Unique lady

Smitha Verma of The Telegraph, Calcutta, called on me to discuss a fascinating project. She was planning to write a series of profiles on nonagenarians who are still working and making their mark on society. On top of her list was Zohra Sehgal, who will celebrate her 100th birthday this month. Others on the list are Ebrahim Alkazi, Ravi Shankar, S.H. Raza, Mahasweta Devi, K.G. Subramanyan — and yours truly.

Zohra is a unique person. She has a formidable repertory of Urdu poetry at her command. I asked her how she managed to keep her memory alive at her age. She told me that she was an early riser. She said that every day, before there was any sign of light on the eastern horizon, she went up to her roof and kept walking round and round, reciting the poems she knows by heart. Apparently, her sister, married to a Pakistani living in Karachi, does the same. Some years ago, Harjeet Kaur, proprietor of Le Meridien hotel, had the two sisters together on stage to perform a play written by them, Ek Tthee Nannee — there was a granny, a mother’s mummy. It was hilarious and a huge hit with the audience. From the time the curtain went up to the time it came down, everyone was in splits. I do not know if a cinematic version of the play exists. If not, one should be made before it is too late.

A group is planning to film me reciting the Mirza Ghalib couplets I know by heart. Zila Khan, singer of Hindustani classical music, will then render the same in her melodious voice.

Catch a tiger

One of my life’s ambitions, which will remain unfulfilled, is to see a tiger in the wild. I have never been to Jim Corbett National Park, which, I am told, is the best bet if one wants to see a tiger crossing the road. Most people do so seated in a howdah on the back of an elephant. However, I did spend a morning in Kaziranga as a guest of Dr Lakshmi Goswami of Tezpur — she sat comfortably in the howdah, I sat astride behind her, as if I were riding a horse. An elephant’s back is more than double of a horse’s. By the time the ride was over, I felt I had been split into two. All I saw were rhinos, wild boars and a variety of deer.

Once, while living in Bhopal, I was assured that tigers visited a small lake near Sanchi. So did herds of deer. Thus tigers could get venison to eat as well as water to slake their thirst. So we had a machan made on the branch of a tree from where we could watch the scene. On a moonlit night, we could see herds of deer. In frustration, one from our party shot a deer. The next day, we had venison for lunch and dinner. I did not like its taste.

I have a relative, Valmik Thapar, who runs a highly profitable place of lodging consisting of tents close to the Ranthambore National Park. He is on talking terms with a few tigers living in the surrounding forest. They draw a rich clientele of visitors. I am told that none of the visitors is disappointed. I am now too old and decrepit to make the journey. I have to make do with watching tigers on television and reading about them. My favourite poem on them is William Blake’s, “The Tyger”, which was in the anthology prescribed for undergraduates in Panjab University. I quote:

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

It is most unlikely that Blake had seen a tiger in the wild.

Being modern

In the UN, the FM read someone

else’s draft

When called to explain, he said,

“I am not daft;

It is no big deal

And I do not conceal

That I am quite new to the

diplomatic craft.”

Our NWC chairman was being a

little bit pesky,

Saying — women shouldn’t mind if

called sexy.

It is not our concern

If she is being modern

Next she may say — wear mini and

shun the maxi.

(Contributed by J.K. Mathur, Lucknow)