The other side of mom

The other day a colleague asked me to name the most interesting person I have interviewed so far. It's difficult to name one, I said. Being a journalist, it's always exciting to meet new people, hear their stories and then write them down in my own words. Some people are interesting, some stories are boring. Some people are warm and welcoming, for others it requires tact and patience to uncover details that shape up their personality. All offer different experiences. The challenge is to present an unprejudiced view of the personalities you meet especially if it's someone you deeply admire or someone who manages to irk you during the interview.

(Left): Ranju Bhatia;
(Right) : Alexshendra

Interviewing someone close to you is an experience on its own. I realised that last month when I interviewed my mom for a story. Mom is a Hindi writer. For a story on 'Is Hindi literature dying amongst the youth', my editor suggested we arrange a dialogue between her and a young author Alexshendra Venus Bakshi to discuss how Hindi literature can be made relevant for young audience. Bakshi recently launched her book Aarambh ki Gyarah Kahaniya. Although a bilingual, the young writer chose to write in Hindi. Mom, Ranju Bhatia, released her second book Kuch Meri Kalam Se, a collection of short poems.  

I don't know anyone more closely than I know her. Yet the interview surprised me. It brought forth a distinct side of her personality. Confident, articulate...she was different from how I know her as my mother. Contrary to what I thought, I was able to look at her objectively. I can't yet put a finger on the most interesting interview but this one is certainly most special! 

(You can read the interview in the June issue of Atelier Diva magazine available on stands across major cities in India.)

Mystic Voice

A fan of her songs and voice, an interview with her has made me admire her as a person as well. Haven't met a famous artists as humble as her...

The road leading to Humayun’s Tomb is jam packed. There’s a long queue of people; many couldn’t manage passes but are here hoping for a chance. There are arguments and even fights to get inside. It’s the third day of the 11th edition of Jahan-e-Khusrau. All the rush is to see the legendary Sufi singer Abida Parveen perform. Pic Courtesy: Gagan Sharma

What is it in her voice and music that enthralls people all across the world? What is it that makes hundreds willing to wait for hours to hear her sing for a few minutes? The answers unfold in a freewheeling conversation with the doyen of Sufi music.

Parveen ranks among the world’s best-known Sufi performers, a female amongst many males – a distinction she says she doesn’t understand. My question evokes in her a child-like, infectious laughter. “Since childhood I never saw myself as a woman. Jab ishq hota hai toh yeh sab cheezein mayane nahi rakhti (These things do not matter when you are in love with Him). What we are seeking ... despair of separation from Him is same in all of us – whether a man or woman. Moreover, He doesn’t see us differently,” says Parveen, whose name incidentally means one who worships.

The singer has been coming to Delhi to participate in the annual three-day Sufi festival for over a decade now. Has the audience’s interest changed in all these years? “Yes, certainly. It has grown tremendously from the time we started coming here mainly because Bollywood movies now increasingly have music with Sufi touch,” says the 59-year-old singer. No puritan, she rather believes that there are no boundaries in music and has experimented with fusion music as well.

Parveen sings in Urdu, Sindhi, Persian and Punjabi. Most of her audience do not completely understand the meaning of the words used. Yet they are captivated. “Whatever be the language, the heart can comprehend it. Music, after all, has no religion or language. The idea is to spread Allah’s message,” she reasons.

Her association with Sufi poetry and music goes back to when she was just three years old. Born in Sindh, Pakistan, she remembers sitting with the harmonium learning lessons from her father Ustad Ghulam Haider, a prominent Pakistani vocalist, who defied convention and encouraged her to sing. That he has been the biggest inspiration in her life is obvious from the fond tone she uses while talking about him. “I was very attached to him since the very beginning and all this is a gift from him. He never forced me but I found myself inclined to music as well as Sufi poetry. I was also attracted to shrines. It all came so naturally as if it is all decided even before one is born.” Parveen has two brothers and two sisters; none of them, she says, is interested in singing. Besides her father, she credits her husband (the late Ghulam Hussain Sheikh) for always motivating and encouraging her. In fact, it was he who nurtured her development as a singer when she began her career at Radio Pakistan where he was a senior producer.

What are the thoughts in her head before a performance, I ask. “There’s always tension and nervousness. It’s as if it is my first performance and my last,” she smiles. What keeps her going? “The inspiration comes from my murshid (guide and teacher). It’s His will that keeps one inspired,” she says. “God has blessed us all with a spark. Every soul has a connection with Him. Some of us have a greater connection; some are yet to develop,” she speaks mystically.

She clearly exists in a higher spiritual realm. I wonder if there is any regret or any unfulfilled desire she has. It’s the desire for perfection, she says. “Mukammal toh khuda ki zaat hai. Only Allah is perfect. We just try to better our rehearsals and music so that we can reach as many people as possible,” asserts Parveen.

During the entire interview she rarely uses ‘I’ and talks of herself as one of the many entrusted with the responsibility of spreading the message of unity, love and peace. How does she manage to remain so humble and grounded even after all the fame? That ingenuous laughter returns as if she’s embarrassed to hear that. “Mujh me mera kuch nahi, jo kuch hai so tera; Tera tujh ko sonp dein, kya laagey mera (Nothing is mine, whatever is all belongs to thee; I shall return what’s yours for nothing belongs to me),” she answers, quoting Saint Kabir’s famous couplet.

That’s the hallmark of a true Sufi, they say. Humble, they do not make a show of their spirituality. Wise and worldly yet unfeigned, their music mesmerises people the world over (even if they don’t understand words completely) and makes hundreds wait for hours to hear them sing for a few minutes… 

This article was published in Atelier Diva April Issue

A Jumbo Passion

Enthusiastic, inspiring and adventurous, Prajna Chowta is one of the very few women mahouts in the world. 


Fighting resistant stereotypes with steely determination is not easy for anyone, least of all for a young
London-educated woman who is sure she wants to spend the rest of her life in forests, with elephants.
In the beginning, the incredulous forest officers at Nagarahole National Park took their time replying to Prajna’s application for a research project with mahouts. Wasting no time on doubters, she moved on to a training camp in Kerala. Equipped with some basic skills upon her return, Prajna was given an opportunity to work at the Sakrebailu Elephant Camp near Shimoga. She then carried on her research at camps in Bihar,
Assam, Arunachal Pradesh and Myanmar, to find out the diff erent practices used by
mahouts. Today, she successfully runs the Aane Mane Foundation, which works for the study
and conservation of the Asian Elephant and its habitat, and preservation of the knowledge and
traditions connected to the animal.

Going further back in time, Prajna talks of her days as a student of anthropology at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. It was there that the description of cultures that were foreign to the Europeans unsettled Prajna. “The analysis of our culture by Western anthropologists always
appeared to be an insidious attempt to capture the subject intellectually, without authentic
groundwork,” she shares. This sparked an urge to reconnect with her roots. “I was fascinated
by the complex and intuitive relationship that binds mahouts and elephants. In India, this relationship that binds mahouts and elephants. This is what I looked at first, and slowly learned the skills,” she recalls.

But those early days were not easy as working with elephants was considered a man’s job. “Over time, they witnessed my passion for the animal and realised I could do the job,” she says. “The conditions in forests are very basic. Sometimes, all you have is a sheet for cover; at best, a tent. I was with the mahouts and elephants all the time, eating together, living together,” she adds. Her family never really understood the fascination. They did not like what she was doing, but Prajna never let that interfere with her choices. 

Aane Mane, which literally means elephant’s home, has land near the Mudumalai, Bandipur and Nagarahole reserves. This is where the couple now live with their daughter, and two elephants – Kalpana and Kunti. “The decision to start a family was also not easy. When you take chances as we did, you don’t want to risk bringing a little one into that. It’s only when I thought of settling down in a specific area that we thought it would be possible to have a child,” she adds. Their five- year-old daughter speaks five languages and adores elephants. It is but natural to wonder that given the difficult decisions she has had to make in her life, what a typical day for Prajna is as of now. Surprisingly, it is rather simple: Caring for the elephants and her family, shopping, and following up on ongoing projects of the foundation. There’s even time for hobbies like reading and cooking. “Italian and French in the jungle, why not? And I bake my own country bread myself, every other day,” she quips. 

In the end, Prajna’s story reminds one of the story of the elephant and the blind men, and the question they are symbolically wrestling with: After all, what does an elephant stand for? Her answer is this: “It is better not to define and say anything but just look and touch. Working as a mahout is something of  an initiation. Mahouts are not intellectuals but some manage to understand what an elephant is, although they do not speak about it. They know it cannot be explained.” •

Published in Atelier Diva in December Issue. Read full article here