari was a feared man,’’ he tells me, his eyes sparkling with reminiscences and then he steers the conversation back to the present.

Qyuki is Kapur’s latest venture and I’m at his office to talk to him about it. But you can’t meet Kapur with one agenda. The conversation leaps from Qyuki to environmental issues to love.

With Qyuki, AR Rahman and Kapur want to foster a creative community, on a social networking platform. About how Qyuki started, Kapur says, ``I always felt that one of the reasons that India is not where it belongs is that most of our people are not allowed to express themselves. They don’t have information, they don’t have contact with each other… We’re one of the world’s most imaginative societies – everybody draws, everybody sings, everybody tells stories, everybody dances…and then everybody goes on to be effectively a peon. Our whole education system is geared towards the killing of the creative instinct. I was very concerned about it. We call this thing the bottom of the pyramid. So I started to think that we should be provoking the bottom of pyramid. I was hugely interested in technology. When you ask people what they do, they tell you they’re policemen or teachers or babus. But ask them what they really want to do and then everyone says `actually, I want to be a poet or a dancer or a painter…’ Qyuki (meaning because) should be called `Actually’’, because that’s what I hear people telling me. I’ve never met a policemen, or an armyman or a corporate head who hasn’t told me, actually I want to be a poet… ’’ he smiles.

When Kapur started work on Qyuki, he says he asked himself how he could beat Facebook. ``You have to set huge goals for yourself, right?’’ he laughs. ``Facebook was born to be something different. Facebook was really born because that guy wanted to date. Qyuki was born to create a social networking site which would give people the ability to creatively share their ideas with each other, and as bandwidth and reach expands, more people start to share. ‘’

With 61 million Internet users in India, Kapur sees the Internet as a medium that will satiate the thirst for knowledge and information. Hence Qyuki’s technology platform has been developed in-house and deployed on Cisco’s state-of-the-art datacentre technology.

Qyuki currently has four different genres with experts for each of them - Imtiaz Ali for films and video, Chetan Bhagat for story writing, Ranjit Barot for music and Suresh Natarajan for photography.

For Kapur it’s a personal mission to unlock creative self-expression, knowing of a time in India when communication was fraught with obstacles and access to information was limited. ``I remember a time when TV was Doordarshan and programmes like Krishi Darshan. An international call took two days to come through and western music was a short programme on All India Radio called A Date with You or something. In that India I remember people were so thirsty to be in contact with the rest of the world. If I could feel that thirst going to Modern School and St Stephen’s College, imagine the thirst felt by a kid living in a village - `what lies beyond my village; how can I express myself beyond this village?’ I set up this platform to address this demand.’’

In Rahman he seems to have found the right partner to craft Qyuki’s vision. ``Look what Rahman is doing besides making lots of money,’’ he smiles. ``Rahman has started a music school. I have never seen him stressed out. Even before the release of a film, he’s thinking about his school. He wants to make it a success. He’s bringing all of the world’s music to Chennai. He believes that the world should share the knowledge of music. He does not get anything out of it but the pleasure of giving back. ‘’

Kapur knows what it means to dream dreams that go beyond oneself. ``It’s good to have dreams,’’ he says. `` When it gets really tough, I talk about Gandhi. He had his eyes on the ball. He wanted to get the British out of India. It was a huge goal. Once you take up a very strong goal that is a little selfless, your ability to overcome obstacles is far greater because you’re passionate about it. You have to have a passion that goes beyond oneself. And a passion that goes beyond oneself, is a passion that can make you deliver. I don’t think Steve Jobs’s passion was to make money. It didn’t ever look like it. He said he would put in hands things he believes people would love. He was a technological toy-maker. That was his passion. It went beyond corporations, beyond share value, beyond money.’’

Similarly for Kapur and Rahman, the fundamental yearning was to be able to look back at their lives and realize that they had opened a Pandora’s box of creativity and imagination.

Qyuki clearly is Kapur’s labour of love. He explains his passion for his latest venture with an analogy that should resonate with everyone:   ``When you love someone very deeply, it’s (makes) a big difference. Then when you start living together, day to day life interferes. If you forget how deeply you love them, the relationship won’t last. Every morning you have to wake up and remind yourself that you deeply love each other and not let little things get in the way of that. It’s easy to fall into the trap of doing the day to day things and lose sight of the dream. My job is to keep the vision intact.’’

Qyuki has four genres now and Kapur says there’s no particular reason why these were chosen above others. ``We have to give people some form to express, right? But finally all things will merge. There’s no reason that when you write a story, someone can’t come and give it some music. Someone can create animation. Ram leela hothi hai, ramayan likhi bhi hothi hai, ram leela ke bare mein picturen banthi hai, ram ka naam japthe hai, temple mein bhi jaathe hai… so when you look at Ram leela, you realize it is multi-media. Multi-media is an age-old concept. 360 degree marketing is not a new concept. Now with technology, it’s easier. ‘’

Kapur is sure that the creative community on Qyuki will find their own mentors eventually. ``Someone sitting in Arunachal Pradesh does not want me. They like their local stars. They’ll form a community around their local star and that community will form a new local star. And that one will become the most important to them. At that time we lose control as we should.’’

Kapur comes out in support of social media and the internet when he says that they allow you to make infinite stories. ``Why should stories end? The advent of the Guttenberg press brought a beginning and an end to stories. Before that there must have been a few thousand Mahabharatas told. Who says songs can’t have 350 stanzas. The internet gives you the opportunity for infinite stories. ‘’

Through premium content, Rahman and Kapur nudge the Qyuki community with inspiration to create infinite stories, re-imagine and re-invent. And Kapur, who has been a chartered accountant, actor, model, scuba diving instructor, film-maker, creative partner at Liquid Comics that created original graphic novels, and now entrepreneur, knows that there are no limitations on creativity.

And that’s perhaps why he still multi-tasks. Kapur is presently working on his film Paani, which has been close to his heart for 15 years now. ``Water for Indian audiences was always about barsaat. All the films that have been made have been about the monsoon and farmer related, right up to Lagaan. It was all about pani nahi aya tho kheti nahi hogi. But nobody ever talked about paani hoga hi nahi. Nobody believed me when I said that our cities will run dry. And then when I went abroad, everybody asked, `what’s the problem with water? There’s plenty of it.’ Now if you walk down the street and ask the same question, people will tell you that the next wars will be fought over water and not oil. Everyone is aware. So now it’s time to make the film.’’

Although shooting has not yet begin, Kapur plans to engage with the community during the course of making the film. ``I intended to create a community of 2 to 2.5 million people who have interest in the film and will carry forward the ideas presented in the film and hopefully the community will continue beyond the film.. The film in itself is not the end.’’

Engagement with the community comes easy for Kapur. His Pied Piper-like charm is visible on Twitter where he engages with his 3,67, 214 (as on March 13) followers. Last year, Kapur started a handle called #adswedontbuy and invited all his followers to tweet to him on disingenuous advertisements. It was, no doubt, a great success and the handle was trending for two whole days. ``I was advised to stop tweeting about misleading ads by my Chief Marketing Officer. Companies she approached to advertise on Qyuki had raised objections to that Twitter handle, ’’ he says with a sigh.

Kapur’s genius has endured and captivated people for over four decades. On Twitter as through his films and his multi-media presence, Kapur continues to seduce his fans with his enthusiastic spirit, his refreshing ideas taking on new forms and expression every few years. 

 (This article appeared as the cover story in Society magazine, April 2013)

If wishes were horses...

A friend pointed out, and quite rightly, that this weekend the Universe almost gave me what I’d always wanted. I say almost because I didn’t phrase my wish like a fool-proof pre-nup.

Rhonda Byrne was right. You get what you wish for. (Only if you wish with your heart and a sharp-as-a-knife legal mind.)

Soap stories

I don’t quite know how these things creep into my house.
Mint-flavoured dish washing liquid.
Floral-scented toilet cleaner.
Pina-colada-fragranced room freshner.

I ask for cleaning liquids. Plain, garden-variety, run-of-the-mill, common place or as my friends in marketing, who speak a strange dialect, would say, plain vanilla flavour. But instead of heavy-duty liquids that will blitz grease, germs and odor, my grocer sends home colourful bottles with an identity crisis and cleaning liquids that are about as benign as orange juice.

I ask for very little in liquid soaps and cleaners -- that they clean and don’t remind me of things I’d like to eat. I don’t think I can ever have a mint and chocolate chip ice cream without thinking of dirty dishes in my sink, thanks to that minty dishwashing liquid.
A girl’s night out in future will never feature a pina colada.
We can just forget about a walk in the botanical gardens with my stomach starting a Pavlovian roil. Thank you very much Harpic Floral!